Wedded in Winter (The Wicked Winters Book 2) Page 11

  She was the greatest gift he had ever known.

  More than he could have hoped for.

  All he had ever wanted.

  Peace settled over his heart. He kissed her ear, love surging inside him, every bit as forceful as the desire. “Are you ready?”

  Of course she was ready.

  And she would tell him.

  Just as soon as she could speak.

  For now, all she could do was clutch his big body to hers, her fingers biting into his shoulders. He licked behind her ear, then caught her earlobe in his teeth, delivering a tug she felt between her thighs.

  Even after the pleasure he had visited upon her, she still ached. She still wanted more.

  And so she forced herself to find the words. “I am ready, Merrick. Make me yours.”

  He growled, the sound primitive and deep and dangerous all at once. And filled with promise. So much promise.

  When he settled himself between her thighs, she opened for him, and it felt natural. Wonderful. Nothing had ever felt more right. His manhood was large and thick and long, and he settled it against her now, running the tip between her folds in a sensual rhythm that made her move her hips restlessly.

  She wanted more.

  “Are you sure, darling?” he asked, his voice sounding strained.

  “Yes,” she said, breathless.

  “There will be pain the first time,” he warned, working his shaft over the most sensitive part of her.

  She gasped. “I have been told.”

  Lady Emilia had explained the wedding night to her. Not without flushing and stammering and making Bea wish for the talk to end to put them both out of their misery, but it had been done.

  She knew what to expect.

  She also knew she wanted Merrick more than she wanted her next breath.

  “Bea, I do not want to hurt you,” he said, still teasing her with his length.

  She kissed the cords of his neck, the smooth ball of his shoulder, caressed his arms. “I want you inside me, Merrick.”

  He bit out a curse. “Tell me to stop if the pain is too great. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Bea.”

  “Now,” she ordered, kissing his chest.

  He aligned himself at her entrance. She felt the tip of him, blunt and thick, and then he moved, sliding inside her. One shallow thrust, then another. She inhaled, then moved against him, bringing him deeper. Another thrust, and something inside her broke. She felt a pinch of pain, the breath hissing from her lungs.

  He stilled. “Bea?”

  “More,” was all she said.

  “Hell and damnation.” He thrust again, seating himself deeper, and then again.

  Until she was stretched and full, so full, of him. The pressure gave way to pleasure. His lips found hers. They kissed as his fingers dipped between them, working her already incredibly sensitive flesh. Somehow, he knew how fast to go, how hard. And then, he was moving once more, but this time, she was moving too. They were moving.

  Together.

  His tongue was in her mouth, and she tasted herself. She tasted the beauty of pleasure and life, the sweetness of their love, the possibilities of their future. They kissed and kissed, while their bodies became one. He stroked her as he moved inside her, until she found herself once more teetering on the precipice.

  Control was beyond her.

  She clenched on him violently, pleasure fiercer than any he had given her before exploding. Bea could not stifle her cry as she reached her pinnacle. Merrick rocked against her, his body stiffening. On a low groan, he pumped into her, losing himself the same way she had. The warm wetness of his seed inside her set off a fresh wave of tremors.

  Merrick broke their kiss at last, rolling off her and landing on his back at her side. She lay there, shattered, staring at the beautiful play of light and shadows upon the ceiling from the fire in the grate. Her breathing was ragged and harsh. At her side, so was Merrick’s.

  He slid an arm around her and drew her nearer, before flipping the turned-down bedclothes over her. She reveled in this rare moment of complete closeness, their bodies aligned, the pleasure of his lovemaking filling her with a sated warmth unlike anything she had ever known.

  It had a name, this feeling inside her.

  Bliss.

  She settled her head upon his chest, directly over the steady thumping of his heart.

  “Did I hurt you, Bea?” he asked, his voice tentative, almost strained.

  She smiled, inhaling the beloved scent of him, settling her hand upon his taut stomach. “You could never hurt me.”

  He kissed her crown. “Thank you for giving me the gifts of yourself and your love. I could never want for more.”

  She stroked over his firm skin, relishing the barely leashed strength beneath. “I feel the same way, Merrick. You are everything to me, all I could ever want, and I am proud to call you my husband.”

  “Proud?” he asked, sounding hesitant. “You could have done better than me, Bea. Far better. An earl, a duke—”

  “I choose you,” she interrupted him. “And there is none better.”

  She meant those words, how she meant them. Merrick had worked for everything he had, and purely on the merit of his own intelligence and determination. Other men may be lords. But Merrick Hart was all she had ever wanted, from the time she had first begun to understand the longing inside her. He was all she would ever want.

  “What did I do to become so fortunate?” he asked softly.

  “You happened upon a scandalous Winter wearing a bloody dress,” she teased, glancing up at him.

  Their gazes met and held.

  “I shall be thankful for it for all the days of my life. Merry Christmas, my love,” he told her, his fingers tenderly drifting through her hair.

  She lifted her head from his chest and kissed him again. How could she not?

  “Merry Christmas to you too, my beautiful man,” she said, her heart content.

  Epilogue

  Bea descended from her carriage, weary to her bones and in desperate need of the comforting embrace of her husband, a cup of hot tea, and a plate of biscuits. Not necessarily in that order. Any order, as it happened, would do. Her stomach growled in most unruly fashion, and she pressed a hand over it, staying the sound and the hunger both.

  She sighed. Her back ached. She was tired after assisting Dr. Nichols in the birthing of twin girls. And she was beginning to feel the effect of her own delicate condition. A spring drizzle fell from the dreary, gray sky as she made her way up the walk to the townhouse she shared with Merrick. Her lady’s maid and two burly footmen followed in her wake, the procession her husband insisted she take with her whenever she aided Dr. Nichols.

  True to his word, Merrick had not sought to stop her from following her heart.

  And in return, her heart beat for him more with each passing day.

  Life as Mrs. Merrick Hart had proven even better than she had imagined it would be. They spent their days devoted to their callings—she alternating between assisting Dr. Nichols and studying the scientific journals she had been filling their library with, and Merrick running the businesses Dev had entrusted to him.

  They broke their fast together early each morning, went on their separate ways, and reunited in the evening for dinner. Most nights, they ended up in his study, her stockinged feet in his lap as he rubbed the soreness from her soles. Today, she had no doubt she would be returning home before her husband.

  The front door swung open to reveal Crowley, their butler, who welcomed her with a bow and a smile. Crowley, like Merrick, had once earned his wages in a Winter factory. Merrick had chosen him, along with some of their other servants, and the elder gentleman had settled into the role with aplomb, if not ease.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hart,” he greeted her.

  She handed off her wrap and hat, another wave of weariness hitting her. Perhaps she would have time for a small nap before Merrick arrived.

  “Good afternoon, Crowley,” she returned.
“Has Mr. Hart returned?”

  “He has indeed, madam,” the butler informed her.

  “Mrs. Hart, here you are.”

  Bea turned at the familiar, beloved voice of her husband. The sight of him was equally wonderful, and she drank him in, doing her best to keep from throwing herself into his arms as she longed.

  “Mr. Hart.” She could not, however, keep the delighted smile from her lips. “You are home early.”

  He offered her his arm, his handsome face lined with concern, and she took it, gratefully. “I concluded the business with the new warehouse early, and knowing you were on one of your calls, I decided to come home to tend to you.”

  As he spoke, he guided her deeper into the house, beyond the main entry. She clung to him, breathing in his familiar scent. The urge to kiss him was strong, but she resisted, knowing they had an audience not far behind.

  “I do not require tending, Husband, and you know it,” she said. “But I will accept it just the same. I am glad you are home early, for I missed you quite dreadfully.”

  “I missed you more,” he countered, his tone as warm as the sidelong glance he gave her. “How are you feeling, darling?”

  “Tired,” she admitted.

  Her stomach growled.

  “And famished,” she added wryly.

  “It would seem this is becoming a habit,” he teased. “Fortunately, I have already had a bath drawn for you, and a tray is being sent to your apartment as we speak.”

  His concern for her welfare warmed her heart. It seemed Merrick always knew what she needed before she did herself.

  “A bath and some sustenance sound heavenly,” she told him. “I do not suppose you asked for biscuits?”

  “À la cuillière,” he confirmed, “with extra sugar, just as you prefer, and tea as well.”

  “Oh, you wonderful man.” She could practically taste the sweet biscuits crumbling in her mouth.

  Her stomach pronounced its eagerness once more as they ascended the stairs together.

  “If you think me wonderful, I shall do nothing to disabuse you of your delusion.” His voice was laden with laughter.

  “I know you are wonderful,” she said, her pronouncement ending on a sigh of pure delight when they reached her chambers.

  Within, the hot bath awaited her, and at its side a tray laden with confections and tea. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, chasing the damp chill from the air. And if Bea had not already been hopelessly, helplessly in love with her husband, she would have lost her heart to him all over again.

  “Biscuits or bath first?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “Biscuits in the bath?” she returned hopefully.

  “That’s my girl.” He grinned. “I will more than happily play lady’s maid.”

  Merrick dropped a soft kiss on her lips before making short work of her gown, petticoat, and stays. He pressed his mouth to her nape as he unbound her hair, and she sighed in pleasure as his knowing fingers gently massaged the taut muscles of her shoulders.

  “Better yet, my love?” he asked.

  With his hands upon her, always better.

  “Mmm, yes,” she said, her eyes drifting shut.

  He knelt at her feet next, removing her shoes and stockings. And then he caught the hem of her chemise, pulling it over her head as he stood. She was naked before him, the round bulge of her belly on full display, but she knew only pride. Merrick’s gaze shone with love as he caressed the place where their babe grew.

  “Beautiful,” he proclaimed.

  And she had never felt more beautiful than she did with his eyes upon her, his praise and love like a protective cocoon, the promise of a new life beginning between them. She could not resist drawing his head down for another, more prolonged kiss.

  His tongue swept inside her mouth, and she shivered from a combination of the air and her need of him. She was chilled and yet aflame, all at once, her nipples hard, all the desire she felt for him pulsing at her core, radiating through her.

  He ended the kiss far too soon. “Into the tub with you, my love, lest you take a chill.”

  “But,” she protested, only to be silenced with another kiss.

  Oh.

  The rose-oil-scented water of the bath promised to soak all the aches from her body. She allowed Merrick to help her into the tub, then watched as he brought the tray of tea and biscuits near enough for her to reach.

  Her fingers settled upon a sugar-encrusted biscuit as her mouth watered. “Have I told you how wonderful you are?”

  “You may tell me as often as you like.” He sent her a wink as he shed his jacket, revealing the breadth of his shoulders.

  Bea did not think she would ever grow tired of admiring Merrick. Sometimes, it still seemed almost a dream that he was hers at all. That the man she had longed for was her husband. On another sigh of pure appreciation, she took a bite of her biscuit.

  Merrick’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows now, revealing his forearms. She was not sure which was more delicious—the soothing lap of the water on her bare skin, the delicacy on her tongue, or the sight of her husband’s strong arms and hands.

  She loved his hands.

  Hands that were fetching a cake of soap, one of the new varieties from her brother’s factory that was scented like a garden in full bloom. Her first biscuit was gone, and she reached for a second as Merrick plucked her right ankle from the water. He soaped the arch of her foot, then up her aching calf. Somehow, his fingers found the precise tangle of tight muscle where she had gotten a cramp earlier in the day.

  With a mouthful of biscuit, she gave herself over to his tender ministrations, hooking her elbows over the tub and allowing her eyes to drift closed. He moved to her left leg, applying the soap and massaging just the same. When his fingers worked miracles upon her tired foot, she could not contain her low moan of pleasure.

  “Keep making those sounds, love, and you will not be in this bath long,” he told her, his voice laden with sinful promise.

  That sent a whole new flurry of longing through her.

  Bea’s eyes fluttered open, meeting her husband’s burning gaze. She made the sound again, before popping the last of the biscuit into her mouth and then licking the sugar from her fingertips, one by one.

  “You, Mrs. Hart, are a tease,” he accused without heat.

  “Am I?” Fixing an expression of innocence to her face, she licked the traces of sugar from her lower lip. “I cannot imagine how.”

  “You know precisely what you are doing to me, darling.” He lowered her left foot until it was submerged in the warm water once more. “I shall have to distract you, or I will not be able to finish bathing you, minx. Tell me about the birthing.”

  Her mind instantly returned to the long, painful labor Mrs. Sweeting had suffered. “It seemed to go on forever. Dr. Nichols was with Mrs. Sweeting since last night, as you know.”

  Because she was with child, and because her husband was incredibly protective, Bea no longer spent the night aiding the doctor in his efforts. She had been with him the previous afternoon, only to leave so she could join Merrick for a late dinner before falling into an exhausted slumber. The morning had seen her awake at dawn, ready to return and give aid as she could. Merrick had been by her side, breaking his fast early, joining her for the carriage ride to Mrs. Sweeting’s home.

  “The babe was healthy?” Merrick asked, frowning. “And the mother as well, I trust?”

  “The babes are doing fine and so is their mama,” she confirmed, smiling as once more, a sense of awe rushed over her.

  “Babes?” Merrick was soaping her arms and shoulders. “Twins?”

  “Two girls,” she said, thinking of the tiny red faces, so similar. “Quite the surprise, but Dr. Nichols said it made sense. Twins can be positioned improperly, rendering the birthing much more difficult and dangerous for the mother.”

  “We shall hope there is but one babe in your womb,” Merrick said, his expression going grim.

  “You nee
d not worry for me,” she told him, rubbing his forearm reassuringly. “All will be well, my love. I know it.”

  “You are my heart and soul,” he said intently.

  “And you are mine,” she returned, giving his arm a squeeze.

  He sighed, then leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “You know I love you desperately.”

  “I do, but you may tell me as often as you like,” she said tenderly, echoing his earlier teasing words.

  On a groan, his lips claimed hers. He cupped her chin, and his hand was wet and covered in slippery, sweet-smelling soap, but she didn’t care. Nor did she care that her arms were dripping as she wrapped them around his neck and pressed nearer, seeking more of his warmth, reassurance, and love. And nor did she care that her breasts soaked his waistcoat. His tongue ran over her lower lip, licking the traces of sugar there, before sinking into her mouth.

  Their kiss turned carnal, a union of tongues and need and want, all tinged with the sweetness of sugar. Bea forgot she was tired and sore. The biscuits had sated her stomach. Now, she wanted the only thing that would soothe the ache deep within her: Merrick.

  She tore her lips from his, breathing heavy. “I believe I have finished with my ablutions, Mr. Hart.”

  “Have you indeed, Mrs. Hart?” he asked, biting his lip in such a way that had her wanting to kiss him senseless all over again.

  “Yes.” She caught his hand in hers and pressed it to her bare breast. “I am quite clean, as you can see.”

  “Hmm.” He pretended to ponder. “I am not certain you are clean everywhere, my dear. Perhaps you are dirty.”

  His words sent a pang straight to her core, where her flesh had already come to vibrant life, all for him. Ever since she had discovered she was enceinte, her appetite for lovemaking had been far more pronounced. Far more, even, than her appetite for biscuits.

  “Where?” she asked, her eyes still on his.

  His hand slid from her breast, traveling over the swell of her belly. Her thighs instantly parted for him. His fingers glanced over her folds before parting her. When he found the bud of her sex and stroked, she could not contain her reaction. Pleasure bolted through her, lightning hot. Her hips jerked, her body seeking more. She pumped against him.