Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
The deplorable tendency of some to overimbibe during the Christmas season will wreak havoc on our society if we don’t check it.
Felicity came awake slowly, morning light glowing through her closed eyelids.
Opening her eyes, she saw the familiar moldings on the ceiling.
It was her own bed, and she was dressed in her chemise.
But how did she get here? The last thing she remembered was telling Georgie a story in the nursery.
And the strange dream afterward ... arms lifting her ...
a low voice muttering ... a sensation of floating—
Ian! She shot up in bed, then spotted him slumped in a chair not far away.
Shirtless and barefoot, he wore only his small clothes.
His hairy legs were splayed in front of him, and his arms were crossed over his bare chest. And his eyes were open, fixed on her with a dark intensity that made her shiver.
He’d never looked more threatening. Or tempting.
“At last Sleeping Beauty awakes,” he growled, faintly slurring the words. He straightened in the chair and pain spasmed over his unusually pale face.
“Are you unwell?” she asked in instant concern.
Bending down, he picked up something and brandished it before her. A brandy bottle. And nearly empty by the look of it.
“For pity’s sake, you’re foxed!”
He lifted the bottle, inspecting its meager contents sullenly. “Not foxed enough. It was half empty when I found it.”
How strange for Ian to drink excessively. Being drunk meant losing control of a situation, and Ian never lost control. What could have made him drink? “Did something happen last night that I don’t remember?”
“Nothing happened.” He settled back against the chair to glower at her, the bottle bumping against his leg.
“That’s the problem. Between your celebration of Christmas, all that time spent hanging stockings and singing carols with your brothers, and your insistence on taking the boys up to bed, not a damned thing happened.
You wouldn’t let me go up with you—gave me some nonsense about its being your last night alone with them for a while.
So like a fool I came down here to wait for you. ”
Tilting up the bottle, he swigged the rest of the brandy, the muscles in his throat working convulsively as he swallowed it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “When you didn’t come, I went looking for you and found you asleep on Georgie’s bed.”
He sounded so put out she smiled. “Oh. It must have been the champagne. It always puts me right to sleep. And I did rise very early yesterday morn—”
“I tried to wake you. That was pointless. I finally gave up and carried you to bed.” His gaze drifted down her body, then halted at her breasts.
The sudden alteration in his expression from anger to desire made her look down at her chemise. Good Lord. It gaped open where the ties were undone. Swiftly, she retied them, careful not to meet his hungry gaze. “Did you ... undress me?”
“Certainly did. I couldn’t very well let you sleep in your gown, could I?”
Heat swam over her at the thought of his unbuttoning her dress and sliding it slowly off her body. Had he touched her? Perhaps. But he hadn’t bedded her—she was fairly certain of that. She would remember if he had. Besides, if he’d bedded her, he probably wouldn’t be drunk now.
He held the bottle up, regarded it with a scowl, then tossed it aside like a surly child displeased with a toy. “Empty, damn it. Is there any more in this place?”
“If there was, I wouldn’t give it to you,” she said matter-of-factly. “You shouldn’t be drinking at this hour, for pity’s sake.”
“I daresay any man who spent his wedding night watching his wife coddle a lot of thankless scamps and fall into a dead sleep would be drinking at this hour.”
He sounded so forlorn, the poor dear. It almost made up for the fact that he had spent last night trying to wear down her resistance to him.
A caress when her brothers weren’t looking ...
an arm around the waist ... handholding.
Not to mention two stolen kisses in the hall and one blatant one under the mistletoe.
Oh, yes, he deserved a wedding night alone after what he’d put her through.
She didn’t realize she’d smiled until he grumbled, “You find this vastly amusing, don’t you? You’re very proud of yourself for all your delaying tactics.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly plan it that way, so I can hardly be proud of it. But it did work in my favor.” She slipped from the bed and donned her dressing gown, then went to the door and unlocked it.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He rose from the chair, his movements surprisingly steady.
She faced him, and her mouth went dry. His worsted small clothes left nothing to the imagination, outlining his arousal in loving detail. When combined with his half-naked and quite glorious physique, the sight sent her heart racing. Drat the man. Even slightly drunk, he was tempting.
But she wouldn’t let him distract her from her purpose this time. Thinking quickly, she palmed the key so he couldn’t lock the door again. “I thought I’d fetch you something for your aching head. The boys will be up any minute and—”
“Lock the door,” he ordered as he stalked toward her. “We may have missed our wedding night, wife, but there’s nothing that says we can’t have a wedding morning.”
Heart pounding, she opened the door, but in two steps he was at her side, slamming it closed before she could get through. He sandwiched her body between his and the door. Every inch of hard, determined male flexed against her.
“Give me the key,” he commanded, eyes glittering down at her.
Defiantly, she tossed it across the room. “Get it yourself.”
He hesitated, apparently debating how to get the key without leaving her long enough for her to escape. Then he smiled and his hand cupped her hip. “Never mind.”
But as he bent his head to kiss her, she wriggled from between him and the door. “You’re in no condition to be doing this,” she said, backing away from him.
“No man has ever been in a better condition to do this, querida.” He stalked her with leisurely intent. “You’re my wife now. And we will consummate this marriage.”
The uneven series of raps and knocks on her bedchamber door startled them both. Ian halted, turning to glare at the door.
“Lissy!” came a child’s loud whisper beyond it. “Lissy, are you awake?”
“Say nothing, and the little imps will leave,” he growled under his breath.
She laughed, partly from the ludicrousness of his statement and partly out of relief at being spared once more. “It’s Christmas morning, Ian. They won’t leave. Just be happy they didn’t burst in here without knocking. That’s what they usually do.”
That sent him back against the door in a flash. “Go away, lads!” he called through it. “Your sister isn’t ready to get up yet. She’ll come out in a while.”
She smirked at him. “Nor will anything you say put them off. Not on Christmas morn.”
As if to support her claims, the door handle rattled and a child’s voice cried, “Are you in there, Lissy? We want to see if Father Christmas filled our stockings!”
“So go look at them!” Ian shouted at the door.
“We can’t! Lissy locked them in the parlor!”
His gaze shot to her. “You didn’t.”
“I always do. Otherwise, they’d be in there at midnight.”
He glowered at her. “Tell them to wait until we come out.”
“Not on your life.” With a grin, she called out, “I’ll only be a moment, boys! I just have to dress!”
“Lissy? Is that you?” Georgie cried through the door. “Hurry up! It’s Christmas!”
A curse erupted from Ian’s lips. He glanced from her to the door handle and back to her as she headed for her dresser at the other end of the room.
She could guess his thoughts. Open the door and order the boys to leave?
No, they might dash in, putting an end to anything.
Leave the door and search for the key? Then she would run out.
She chuckled to herself. This ought to repay him amply for his little maneuvers in the carriage yesterday and his taunts and caresses last night.
She drew out a fresh chemise, drawers, and stockings, then chose a front-closing gown she could put on easily, since she doubted Ian would let the maid enter and she certainly didn’t want his help.
She started for the privacy screen, but froze as a wicked thought started into her head.
She had an even better way of repaying him for his taunts.
Feeling daring, she faced him and removed her dressing gown as casually as if he weren’t watching her with hooded eyes from his position at the door. She hesitated a moment, unsure of the wisdom of her plan. But he had one shoulder braced against the door and couldn’t move. She would be safe.
Besides, it was time to remind him what he’d be missing as long as he considered her a brood mare and not a wife. Slowly, she untied her chemise and shrugged off one sleeve, then the other.
His eyes widened. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“I’m changing clothes, of course. I have to dress.” With a teasing smile, she dropped the chemise to the floor, baring her breasts.
His gaze raked her hungrily. “Come here, and I’ll help you,” he said in that thrumming voice that scrambled her insides.
Oh, she was tempted. Sorely tempted. But she wouldn’t cave in, especially after he’d been so sure of himself yesterday. “I don’t need any help. Besides, you have to keep the door closed. You never know when the boys might try to come in.”
She reached for the ties of her drawers, and he growled, “Don’t you dare!”
Enjoying the feeling of power over him, she untied them very slowly, remembering his bold caresses yesterday and the taunt that had followed them.
His eyes blazed at her. “This is not amusing, Felicity.”
“No? Are you worried that you might not have your heir ‘by Martinmas’ after all?” she said saucily. Then she shimmied out of her drawers.
With an oath, he shoved away from the door.
“Boys?” she called out loudly.