A Historical Christmas Present Read online

  “It is lovely,” Caroline said, her eyes stinging. She lifted her mouth for his kiss, and felt the soft brush of his lips over hers.

  “Here,” he murmured, a smile coloring his voice, and he removed her spectacles to clean them. “You can’t even see the damned thing, the way these are smudged.” Replacing the polished spectacles, he took hold of her waist and pulled her body against his. His tone sobered as he spoke again. “Was it difficult to get the letters from Julianne?”

  “Not at all.” Caroline could not suppress a trace of smugness as she replied. “I enjoyed it, actually. Julianne was furious—I have no doubt she wanted to scratch my eyes out. And naturally she denied having had anything to do with Lord Brenton’s death. But she gave me the letters all the same. I can assure you that she will never trouble us again.”

  Andrew hugged her tightly, his hands sliding repeatedly over her back. Then he spoke quietly in her hair, with a meaningful tone that made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in excitement. “There is a matter I have yet to take care of. As I recall, I left you a virgin the last time we met.”

  “You did,” Caroline replied with a wobbly smile. “Much to my displeasure.”

  His mouth covered hers, and he kissed her with a mixture of adoration and avid lust that caused her knees to weaken. She leaned heavily against him, her tongue sliding and curling against his. Excitement thumped inside her, and she arched against him in an effort to make the embrace closer, her body craving the weight and pressure of him.

  “Then I’ll do my best to oblige you this time,” he said when their lips parted. “Take me to your bedroom.”

  “Now? Here?”

  “Why not?” She felt him smile against her cheek. “Are you worried about propriety? You, who had me handcuffed to a bed—”

  “That was Cade’s doing, not mine,” she said, blushing.

  “Well, you didn’t mind taking advantage of the situation, did you?”

  “I was desperate!”

  “Yes, I remember.” Still smiling, he kissed the side of her neck and slid his hand to her breast, caressing the gentle curve until her nipple contracted into a hard point. “Would you rather wait until we marry?” he murmured.

  She took his hand and pulled him out of the parlor, leading him upstairs to her bedroom. The walls were covered with flower-patterned paper that matched the pink-and-white embroidered counterpane on the bed. In such dainty surroundings, Andrew looked larger and more masculine than ever. Caroline watched in fascinated delight as he began to remove his clothes, discarding his coat, waistcoat, cravat, and shirt, draping the fine garments on a shield-backed chair. She unbuttoned her own gown and stepped out of it, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor. As she stood in her undergarments and stockings, Andrew came to her and pulled her against his naked body. The hard, thrusting ridge of his erection burned through the frail muslin of her drawers, and she let out a small gasp.

  “Are you afraid?” he whispered, lifting her higher against him, until her toes almost left the ground.

  She turned her face into his neck, breathing in the scent of his warm skin, lifting her hands to stroke the thick, cool silk of his hair. “Oh, no,” she breathed. “Don’t stop, Andrew. I want to be yours. I want to feel you inside me.”

  He set her on the bed and removed her clothes slowly, kissing every inch of her skin as it was uncovered, until she lay naked and open before him. Murmuring his love to her, he touched her breasts with his mouth, licked and teased until her nipples formed rosy, tight buds. Caroline arched up to him in ardent response, urging him to take her, until he pulled away with a breathless laugh. “Not so fast,” he said, his hand descending to her stomach, stroking in soothing circles. “You’re not ready for me yet.”

  “I am,” she insisted, her body aching and feverish, her heart pounding.

  He smiled and rolled her to her stomach, and she groaned as she felt his mouth trail down her spine, kissing and nibbling. His teeth nipped at her buttocks before his lips traveled to the fragile creases at the backs of her knees. “Andrew,” she groaned, writhing in torment. “Please don’t make me wait.”

  He turned her over once again, and his wicked mouth wandered up the inside of her thigh, higher and higher, and his strong hands carefully urged her thighs apart. Caroline whimpered as she felt him lick the damp, soft cleft between her legs. Another, deeper stroke of his tongue, and another, and then he found the excruciatingly tender bud and suckled, his tongue flicking her, until she shuddered and screamed, her ecstatic cries muffled in the folds of the embroidered counterpane.

  Andrew kissed her lips and settled between her thighs. She moaned in encouragement as she felt the plum-shaped head of his sex wedge against the slick core of her body. He pushed gently, filling her…hesitating as she gasped with discomfort. “No,” she said, clutching frantically at his hips, “don’t stop…I need you…please, Andrew…”

  He groaned and thrust forward, burying himself completely, while her flesh throbbed sweetly around him. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, breathing hard, while his hips pushed forward in gentle nudges. His face was damp, suffused with perspiration and heat, his long, dark lashes spiky with moisture. Caroline was transfixed by the sight of him—he was such a beautiful man…and he was hers. He invaded her in a slow, patient rhythm, his muscles rigid, his forearms braced on either side of her head. Writhing in plea sure, she lifted her hips to take him more deeply. His mouth caught hers hungrily, his tongue searching and sliding.

  “I love you,” she whispered between kisses, her wet lips moving against his. “I love you, Andrew, love you.…”

  The words seemed to break his self-control, and his thrusts became stronger, deeper, until he buried himself inside her and shuddered violently, his passion spending, his breath stopping in the midst of an agonizing burst of pleasure.

  Long, lazy minutes later, while they were still tangled together, their heartbeats returning to a regular rhythm, Caroline kissed Andrew’s shoulder.

  “Darling,” she said drowsily, “I want to ask something of you.”

  “Anything.” His fingers played in her hair, sifting through the silken locks.

  “What ever comes, we’ll face it together. Promise to trust me, and never to keep secrets from me again.”

  “I will.” Andrew raised himself up on one elbow, staring down at her with a crooked smile. “Now I want to ask something of you. Could we forgo the large wedding, and instead have a small ceremony on New Year’s Day?”

  “Of course,” Caroline said promptly. “I wouldn’t have wanted a large wedding in any case. But why so soon?”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, his lips warm and caressing. “Because I want my new beginning to coincide with the new year. And because I need you too badly to wait for you.”

  She smiled and shook her head in wonder, her eyes shining as she stared up at him. “Well, I need you even more.”

  “Show me,” he whispered, and she did just that.

  LYNSAY SANDS

  Three French Hens

  CHAPTER ONE

  December 24

  “Ye’d best set that aside and wipe yer hands, girl. Cook’ll be wantin’ ye in a minute.”

  “Hmm?” Brinna glanced up from the pot she had been scrubbing and frowned slightly at the old woman now setting to work beside her. “Why?”

  “I was talkin’ to Mabel ere I came back to the kitchen and she says one o’ them guests His Lordship brought with him don’t have no maid. Fell ill or something and they left her at court.”

  “So?”

  “So, Lady Menton sent Christina in here to fetch a woman to replace her,” she said dryly, and nodded toward the opposite end of the kitchen.

  Following the gesture, Brinna saw that Aggie was right. Lady Christina was indeed in the kitchen speaking with Cook. A rare sight, that. You were more likely to find the daughter of the house with her nose buried in one of those musty old books she was forever dragging about than sniffing near anything domest
ic. It had been a bone of contention between her and her mother since the girl’s return from the convent school.

  “I still don’t see what that’s to do with me,” Brinna muttered, turning to frown at the older woman again, and Aggie tut-tutted impatiently.

  “I didn’t raise ye to be a fool, girl. Just look about. Do you see any likely lady’s maids ‘sides yerself?”

  Letting the pot she had been scrubbing slide down to rest on the table before her, Brinna glanced around the kitchen. Two boys ground herbs with a mortar and pestle in a corner, while another boy worked at the monotonous task of turning a pig on its spit over the fire. But other than Lady Christina and Cook, she and Aggie were the only women present at the moment. The others were all rushing about trying to finish preparations for the sudden influx of guests that Lord Menton had brought home with him. Aggie herself was just returning from one such task.

  “From what I heard as I entered, they’ve settled on ye as the most likely lady’s maid,” Aggie murmured.

  “Mayhap they’ll send you now that yer back,” Brinna murmured. “That would make a, nice change fer ye.”

  “Oh, aye,” Aggie said dryly. “Me runnin’ up an’ down those stairs, chasin’ after some spoilt little girl. A nice change, that. Here it comes,” Aggie added with satisfaction as Lady Christina left and Cook turned toward them.

  “Brinna!”

  “See. Now, off with ye and make me proud.”

  Releasing her breath in a sigh, Brinna wiped her hands dry on her skirts and hurried to Cook’s side as she returned to the table that she had been working at before Lady Christina’s arrival. “Ma’am?”

  “Lady Christina was just here,” the older woman announced as she bent to open a bag squirming beneath the table.

  “Aye, ma’am. I saw her.”

  “Hmm.” She straightened from the bag, holding a frantically squawking and flapping chicken by its legs. “Well, it seems one of the lady’s maids fell ill and remained behind at court. A replacement is needed while the girl is here. You’re that replacement.”

  “Oh. But, well, yer awful short-staffed at the moment and—”

  “Aye. I said as much to Lady Christina,” Cook interrupted dryly as she picked up a small hatchet with her free hand. “And she suggested I go down to the village in search of extra help…just as soon as I dispatch you to assist the lady in question.”

  “But—oh, nay, ma’am, I never could. Why I can’t. I…”

  “You could, you can, and you will,” Cook declared, slamming the bird she held on the table with enough force to stun it, stilling it for the moment necessary for her to sever its head from its body with one smooth stroke of her ax. Pushing the twitching body aside, she wiped her hands on her apron, then removed it and set it aside before catching Brinna’s elbow in her strong hand and directing her toward the door.

  “Ye’ve been a scullery maid under me now for ten of yer twenty years, Brinna, and I’ve watched ye turn away one chance after another to advance up the ranks. And yet God has seen fit to send ye another, and if you think to turn this away for yer dear Aggie’s sake—”

  She paused and rolled her eyes skyward at Brinna’s gasp of surprise. “Did ye think I was so dense that I’d believe ye actually enjoy washing pans all day every day? Or did ye think I was too blind to notice that ye start afore the others have risen and stay at it until well after they’ve quit for the night—all in an effort to cover the fact that Aggie has slowed down in her old age?” Sighing, the cook shook her head and continued forward, propelling Brinna along with her. “I know you are reluctant to leave Aggie. She raised ye from a babe, mothered ye through chills, colds, and childhood injuries. And I know too that ye’ve been the best daughter a woman could hope for, mothering and caring for her in return these last many years. Covering for her as age crept over her, making the job too hard for her old body. But ye needn’t have bothered. I am not so cruel that I would throw an old woman out on her duff after years of faithful ser vice because she can not work as she used to. She does her best, as do you, and that leaves me well satisfied.

  “So…” Pausing, she eyed Brinna grimly. “If you don’t accept this opportunity to prove yourself and maybe move up the ranks through it, I’ll swat ye up the side o’ the head with me favorite ladle. And don’t think I won’t. Now.” Cook turned her abruptly, showing Brinna that while she had been distracted by the woman’s words, Cook had marched her out to the great hall and to the foot of the stairs leading to the bedchambers. “Get upstairs and be the best lady’s maid ye can be. It’s Lady Joan Laythem, third room on the right. Get to it.”

  She gave her a little push, and Brinna stumbled up several steps before turning to glance down at the woman uncertainly. “Ye’ll really keep Aggie on, despite her being a bit slower than she used to be?”

  “I told you so, didn’t I?”

  Brinna nodded, then cocked her head. “Why’re ye only telling me now and not sooner?”

  Surprise crossed the other woman’s face. “What? And lose the best scullion I’ve ever had? Why it will take two women to replace you. Speaking of which, I’d best get down to the village and find half a dozen or so girls to help out while the guests are here. You get on up there now and do your best.”

  Nodding, Brinna turned away and hurried up stairs, not slowing until she reached the door Cook had directed her to. Pausing then, she glanced down at her stained and threadbare skirt, brushed it a couple of times in the vain hope that some of the stains might be crumbs she could easily brush away, then gave up the task with a sigh and knocked at the door. Hearing a muffled murmur to enter, she pasted a bright smile on her lips, opened the door, and stepped inside the room.

  “Oh, fustian!” The snarled words preceded the crash of a water basin hitting the floor as Lady Joan bumped it while peeling off her glove. Stomping her foot, the girl gave a moan of frustration. “Now look what I have done. My hands are so frozen they will not do what I want and—”

  “I’ll tend it, m’lady.” Pushing the door closed, Brinna rushed around the bed toward the mess. “Why don’t you cozy yerself by the fire for a bit and warm up.”

  Heaving a sigh, Lady Laythem moved away to stand by the fire as Brinna knelt to tend to the mess. She had set the basin back on the chest and gathered the worst of the soaked rushes up to take them below to discard, when the bedroom door burst open and a pretty brunette bustled into the room.

  “What a relief to be spending the night within the walls of a castle again. I swear! One more night camping by the roadside and—” Spying Brinna’s head poking up curiously over the side of the bed, the woman came to a halt, eyes round with amazement. “Joan! What on earth are you doing on the floor?”

  “What ever are you talking about, Sabrina? I am over here.”

  Whirling toward the fireplace, the newcomer gasped. “Joan! I thought—” She turned abruptly back toward Brinna as if suddenly doubting that she had seen what she thought she had. She shook her head in amazement as Brinna straightened slowly, the damp rushes in her hands “Good Lord,” Sabrina breathed. “Who are you?”

  “I-I was sent to replace Lady Laythem’s maid,” Brinna murmured uncertainly.

  This news was accepted with silence; then the brunette glanced toward Lady Laythem, who was now staring at Brinna with a rather stunned expression as well. “It is not just me,” the cousin said with relief. “You see it, too.”

  “Aye,” Lady Joan murmured, moving slowly forward. “I did not really look at her when she entered, but there is a resemblance.”

  “A resemblance?” the brunette cried in amazement, her gaze sliding back to Brinna again. “She is almost a mirror image of you, Joan. Except for that hair, of course. Yours has never been so limp and dirty.”

  Brinna raised a hand self-consciously to her head, glancing around in dismay as she realized that the ratty old strip of cloth that usually covered her head was gone. Seeing it lying on the floor, she bent quickly to pick it up, dropping the rushes so t
hat she could quickly replace it. The cloth kept the hair out of her face while she scrubbed pots in the steaming kitchen, and half-hid the length of time between baths during the winter when the cold made daily dips in the river impossible. She, like the rest of the servants, had to make do with pots of water and a quick scrub for most of the winter. The opportunity to actually wash her hair was rare during this season.

  “She does look like me, does she not?” Lady Laythem murmured slowly now, and hearing her, Brinna shook her head. She herself didn’t see a resemblance. Lady Joan’s hair was as fine as flax and fell in waves around her fair face. Her eyes were green, while Brinna had always been told that her own were gray. She supposed their noses and lips were similar, but she wasn’t really sure. She had only ever seen her reflection in the surface of water, and didn’t believe she was anywhere near as lovely as Lady Laythem.

  “Aye.” The cousin circled Brinna, inspecting every inch of her. “She could almost be your twin. In fact, had she been wearing one of your dresses and not those pitiful rags, you could have fooled me into thinking she was you.”

  Lady Laythem seemed to suck in a shaky gasp at that, her body stilling briefly before a sudden smile split her face. “That is a brilliant idea, Sabrina.”

  “It is?” The brunette glanced at her with the beginnings of excitement, then frowned slightly. “What is?”

  “That we dress her up as me and let her take my place during this horrid holiday.”

  “What?” Brinna and Sabrina gasped as one; then Sabrina rushed to her cousin’s side anxiously. “Oh, Joan, what are you thinking of?”

  “Just what I said.” Smiling brightly, she moved to stand in front of Brinna. “It will be grand. You can wear my gowns, eat at the high table with the other nobles. Why, ’twill be a wonderful experience for you! Aye. I think it might actually even work. Of course, your speech needs a little work, and your hands—”

  When the lady reached for her callused and chapped hands, Brinna put them quickly behind her back and out of reach as she began to shake her head frantically. “Oh, nay. ‘Tis sorry I am, m’lady, but I couldn’t be takin’ yer place. Why, it’s a punishable offense fer a free woman to pass herself off as a noble. Why they’d—well, I’m not sure what they’d do, but ’tis sure I am ’twould be horrible.”