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“Last night I asked if you were feeling all right. I ask you again today, is all well with you?” He leaned over her, anxiously watching her expression.
“I am more than ‘all right’, I amen extase, mon amour,” she assured him.
“Shall we take the day for ourselves today? Tomorrow is time enough to think of preparations for the Yule festivities.”
She placed her hand on his naked chest and walked her fingers downwards towards his groin. “You have some kind of entertainment in mindpeut-etre?” she purred.
His cock responded to her teasing words, rising to tent the sheet that covered him. “Again, madam? I thought I’d quite worn you out last night,” he quipped.
She cocked her head impishly, pointing at her chest. “Moi?Mais non!”
“In that case…” He pounced, rolling her over onto her back, his lips covering hers.
She squealed in surprise; he chuckled against her mouth. She subsided as he seared her mouth with his, melting into him. He curved his arms about her, his palms cupping her buttocks so her mons pressed into his rigid member. She whimpered.
He brushed his mouth across her neck, dropping kisses there then moving to her décolleté and breast. Taking the burgeoning nubbin between his teeth, he worried it gently. Her back arched. Her whimpers turned to moans of lust that drove him to seek the twin peak of her other breast.
He slid his hand from her rump, delving his fingers between the soft folds of her sex. Gad, she was wet, primed and ready for him. He lifted her up to meet his shaft and impaled her slowly, deeply.
“Gabriel!”
Her husky cry encouraged him to rut, taking her more forcefully than he’d intended. He was surprised by how fast she reached her release, his name constantly on her lips, her sweet groans echoing about the chamber. With a roar, he felt the sap rise within him. The tightening of his stones lifted his sac, and his pleasure flooded deep inside her fluctuating sheath.
“Angele!”
They spent the whole morning in bed, lunching lazily from a tray whilst sitting before the fire within their chamber, dishabille. After lunch, they took a bath together. They played cards and chatted for much of the afternoon. The day and the night were theirs, and they took the time to relearn one another’s bodies, reconnecting with their souls. By the time dawn came the following day, there were no secrets left untold or disappointments left unshared.
* * *
Snow still lay in patches on the ground, the air icy cold. For the most part the roads were clear. The day before the first day of Christmas, the Yule log was dragged into the house. It was also the day Christopher was expected to arrive along with Mary, Robin, and their children, Rudy and Holly. Although Angele and Gabriel had been up since dawn, both too excited to sleep—their family’s arrival would not be until after luncheon.
The Yule log sat outside the French doors of the main salon, hauled there on a large piece of hessian by gardeners and grooms. It awaited placement inside the huge hearth, where it would be ceremoniously lit in the evening and expected to burn for the whole twelve days of Yule.
House servants busily strung garlands of evergreens, interwoven with holly and ivy, in the main ground-floor salons. They decorated the mantels with fir cones and red rosehips. Ladders were fetched, and a footman hung a bunch of pearly white and green mistletoe from a hook in the centre of the ceiling in the entrance hall. The household buzzed with excitement as they prepared for the twelve days of festivities. Cook, who had been baking for the past few weeks, baked all that day. The decorating finally finished, the house smelt deliciously tangy and fresh, the scent of Christmas baking mingled enticingly with the smell of greenery.
Finally the coaches were sighted. Gabriel and Angele excitedly donned winter capes and waited outside for the carriages to arrive. Footmen queued in line to assist the guests and retrieve luggage. Carroll had the honour of opening the carriage doors for the guests.
Mary was first to step down, followed by her husband. A tumble of children alighted from the second coach, closely followed by Miss Pudding. She called them to order. Greetings were made between sister and brother, brothers-in-law, and the children, but Miss Pudding sensibly encouraged Christopher to step forward first.
Gabriel drank in the first sight of his son. The sweetly rounded features, sable hair, and expressive brown eyes. Tears blurred his eyes as the boy ran straight into his mother’s open arms.
“Maman, you are not wearing your witch’s veil!” he cried gleefully.
She knelt to catch hold of him. She gave a chuckle of delight, and Gabriel smiled to see the ease between these two people who meant the world to him.
“You have your father to thank for that. Would you like to be introduced to him,mon petit?” Her twinkling blue eyes rose to meet Gabriel’s.
He swallowed convulsively, suddenly nervous. Suppose the boy took an instant dislike to him?
Dropping to his haunches beside them, he held out his hand to the handsome child. Leaning into his mother, the boy hesitantly offered his own small hand.
“How do you do, sir?” he asked formally.
Gabriel’s throat contracted. He swallowed the lump that lodged there and took the boy’s hand, drawing Christopher towards him. He tousled the boy’s hair then grazed his knuckles gently down his rounded cheek.
“I do very well, my boy,” he said gruffly, “better now that you and your mother are here with me.” He spread his arms wide about them both, encompassing his family in his embrace.
They stayed that way for a few moments; spectators watched this tender scene in silence.
