Chapter 12
Oliver stood outside the door with a tray in hand.
A wonderful woman named Ellen, who from what he understood was Phoebe’s dear friend, had been extremely helpful downstairs. She had given him all of Phoebe’s Christmas favorites.
She had given him gingerbread, walnuts, a pot of hot chocolate with cream, and a surprisingly strong hug.
That he had not expected, but he had liked it, much to his surprise.
After Ellen’s motherly hug, he felt fairly certain that more people needed such hugs. She had listened eagerly to his request for a tray to brighten up Phoebe’s feelings and to apologize for being an utter arse.
Balancing the tray on one hand, he lifted his arm and knocked upon Phoebe’s door.
It was late, very late. He glanced side to side, wondering if, at any particular moment, one of the Briarwoods was going to come out of the dark hallway, seize him, grab the tray, and then beat him over the head with it, but no one did.
And he began to think that Ajax’s words really were true. Anything went in this house as long as no one got hurt.
But he was afraid that he was already hurting Phoebe, and he couldn’t have that. He prayed he could make amends.
Footsteps padded on the other side of the door, and then the panel swung open. She looked as if she was about ready to speak to someone, and she had mistletoe in her hand. And then she let out a gasp and stepped back. “Whatever are you doing here?”
He was clearly not who she had expected.
“I’ve come with an offering,” he explained, then looked at the mistletoe, thinking of how it was meant to produce kisses. “Is that an offering too?” he asked.
“Perhaps it is,” she ventured, eying him and the tray. “It is for you, though you weren’t exactly who I was expecting to see.”
Yes. He’d been correct. Who had she been expecting? But he rather liked that the mistletoe was indeed for him.
“Are you entertaining other suitors?” he teased, not because he feared such a thing, but because he wanted her to know how very desirable he knew her to be.
“Perhaps,” she teased back. “If you don’t work out, I do have a long list of people who are interested.”
He let out a groan. “Oh, Phoebe, I know. I know that I am in a very long line of men who would fight for your hand,” he said.
She grinned. “Fight for my hand? How very romantic. But unnecessary.”
“Will you let me in?” he asked softly.
“It depends on what you’ve brought,” she returned, her gaze twinkling merrily, the tension between them easing.
A wave of gratitude traveled through him. She was going to forgive him. He hadn’t mucked it up entirely.
“Hot chocolate and gingerbread and—”
“Well, I can’t possibly turn you away.” She pursed her lips. “Though I could just take the tray.”
“It’s very heavy,” he replied.
“Do you think me weak?”
“Not a bit,” he said.
She stepped back and gestured for him to enter. “Come, and put it on the table before the fire.”
He crossed in and did exactly as she bid. “Whatever my lady commands,” he replied, happy to be her footman. Once it was set on the polished wood table, inlaid with patterned flowers, he contemplated the wood crackling in the fire. He felt like that wood. Hard, intense, ablaze.
To distract himself, he picked up the silver pot and poured out a thick cup of hot chocolate.
“You’re very presumptuous, sir, to go ahead and pour yourself a cup.”
“It’s not for me,” he said. And then he crossed to her, offering her the cup.
She took it but did not drink. She peered at the rich liquid, then whispered, “I need you to know that I’m not some silly miss running after a duke.”
“No one could ever think you were silly, Phoebe.”
She sucked in a long breath and nodded.
“Go on then,” he said softly.
“What?”
“I want to watch you drink it,” he whispered. “I want to see how it makes you feel.”
She swallowed, her delicate throat working, and she licked her beautiful lips in anticipation of the drink, or something else, he did not know.
She lifted her cup and drank. Her eyes fluttered shut at her own enjoyment.
He let out a soft sigh of appreciation. “You are a wonder,” he said, “and I truly hope you can forgive me.”
“For what?” she asked softly, as her eyes opened and she put the cup back down in its saucer.
“For letting you down,” he said.
“You haven’t let me down,” she replied.
“Oh, I have, I have.” He paused, trying to gather his thoughts as he stood before her. “You don’t understand me and why this visit is…hard. But you don’t have to understand it all.”
“Oh, Oliver,” she whispered. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean—”
“I want to try to enjoy this, truly, and not just pretend,” he blurted. “For you, I will try.”
She put the teacup and the saucer down on the table and closed the distance between them. Gazing up into his eyes, her visage full of emotion, she whispered, “That means more than anything,” she said, “the trying. Because I can see that to do so is no easy thing.”
He ground his teeth. “Thank you. I promise I am not just being some pompous, arrogant, selfish duke. Christmas is—”
“Maybe you should stop,” she rushed.
He blinked. “Stop what?”
“Trying to celebrate Christmas if it makes you so unhappy. Maybe you shouldn’t do it for me.”
He shook his head. “You love it so well. I must. It’s just that Christmas is a day of trickery,” he rasped. “That’s all.”
“Of course it is,” she said. “There are mummers and there are—”
“No, not like that,” he cut in. “Christmas is the day where you think it’s all about love and joy and acceptance, but it’s only love and joy and acceptance if you act a certain way.
If you try something different, you’ll quickly find out that those people who seem jolly and full of love and full of the Christmas spirit have miserly hearts, and that’s heartbreaking, Phoebe. ”
He wanted to promise that he would never break her heart as his had been broken, but he knew such a promise was foolish. But he did know that he would at least try this Christmas to do better, to show her that he could possibly be the man that she wanted.
So, he crossed to her and took her in his arms, determined to see that though he could not be perfect when it came to Christmas, he could be perfect when it came to a kiss.
Phoebe had been waiting for this moment. Since she had begun the pursuit of a husband, she had been longing to cross over the threshold of Eros, and here it was. The moment when she would finally know the joys between a man and a woman.
So when Oliver took her in his arms, there was no hesitation. There were no worries or concerns. She was eager to give way to the pleasure of it.
All she wanted was to savor every moment, because this was the beginning of a brand-new adventure, one that would last her entire life.
His hand slid to her back, teasing over her shoulder blades, then her ribs, then moved to her waist. She arched against him, eager for his tantalizing touch.
She was seduced by his hard form.
His body was a magnificent mystery to her.
Oh, she knew the male form. She had seen it enough times in pictures and in books, but now? Now she could see the man that she wanted, the man she desired above all things.
Eager to see all of him, she began to work at the buttons and ties of his clothes. His dark eyes flared, obviously pleased at her excitement. Without hesitation, he helped her to strip his clothes from his body, and then he began to work at hers as well.
He slid the bodice of her gown down from her shoulders, bearing her breasts. He gazed upon the pale orbs as if they were gifts from above. Oliver bent his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth, teased it, as if it was a sweet.
He let out a groan of pleasure and then turned to the other nipple, teasing it with equal measure.
She was shocked to find that such an action could indeed cause her entire body to ache, but most importantly, it increased the desire pooling right between her thighs. And it was an ache that only seemed to grow. An ache that she knew only he could fulfill.
His hands went to her skirts, taking them in fistfuls. Then he started to pull those skirts upward, sliding the fabric up her calves, then past the bows that tied her stockings in place. He slid his hands upward to her thighs. He caressed her bottom, stroking her bare skin.
Then he skimmed her hips, teasing over the curves until he came to the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
With his booted foot, he gently parted her feet, giving way for him to slide his hand between her legs.
His mouth took hers, devouring her lips in a hot kiss.
Phoebe could not think. All she could do was focus on the pleasure that he was giving her. His fingers teased through her folds, and she was astonished to find how easy it was for him to caress her, to tease her to life, to give her pleasure.
With each stroke of his fingers, she felt herself lose control. All she wanted was this. All she wanted was him. And then he fell to his knees before her, gazing upon her as if she was the constellations, the world.
That look transformed his face, softening it, and her breath caught in her throat. For she had never felt like someone’s universe before.
She held her breath as Oliver kept her skirt up, stared at the V between her thighs, and let out a low moan of appreciation.
“Part your legs for me,” he growled softly.
She did as she was instructed, determined to see what would happen next. Then he took her into his hot mouth. She was astonished at the bliss of it.
Oh, how he made her feel! Oh, how he tantalized her body! The teasing of his lips and tongue on her most sensitive spot caused her to drop her head back and gasp. Lest her knees buckle and she fall, Phoebe held on to his shoulders.
And then, oh so gently, he caressed one of his fingers along her opening, even as he continued to circle his tongue over her sweetest spot.
Then he thrust that finger gently inside her, caressing, exploring. After another moment, he allowed another finger to join, so that he could ready her for him.
He kissed her sweetest spot, kissed her until she felt her body ripple about his hand, and she let out a moan so full of feeling, so full of bliss, that she thought she would shatter apart and never come back together.
He let out a growl of approval and stood to hold her.
As she stood in his embrace, her thoughts coming back to her, she waited for him to take her to the bed, but he did not.
“Let me please you now,” she said.
“Oh, Phoebe,” he said, “it’s too soon, too much. I wish to though. I wish to have all of you, but I will not press.”
“I don’t want to hesitate,” she countered.
“We are unwed, and this is new to you. We should wait—”
“I will be extremely angry with you,” she said, “if you make me wait.”
His eyes flared as he considered her words, but she didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she went to the bed of her own accord and then pointedly slipped her gown, stays, and chemise off.
She did not know where the boldness came from that made her act so, but she climbed up on the bed, eyed him, and beckoned him to join her.
He could not resist.
He crossed the room in a few short strides. Easily, he climbed up onto the bed to meet her.
“I can stop now,” he whispered. “I can go. This doesn’t have to—”
She lifted her fingers to his lips and silenced him. “I want you to share this with me.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes sparking with passion. Oliver parted her thighs oh so gently, and then he found her opening with the head of his sex. He rocked against her soft, sensitive opening, and she moaned at the feel of it.
Muscles straining as he strove to control himself, Oliver drove forward.
A gasp of surprise raced out of her as pain pierced her body. She had not expected it to be so intense, but he was large and filled her. She struggled to take him all, and he hesitated for a moment. Then he tilted her hips, arching her just the right way.
His face taut with concentration, Oliver rocked forward, and as he found a spot inside her, she bit her lower lip, trying to take him, and then suddenly, miraculously, she could.
It was as if her body understood what it was supposed to do. And when he began his own dance, thrusting in and sliding out, growing in speed and intensity, she met his passion, thrust for thrust, movement for movement.
Amazed at how quickly her body learned, she held onto him tightly, savoring the feel of him, savoring the pleasure, and when he lost himself in her, she allowed herself to be lost too. Into bliss and into pleasure.