Page 6 of A Hellion’s Christmas Kiss (Connected By a Kiss #8)

Five

R osella could not sleep. She had been tossing and turning in her bed for what seemed like hours—perhaps it had been. There was no way to know for certain, enveloped as she was in the darkness of her bedchamber. With a resigned sigh, she rolled to the side and sat up, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Sleep evaded her, and with the plans for the following day looming, she dreaded facing it all without proper rest.

The men were set to hunt for a yule log, while the ladies would await their return in the sitting room. Noelle, undoubtedly, would have some engaging activity prepared. Rosella sighed. Perhaps she should go to the library for a book. Reading might lull her into drowsiness, provided she chose something dull. Her usual fare, however, would only ensure she remained awake, eager to reach the end of the story.

Resigned, she slipped out of bed and reached for her dressing robe, tying it snugly over her night rail. She hesitated briefly, debating whether to light a candle. Venturing through the dark would certainly be a challenge, but carrying a lit candelabra would attract attention if anyone else were awake. Then again, her errand was entirely innocent. Deciding it was best to avoid fumbling blindly, she lit the candles and exited her room, candelabra in hand, making her way to the library. She made her way to the library and hoped this excursion would not be a waste of her time. She really did need rest.

Once inside, she crossed to the shelves lining the back wall, holding the candelabra high as she scanned the rows of leather-bound volumes. She did not know what she wished to read and it might take her a while to find the perfect book. She paused at a thin red book and pulled it from its place. Setting the candelabra on a nearby table, she opened the volume and read the title aloud: The Lady of the Lake.

She delved into the poem, captivated by the tale of Ellen Douglas, caught in a love triangle between two powerful men in the Scottish Highlands. The vivid descriptions of love, loyalty, and duty stirred something within her. It made her want to visit the Scottish highlands so she could appreciate the beauty of the landscape herself. She lingered on one line in particular: "’My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.’"

The words resonated deeply, compelling her to reflect on her own circumstances. She was running out of time to secure her future, and she realized that waiting passively would not achieve her heart’s desire. She needed to take action, to risk her heart for the chance of love. Lucian was the man she wanted, and she could no longer afford to let her feelings remain hidden. It was time to trust in the love she felt for him. One way or the other she needed to know if she had a possible future with the Marquess of Kistleton. Lucian was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She would not know if he felt the same if she did not take a risk, to take that leap of faith, and trust that the love she harbored for him would steer her in the right direction.

“You are the last person I expected to find here,” a man with adeep voice said from behind her.

Rosella gasped, nearly dropping the book. Fumbling, she clutched it tightly to her chest and turned toward the voice. Her heart leapt as her gaze met Lucian’s. It was almost as though her thoughts had summoned him. She inhaled a steadying breath. This was her chance to be bold. “I could not sleep,” she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. She held up the book. “I thought reading might help.” It was time to take that leap of faith and pray it wasn’t in vain.

“We appear to have had the same idea,” Lucian said, his gaze lingering on her. “Have you decided on that book?” He almost appeared disappointed that she would depart soon, of course she might not be reading his expression correctly either.

She thought she detected a flicker of something indiscernible in his expression, as though he wanted something from her but could not form the words to make the request of her. But perhaps she was only imagining it. “I am considering it,” she replied. In truth, she had already begun reading it and was intrigued by the story. It did go on farther and she would like to know the end of the narrative. What happened between the king, the knight, and the lady? Did loyalty or love win in the end, or did it all end in tragedy? Perhaps there was no clear winner at the end of the tale, and wasn’t that a sad thing to consider. Her heart felt heavy inside her chest as she met Lucian’s gaze. Her focus had now shifted entirely to the man before her though—the story of the lady and her errant suitors could wait for another day.

Her gaze traveled to the mistletoe dangling above him. It was as though fate had presented her with an opportunity—an invitation. She set the book next to the candelabra on the table and took a deliberate step toward him. His eyes never left her as she crossed the room, her heart pounding with each step. When she stopped before him, she hesitated only a moment before rising onto her tiptoes and pressing her lips to his.

The kiss was tentative, a mere brush of her lips against his. Her inexperience betrayed her, and when he did not immediately respond, panic surged through her. He seemed frozen by her actions and she feared she had made a grave error. Had she been too brazen? Her breath hitched, and her courage faltered as she began to pull away.

Lucian had descended to the library in search of something to aid him in finding sleep. Yet, the very reason sleep evaded him was awaiting him there, as though fate had decreed he could no longer avoid the inevitable. He had not lied—he truly hadn’t expected to find her there. But now that she was, it felt as though destiny itself had intervened. He fully believed they were meant to be together, but for far too long, he had been a fool, avoiding what he had always known deep within. He loved her. He had always loved her. The fire between them burned bright, nearly consuming him.

Now, as she stood before him, pressing her lips to his, all coherent thought fled. Her warmth overwhelmed him, and waves of desire crashed over him. When she began to pull away, he could not allow it. He moved swiftly, pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips more firmly to hers. A deep groan escaped him as she opened to him, allowing his tongue to meet hers in an intoxicating dance. She tasted of heaven—better than any dream or fantasy he had ever conjured. In that moment, he was utterly lost.

Every part of him belonged to her. He was hers, now and forever, whether she wanted him or not. But she had crossed the room to kiss him, and that must mean she desired him as he did her. He would not squander this gift nor let hesitation rob him of the chance to make his feelings clear. He had waited too long, and now that the moment had arrived, he could not falter. He had to say the words—actions alone were not enough.

Slowly, he drew back, his gaze meeting hers. She was stunning, so lovely it caused a physical ache in his chest. “Rosella,” he murmured, his voice thick with the heat still coursing through his blood. “I don’t understand.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said hesitantly, her tone filled with regret. “I overstepped. Forgive me…”

He cursed himself for his delay, for the way his thoughts had scattered. He was botching this, and she was retreating. He could not let her believe for a moment that he regretted her kiss. He gripped her arms gently but firmly, his voice urgent. “You have done nothing to beg forgiveness for,” he assured her, his tone vehement. “In fact, I would love nothing more than for you to kiss me again. It was perfect.”

She rolled her eyes, clearly not believing him. “Do not placate me, Lucian. It was far from perfect. I have no experience in such matters.”

He wanted to laugh, to tell her how wrong she was. He would happily ensure she gained all the experience she desired—and with him alone. Much like their lessons in billiards, he had no doubt she would prove to be a quick study. But seduction was far more delightful a subject, and he ached at the thought of her honing such skills with him. Shaking those heated thoughts aside, he focused on the present.

“It is all right, darling,” he said softly, stroking a hand over her dark locks. “Trust me on this. There is nothing you could do that I would not adore.” The idea of her hands exploring his body sent a shudder of longing through him. Damn it all—he wanted her naked, now, this very night. But he forced himself to rein in his desires. This moment called for patience.

“But…” she began.

“No,” he interrupted gently. “Let me show you.”

Before she could respond, Lucian lowered his mouth to hers, pulling her flush against him. His body burned with a need so fierce it threatened to consume him. When she moaned softly and wrapped her arms around him, he deepened the kiss, savoring the sweet taste of her surrender. He trailed kisses down her neck, his lips and tongue worshipping her skin.

He untied her dressing robe, pushing it open to reveal the delicate night rail beneath. The thin fabric did little to conceal her curves, and the sight of her hardened peaks sent a jolt of desire through him. He leaned down and captured one pert nipple through the fabric, his lips closing around it as she gasped, leaning into him. “Lucian,” she moaned, her voice a sultry whisper that undid him.

Unable to resist, he slid his hand beneath her night rail, trailing up her thigh until his fingers brushed her heated core. She shivered beneath his touch, her body arching toward him in silent invitation. He stroked her sensitive flesh, relishing the way she writhed against him, her pleasure evident in every movement and sound. When her climax broke over her, he smiled against her skin. “That’s it, love,” he murmured. “Take your pleasure.”

Lucian wanted nothing more than to lay her down and claim her fully, to mark her as his forever. But he forced himself to pause, knowing the risk was too great. For now, he contented himself with holding her close, placing soft kisses along her temple as she caught her breath.

“Lucian,” she whispered, her voice tremulous. “I need to tell you something.”

“And I have much to say as well,” he replied, his tone serious. He met her gaze, his heart hammering in his chest. “You do know I have thoroughly compromised you.”

“Not thoroughly,” she corrected, her lips curving into a small smile. “I am still an innocent. Well…mostly. I definitely know far more than I did before.”

Her teasing did little to assuage his guilt, though he admired her spirit. “I want to marry you,” he said firmly.

Her expression shifted, and she tried to pull away. “Because you think you’ve compromised me?” she demanded.

“No,” he said, holding her firmly but gently. “I want to marry you because I love you.”

Her struggles ceased, and she stared at him, her eyes searching his. “You’re not saying that to make me agree, are you?”

He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over her skin. “It is the truth, Rosella. I have loved you for so long, and when you kissed me…” His voice caught, and he swallowed hard. “You gave me the courage to admit what I have felt all along. Please, say you will be mine. I want a forever with you, my little hellion.”

Her smile was radiant, lighting up the room. She lifted her hands to cradle his face. “Yes,” she said, her voice brimming with emotion. “A thousand times yes. I would like nothing more than to be your wife. I love you too, my darling.”

Relief and joy washed over him, and he claimed her lips in a passionate kiss. He would love her fully, now and always. There was no greater gift this Christmastide than her love. Rosella Prescott, his hellion, had claimed him utterly, and he vowed never to let her go.