He did it again.
Her leg curled around his waist.
And again and again and again and she was lost. To his eyes lit green, to his panted growls and thrusting possession.
That fever scorched once more as he claimed her. So many years of waiting and wanting.
It was too much to bear and as his lips crashed upon hers, pleasure seized her, igniting her, unfettered and endless.
ASCHARLOTTE’Sbody tightened around him, Marcus abandoned whatever remnants of self-control remained, her wild hair gushing like dark fire upon his bed, writhing and seeking.
To take it all in this moment.
And hell, she did, hips cleaving, fingers at his nape, nails scratching his back as his spine arched, and his own pleasure – brutal and sudden – rent him asunder.
He shoved his head to the lee of her neck and shoulder, shuddering and loving and never ever leaving.
Not this Christmas. Not the next. Or any other they were blessed with.
His hips jerked, not wishing it to end…
But breaths slackened, heartbeats slowed and his body slumped, energy spent – for now. He savoured the intense closeness, her damp silken skin, but aware of his weight, he shifted, bringing his beloved with him, to lie upon his chest.
Silence held sway for a while but it was a good silence. One of bone-deep contentment and satisfaction.
With a gentle sigh, Charlotte languidly moved and opened her eyes, leaf green, bright and joyful.
“And that’s why,” she whispered, a wicked curve pulling at her rosy lips. “A governess should never enter a duke’s bedchamber.”
He laughed, the carefree laugh of his youth, and gripped her tight. “You, my duchess, can enterourbedchamber any time you wish.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“What will signify all the learning in the world, if you are wanting in generosity, in kindness, in good nature?”
PRIVATEEDUCATION:APRACTICALPLAN FOR THESTUDIES OFYOUNGLADIES.
ELIZABETHAPPLETON. 1815.
Christmas Day.
The bells rang loud as the gleeful congregation around him gushed from St Anne’s Church like the Stock Ghyll beck after the autumn rains, babbling and dashing, joyous and eager.
Overnight, further snow had cloaked the town and now lads hurled snowballs, girls shrieked with delight, and ladies tottered with muffs the size of Herdwick Hogget sheep.
Christmas.
And Marcus was here with them all, feeling jubilant and at ease, with an excited Dinah on one arm and his beloved Charlotte upon the other.
There could, he knew, be no doubt amongst the townsfolk as to his intentions towards her and many had nudged one another or waggled an eyebrow.
With a wink, Mr Wordsworth doffed his hat and Marcus returned a sheepish smile.
Their stroll followed the flock down the lane into town, and they breathed in the chill air, absorbing the anticipation of the day.
Rather a racket was ensuing outside Ambleside Bakery, and they turned their heads to observe Kitty and Fred embracing to whoops and cries from an assemblage of well-wishers.
Marcus merely raised a brow. “Bit raucous for Christmas Day, no?”
