The utterly irrational thought lodged in his mind with such force he reeled back. Hell. He’d been acquainted with her less than two days. Nobody decided this soon, did they? And yet equally as strong, the knowledge that he couldn’t propose right now, whisk them both to Doctor’s Commons or the archbishop for a special license and welcome the New Year with a wedding, made him inordinately bitter.
“Arran?” said Rachel uncertainly.
He reached down and cupped her cheek, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Forgive me. I’m pondering if it would be so bad to rip my own trousers off.”
She laughed. “A waste of fine tailoring. Let me do it.”
“Very well,” he said, his breath hissing between his teeth as she further teased him with a slow trouser button unfastening and fabric sliding. Finally freed of its prison, his hugely engorged cock bobbed against his abdomen, and Arran moved back to lie against the pillows on the bed, mindful of the cold wooden floor beneath Rachel’s knees. “Up here, kitten.”
“Can I…can I touch you?” she asked, as she settled between his outstretched legs.
“You may.”
Rachel shuffled forward, and if his cock didn’t hurt so damned much, he would have been charmed by her fascinated and tentative handling of his erection as she attempted to close her fingers around the girth and stroke it. Then her thumb brushed the head, wet with pearly moisture, and he gasped.
Her eyes gleamed, and holding his gaze, she lifted her thumb to her lips and licked it. “Hmmm. The taste is…salty. And earthy, too. But I think I need more to be certain.”
Speechless with lust, he could only watch as Rachel inexpertly but enthusiastically dragged her tongue along his cock before lapping at the head. He reached down, and with rough, unsteady hands, dislodged her hairpins so he could tangle his fingers in her curls and guide her head.
“Take me in your mouth, darling. That’s it. Now, a gentle suck, and use your tongue on the underside.”
She moaned, a shiver rocking her whole body as she obeyed. Soon she grew more confident, taking his cock a little deeper, sucking him a little harder with both her lips and the insides of her cheeks, and a groan of pleasure tore from his throat. His mistletoe mistress was a fast learner, and her obvious enjoyment in the act only made him harder. Yet he wouldn’t last much longer, not when it felt so damned good. Already his balls were heavy and tingling, warning of an impending explosion, and Arran began to pant, his grip on Rachel’s hair tightening.
“I’m going to come,” he gritted out. “In your mouth, or on your breasts. You choose.”
“Mmmm,” she replied, swallowing his cock further in response, her lips and tongue and fingers working busily. Seconds later his hips jerked, and he roared as his seed spurted down her throat in several violent bursts, the exquisite sensation only enhanced as she greedily sucked and squeezed his cock for more. When she’d drained him dry, her tongue flicked out and lapped him clean, then she sat back on her knees, hands clasped, eyes down.
Sheer submissive perfection.
“Excellent,” he said, somehow summoning the energy to shove back the quilt and sheets and get under them. “Come here, my Rachel.”
He lay flat on his back, she lay half on her side, half sprawled on him, her head on his chest and breasts pillowed against him, and again he was struck with a sense of absolute rightness.
“I think,” she whispered, “this is the best Christmas ever.”
Arran didn’t smile at her teasing tone. All he knew for certain was that there was no way he could marry Lady Sarah. Not when he held his dream woman in his arms. He would fight for them, beg or bribe Lady Sarah, hell, spend every waking hour helping her find a husband she could love if need be, as long as she agreed to break the contract. “Stay with me.”
The blunt words hung in the air, and Rachel looked up at him, startled. “What?”
What the hell are you doing? Too soon!
Ignoring the voice of reason, the fact she didn’t know he was a marquess, the betrothal contract debacle, that he still didn’t know everything about Rachel herself, he took a deep breath and blurted, “Don’t go north. Come back to London with me. I’m aware we have much to learn about one another, and each have matters to settle…but I believe we met for a reason. Compatibility like ours should never be discarded but nurtured into a more permanent arrangement.”
Christ. That was the best you could do? Hardly a Byronic declaration.
He tried again. “I am comfortable in the country. I like fields and fresh air and the scent of freshly tilled soil. But my circumstances have changed and I must live mostly in London now. With you at my side…I believe I could be happy there. And I would do everything in my power to make you happy, too.”
Rachel tilted her head, her gaze hopeful but uncertain. “Are you sure? There are things about me…my birth…”
“Such as you were raised in a school for foundlings?” Arran said gently.
She went rigid. “Ah…yes. And I had a…relative. A peer. Who turned his back on my mother and me. That is why I…I don’t like them.”
“I see,” he breathed, as the pieces fitted together. If he ever got his hands on the wretched cur, the uncle or grandfather would rue the day. “Well. In time you’ll learn not all peers are bad. But with me, you’ll always be safe. Always be cherished and given choices, and disciplined in the bedchamber when required. Understand?”
Rachel stared back at him in the shadowed warmth of the room, her eyes glistening and smile so joyful it made his chest ache. Then she nodded and cuddled closer.
“Yes, sir.”
Chapter 5
Somehow, she had been granted a Christmas miracle.
Leaning against the narrow window ledge overlooking the courtyard below, Rachel watched the light dust of afternoon snow falling.
