Page 28 of Mistletoe Minx

She tilted her head. “Ah…of course. Where?”

“Just over there. By the row of trees.”

They walked in silence, but he could feel her curious gaze on him.

Dalton cleared his throat. Frances remained quiet, clasping her hands behind her back and looking at him expectantly, the very portrait of a submissive mistress.

Just say the words! They aren’t difficult! She’s not waiting for sonnets in Persian!

“I should start by saying…” Dalton began as he paced back and forth. “I mean, I’ve been thinking a lot about this…”

In the blink of an eye his world upended.

Frances stepped away to give him room, but the snow had disguised a ridge, for her arms flailed as she tipped backwards with a shriek. He lunged forward to grab her, but his outstretched hands merely grazed the fabric of her cloak as she fell.

Terror chilled him to the bone.

“Frances!” he roared. “Frances!”

Skidding and sliding, Dalton stumbled his way around the clump of trees and through the knee-deep snow, scarcely noticing as sharp twigs caught his hair and uneven ground tweaked his ankles. All that mattered was getting to his wife, who lay sprawled on her back, the red wig beside her and her demi mask dangling from one ear.

“Frances,” he said hoarsely, dropping to his knees and picking up her hands to chafe them. “Christ. Shit. Bloody hell. Open your eyes! Don’t you dare leave me, minx. Don’t you bloody dare. Not when I love you so goddamned much. You’re the only woman I want. My perfect match. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Her lashed fluttered. Then the world’s bluest eyes stared up at him. “I believe the entire county can hear you, Dashford.”

Relief swamped him, so profound he slumped dizzily onto his heels. “Are you hurt?’ he asked unsteadily. “One of the guests is a physician⁠—”

“I fell about three feet onto fresh snow,” Frances replied, wrinkling her adorable nose. “My pride is hurt and my mask won’t recover. But you were saying very interesting things, so pray continue before the cavalry arrives.”

“Was I indeed?” said Dalton, now grinning like an intoxicated jester as he cradled Frances tightly against his chest and rose slowly to his feet.

She smacked his shoulder. “This minx demands you tell her you love her again. As much as I love you...Dalton.”

Never had his name sounded so good. Never had winter seemed so warm and bright and bursting with promise.

Christ. He was definitely in love.

Dalton kissed her with all the emotions that had turned him inside out and upside down, a blend of tender and carnal that seemed exactly right. “I love you, Frances. You’re my world. My Christmastide wish come true. And yes, forever my one and only minx.”

“Well then,” said Frances breathlessly, her eyes shining as she cuddled against him. “You’d better take me to bed and show me, Your Grace.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Frances stood in front of the bedchamber fireplace, nearly quivering with excitement. She was ready as Dalton had instructed before he’d gone to gather items for their play: her hair plaited, and wearing nothing but silk stockings and a dressing gown.

Finally, she would receive the wickedly passionate bedding she’d always craved in their marriage. No masks or wigs, no false identities or misunderstandings, just Dalton and Frances and pleasure.

“I think that’s everything, Your Grace,” said Glory, as she surveyed the room with an expert eye. “Quilt pulled back, fire stoked, drapes closed, and fresh water heating in the bucket there. Wine and brandy are on the tray, along with fruitcake and sweets.”

“Thank you, Glory,” said Frances, as she hurried to the dressing table and retrieved a guinea from her reticule, then pressed it into the maid’s hand. “His Grace and I are very appreciative of all your efforts. Especially considering the change in circumstances.”

Glory’s eyes bulged and she curtsied deeply. “My pleasure, ma’am. I hope to see you both again, I love a good happy ending. Now remember, if you leave the red ribbon on the door, we’ll keep delivering food, hot water and fresh towels and remove any discards. Enjoy the rest of your time here.”

“I shall,” said Frances, smiling conspiratorially.

After Glory departed, Frances returned to the deliciously warm fireplace and began idly touching herself: caressing her already-taut nipples, and parting the crisp hair between her legs to feel the slickness of her pussy. It wasn’t like she was disobeying her husband…he hadn’t precisely forbidden such acts, only told her not to misbehave!

“Exactly what are you doing, madam?”