Page 26 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
She closed her eyes, unable to look in the face of the man she’d cherished her entire life and reasonably puzzle this out. He was placing societal power, power she’d never considered having, in her lap.
“You could be pregnant,” he whispered after a charged silence.
“So that’s it,” she said with a sinking heart, another round of tears stinging the back of her eyes. Perhaps she was, although it was too soon to know. She’d been overly emotional since their night of lovemaking. Probably just what love did to twist one’s sanity in a knot.
“No, that’snotit.” Tristan cursed and gave her a shake. “I love you.That’sit. Isn’t love more than enough? I’m sorry you can’t have what you deserve, Princess. Respect for your intelligence, the highest regard for your knowledge, a place in the botanical world you are given because you’ve earned it, because you’re gifted. Society doesn’t, as yet, allow this for women. You’ll have to settle for the love of a man who can move mountains, willingly, for you.” He whisked his thumb over her cheek, her lips, following the caress with his mouth. “Invite me into your life, because I so want to be there.”
The kiss was molten, rich, permeating to her bones. His hand traveled a now-familiar path, awakening each part of her body he touched. The sound of ice pinging the windowpane and the crackle of the hearthfire receded until they were alone, the world no bigger than this small space in a Mayfair townhouse. His body reacted, his sex lengthening beneath her bottom. Unable to arrest the impulse, she wriggled against him with a ragged sigh.
“Maybe you don’tneedme,” he breathed against her lips, “ but maybe you want me. Even if you shouldn’t. Let’s start there, because I want you. Which I definitely should.”
Camille dropped her brow to his and felt love tear down the walls she’d placed around her heart.
For one rushed second, before the deal was done, she imagined a future without Tristan. The decision—yes—was simple when she registered the dreadful feeling engulfing her.
Shecouldn’tlive without him.
“You can keep yourself and have me, too. I’m not asking you to fade into me and lose what makes youyou.” Tristan trailed his finger down her cheek, her jaw, and into the neckline of her bodice. Her nipples strained, begging for release. He wasn’t fighting fairly, but then again, she didn’t want him to. “No more chasing a duke is required. Unless you’d like to catch him.”
Camille smiled and seized his lips beneath hers, deciding that was a promise she meant to make her devilish duke keep.
EPILOGUE
WHERE A DUKE AND DUCHESS GET A HAPPY ENDING.
Tierney Hall, North Yorkshire
Three years later
Camille tiptoed into the darkened bedchamber, her breath suspended. The room was bathed in milky light and was, remarkably, divinely silent. Dusting potting soil from her fingertips, she approached the bed, and her heart, as it often did, dropped to her knees.
The duke and his heir were fast asleep. Lying on their sides facing each other, chests rising and falling in an exhausted tempo. Tristan’s arm was secured solidly around their son’s tiny waist to keep him from rolling off the bed. They’d managed to wear each other out if the books and toys scattered across the space were any indication.
She perched on the edge of the mattress and brushed a lock of hair the exact color of Tristan’s, right down to the amber tips, from her son’s cheek. Except for the nose he’d inherited from her, and possibly his stubborn little chin, he looked exactly, astoundingly, like his father.
Oh, Tris,she thought in gratitude and love.
She’d not known a man could be such a carefree father, could cherish a child with such intensity. When they’d found out she was pregnant a month after their wedding, she hadn’t expected Tristan to be so engaged. So elated. In theton, it simply wasn’t done. Her father had barely paid attention to her or her brother—and he’d never seemedhappyabout having children. Yet, Tristan was so involved she’d found time to research a stouter species of English rose, record data on the growth of her Sussex plum and consult on the construction of a new conservatory at Tierney Hall. They had help, obviously, a large staff, but Tristan preferred to do much with and for Ethan himself.
“For God’s sake, don’t wake him up,” her husband muttered from the depths of his pillow. “Unless you want to see a duke cry.”
Camille laughed, very softly, and started to rub Tristan’s back, the gentle circles he liked best. “How can a tiny boy cause such strife? You must be mistaken. Ethan is an angel.”
He hummed lazily beneath his breath, on the verge of dropping back to sleep. “I chased him around this chamber until I grew faint and had to sit down. Embarrassing to be outmanned by a two-year-old.”
Camille stretched out behind Tristan, throwing an arm over his hips and fitting her body to his. His skin was hot, his body hard. A faint quiver moved through her limbs and settled between her thighs. “You’re so good with him, Tris.”
The mattress dipped as he tugged the sheet to Ethan’s chest. “I don’t know how. I love him so much I guess it comes naturally. Like it does with you. With everyone else, I’m rubbish.”
“Natural makes me think of certain activities, activities best performed without clothing.” She nibbled on a sensitive patch below his ear, and he groaned with delight. Her hand trailed beneath the counterpane, down his chest, over his flat belly, and into his waistband. He was hard and pulsing, ready for her. “Do you want to seize this opportunity and sneak off to my bedchamber? I don’t sleep there, so we should use the room for something.”
Tristan lifted his head, glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were turning a spectacular, mossy green, meaning he was about to kiss every thought from her mind. “I think I can summon the strength, since you’re asking so nicely, being an agreeable husband and all.” His lips lifted in the lazy smile that had her insides melting and doing a dreamy slide to the floor. “You know what your blistering look does to me, Princess.” Without disturbing their son, Tristan rolled over and sank his hand into her hair and pulled her into another world, his world,theirworld. “How long will it take to summon the nursemaid?”
Ethan’s wispy snore ripped them apart. Camille rolled from the bed, held up a hand that shook. After all this time, her husband still made her tremble. “I’ll meet you in my bedchamber. Five minutes.” She crossed the chamber, then turned to find him sitting up in bed, his expression joyful, his gaze scorching. “No, make it four.”
“Princess,” he called as she opened the door.
She looked back.