Knight of Christmas Read online

  Angeline’s eyes softened. For the first time since he had burst his way back into her life, he did not see wariness and distrust in her gaze. Instead, affection and desire glowed in their depths. He tamped down his physical response. Later. They would explore this soon and most thoroughly.

  Peter pulled him over to the sideboard. “Look, Uncle Bran. We made wassail!”

  The scent of mulled spices and warm apple cider filled Bran’s senses. Cranberry loaf slices and frosted sugar cookies were arranged on silver serving trays. He looked toward the small table set up on the opposite side of the parlor.

  “I thought we could have our meal in here.” Angeline smiled. “Nothing fancy, some sweet meats, cold roast beef, and mince pie. I have given the servants leave to celebrate the holiday in their own way tonight. In fact, William, you may join the others. We can see to ourselves tonight.”

  William smiled and bowed. “My thanks, Lady Oakby, Mr. Knight, and a happy Christmas to you all.”

  The young man all but ran from the room, eager to join the celebrations below stairs.

  “You have outdone yourself. Everything is perfect.” Bran clasped Angeline’s hand, kissed it, and playfully nibbled on her knuckles. He was glad they did not wear gloves tonight. “However, you are the most perfect thing in this room. Your splendor leaves me speechless.”

  His charm maybe a bit rusty, he used it so rarely. Angeline flushed prettily at his words. Bran pulled out the chair for her. “Let me serve, my angel.”

  Angeline sat and he pushed her chair in. His hand moved slowly up her arm until it rested upon her bare shoulder. She trembled under his touch and, he surmised, not out of fear. Bran lingered and caressed her luminescent skin. When he heard the soft moan escape her lips, he reluctantly pulled his hand away. Peter chattered about things only a child finds relevant, and Angeline answered his queries in her gentle and indulgent tone.

  The desire flowing through him caused his breath to catch in his throat. It took all his self-control not to dismiss Peter from the room, sweep the dishes from the table, lay Angeline on it, and make wild love to her all night.

  His sexual appetite was always ferocious, but never had it reached such heights with any woman except Angeline. He wanted to see if it was all just a young man’s romantic recollections, something which had no basis in reality. Regardless, he would abide by his promise. Angeline would have to make the invitation. Meanwhile, he was in torment.

  Bran filled Peter’s plate and sat it before him, then did the same for himself and Angeline. He poured the sherry for them and cider for Peter.

  Once seated, he raised his glass. “A very happy Christmas to us all. May all our Christmas wishes come true. Cheers!”

  They drank, settling into polite conversation while they ate. Soon music could be heard outside, more specifically singing. Bran recognized the carol, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”. It must be the townspeople. Angeline dabbed her mouth with the lace napkin and stood.

  “I did pray they would come. In other years when Oakby was here, he would not allow me to open the door and greet them. Still they returned, year after year, to wish this house well. Bran, could you ready the glasses?”

  Angeline left the room to bid the carolers enter. They sang “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” lustily, loud, and well. Bran was impressed. He stood beside Angeline, curved his arm around her waist, and pulled her close. She relaxed into his embrace. Hang it if the whole town knew of his feelings. He was beyond caring what was proper and accepted. The woman he loved stood next to him, and Bran wanted to shout his declaration from the snow-dusted rooftops. When the carolers finished, Bran applauded along with Angeline and Peter.

  Angeline stepped forward and passed around the trays of loaf and cookies. She introduced him as “Mr. Brandon Knight, an old friend of the family.” His mouth quirked at the description, but the carolers greeted him warmly without judgment or reservation. After they finished eating, they sang “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” as they waved and made their way farther along the street.

  He turned toward Angeline. She had tears in her eyes. Emotion was a very good sign. She held out her hand for Peter.

  “I will see him to bed, and I will return shortly. Say good night to Uncle Bran, darling.”

  Peter ran to Bran, so he lowered himself to his haunches to receive the hug the boy freely offered.

  Peter kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “The Christmas wish is going to come true, I know it.”

  And with that, he followed his mother out the door.

  He was alone.

  Bran could hear the faint singing of “Silent Night” from the carolers. He walked to the sideboard and reached for the brandy. Courage perhaps? He poured himself a generous amount in the snifter, then slowly swirled it in his hand as he tried to collect his thoughts.

  Bran strode to the window. Snow gently fell over the town. Gaslights cast a magical glow on the cobblestone street. It was quiet; he could no longer hear the lusty singing of the carolers. A carriage passed by, the horse’s hooves clopping on the stones. In the distance the peal of church bells rang out in the still, frosty air. Before he knew it, his snifter was empty and Angeline had returned. Bran set down the glass and turned to her.

  Angeline held out her hand. “Come with me.”

  “Where?”

  Angeline cleared her throat and then smiled. “You said you would not come to my bed unless invited. Well, you are invited.”

  Bran grasped her arms and held her tight. “If you invite me, Angeline, I will never be leaving your bed or your life. Know that.”

  She gazed up at him, her smile soft and warm. “I am counting on just that outcome.”

  Bran scooped her up in his arms and headed toward the stairs.

  “Wait! Not yet…”

  “I’ll not wait another minute longer, Angeline.” Bran was determined and would brook no argument. Not tonight.

  “The candles. We can’t leave them burning,” She waved her arm frantically toward the open parlor door.

  “Bloody hell.” Bran reentered the parlor and slammed the door shut with his boot. He lowered her to the floor and dropped the key in his side pocket. He pulled at his coat and waistcoat, popping a couple of the gold buttons in the process.

  “What are you doing?” Angeline asked.

  “I had great plans if and when you did invite me to your bed. A languid and thorough seduction planned to the last moment. Lying sick in bed allows for such plotting.”

  Bran dropped the coat and waistcoat to the floor, then unbuttoned his shirt. “All wasted. As soon as you made the invitation, all reason and sanity left my brain. I need you now, Angeline. Here on the settee, against the wall, or in front of the fire. Preferably all three. You are in it up to your neck now and the restraints are off. The beast unleashed. I apologize in advance.”

  * * *

  Here was the Bran she had fallen in love with all those years ago, the tease, the tender caring man,—and the sensual beast. Here they would begin again, forget the past and move forward together. Angeline fought back a giggle as he struggled to remove his boots.

  However, all humor left her when he unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of them. He stood naked before her. Tightly-packed muscle hugged his torso down to his leanly carved hips and long muscular legs. His thick shaft stood at attention as glorious as she recalled.

  Could she do this? Angeline thought herself damaged and beyond repair. Bran had helped her forget her wretched past. He alone had reawakened her desire.

  The fact that Bran teetered close to death that one horrible night bought everything into clear lucidity. She did not want to live without him. They both made mistakes, foolish, youthful ones. Devil take it, she wanted to live a full, happy, passionate life, and she wanted it with Brandon Knight. She was in love with him. She had never stopped loving him. And never will.

  “Angeline? Pray do not tell me you’re having second thoug
hts. Nothing will kill this erection more quickly, I assure you.”

  Angeline reached behind to undo her gown. “We would not want that, would we?”

  Chapter 11

  Bran had never felt this exposed in his life. It was not just his naked state, but he hid nothing with regard to his feelings. Bran held back, though, from speaking the actual words of love. He wasn’t sure she felt the same. She desired him, obviously. The evidence was quite clear in the manner in which she acted out the slow removal of her gown.

  His mouth watered as the cranberry confection of silk pooled at her feet. Angeline wore only a see-through chemise underneath. No stockings and no other impediments. He grew harder.

  “I am ready for the beast.” She smiled seductively.

  The last threads of restraint left him. Bran walked to Angeline and grabbed a fistful of the gauze chemise and tore it right from her body. He let the ruined garment flutter to the floor while he gazed at her lush, naked form.

  “No woman has ever done this to me, no woman but you, Angeline.”

  Bran dropped to his knees and embraced her, laying his head against her hips. He closed his eyes as he explored the curve of her back and her shapely arse. Angeline tunneled her fingers through his hair. Even her slight touch had his heart beating double-time.

  He should see to her needs, and it took every last bit of his control to concentrate on that very task. Bran lowered his head and nuzzled his cheek into her golden curls. Angeline inhaled a deep breath and held it. He gently moved her legs farther apart and she acquiesced. She exhaled and it ended with a moan when his tongue slipped through her slit. Using every skill he’d learned over the years to bring a woman to her peak, he licked, and thrust his tongue inside her. Angeline moved slowly up and down on his thrusting tongue, her breathing uneven and her moans passionate. She forcefully grabbed handfuls of his hair almost to the point of pain.

  “Come for me, angel. Cry out, and embrace your release.”

  Angeline screamed, and he hoped the servants were too busy in their holiday revelry to hear it, as he had plans to make her scream the rest of this Christmas Eve.

  Angeline shuddered from her climax while he kissed his way up her body. Bran stood and grasped her head tightly between his hands. She was gloriously flushed, her eyes sparkling.

  “Taste how sweet you are.” He kissed her deeply.

  Bran lifted her into his arms, not breaking his kiss, and walked her to the wall next to the tree. The glow from the dozens of candles illuminated her skin to a fine polished pearl. “I have no sheaths with me. I haven’t been with anyone in nearly a year. Before that, I always used sheaths.” He was babbling, but he wanted to convey that he was not careless in his assignations, unlike Oakby.

  “I trust you,” she whispered in his ear.

  With her lush arse cupped in his hands, he thrust into her. Bran hissed loudly through his clenched teeth. So tight, it was obvious she had not had sexual congress for years.

  Bran was home. The last ten years melted like the candle wax pooling on the tree branches. It was their first time all over again, and had the same life-shattering impact. Bran thrust deep, and her inner muscles clenched him in an intimate embrace. Angeline’s nails dug into his shoulders with every forceful plunge.

  Bran wondered though the years if he had romanticized and exaggerated their joining. He hadn’t. Their coming together was everything that he remembered, dreamed, fantasized, and more. He thrust faster. Angeline cried out as another orgasm shook her. That was all he needed. About to pull out, she held him in place.

  “Stay,” she whispered breathlessly.

  That one word proved that she loved him. Trusted him.

  Mine—for now and for always.

  Bran shuddered with the powerful force of his release. So much for the weakness that had plagued him during his sickness. As soon as he pulled Angeline into his arms it was if he’d never been ill at all. He never felt so alive. A remarkable recovery to be sure.

  Bran slowly lowered Angeline until her bare feet touched the floor. “Ready to go again, my love?”

  * * *

  Angeline blinked, and then smiled. Bran had not changed. Still the insatiable man she’d remembered. How could she love this man more? The tender, considerate, and loving way he had shown with both her and her son proved his worth.

  He was not perfect. Bran could be prideful and stubborn. Cross Bran and he would shut down and exude a coldness to rival any winter storm. The proof had been clear when she first saw him in the study and he made her the insulting offer of being his housekeeper.

  Dear heaven, could that have been only two weeks ago? It seemed an eternity. Deep down however, was a man capable of great emotion and passion. This was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Otherwise she would not have allowed him to spill inside her. Bran managed to banish the horrors of both their pasts. The healing had begun in earnest. For them both.

  She grabbed a fistful of his silky hair, pulled him close until he was barely an inch from her lips. “Oh, yes. Ready. What is next on your list, the settee?”

  She kissed him with all the love in her soul. Bran’s animal groans urged her to take the kiss deeper. She slipped away from him and walked to the settee, swinging her hips in a provocative manner. Angeline soon had Bran on his back. She clutched his now fully aroused shaft, savoring the feel of the velvet-soft strength pulsating in her hand. Lowering herself, she began the familiar rhythm she’d never forgotten in all these years. Grasping her hips, he thrust upward to meet her rocking motion.

  They came together, shouted in unison, and then collapsed on the cushions they had placed in front of the hearth. Bran pulled the wool throw over them as they cuddled. Angeline laid her head on his chest, her fingers swirling about in his damp chest hair. She was content, and well satiated.

  “A rest, and then, my love, we will continue this upstairs.”

  Angeline laughed joyously and hugged him tight.

  * * *

  Dawn was about to break over the horizon. Bran glanced around the darkened room. Angeline murmured sleepily and curled in closer, causing him to harden further. They lay together like two spoons in a cupboard drawer, a perfect fit. Little kitten-like mews came from Angeline as she ground her lush arse against his prick.

  Last night after they christened the parlor and snuffed out all the candles, Bran carried Angeline to her bedroom where they proceeded to make love once again. Who knew that he had such a vast amount of stamina inside him? It was if they were trying to make up for all the lost years in one night.

  “Angeline, are you awake?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Lay your leg across my hips, angel.”

  Angeline did as he asked, turning her head slightly. “Why, Bran, do… Oh!”

  He slid into her as if he had never left, pumping with a slow circular motion that had Angeline moaning. They were insatiable. There was no other word to describe the last twelve hours. Their release took no time at all. They climaxed in perfect unison. Bran pulled her into his arms and held her close until their breathing regulated.

  “Bran, you must go to your room. Peter will be awake at any time.”

  Leaving was not an option. Ever. It dawned on him that Christmas morning had arrived. Bran was about to speak when he heard the light footsteps of an eager child coming down the hallway.

  “Mama, Father Christmas was here!”

  Bran scrambled out of bed and quickly picked up his clothes from the floor. With one last look at his deliciously disheveled goddess, he stepped through to his connecting room and closed the door.

  Less than thirty minutes later, Bran stood in the parlor awaiting Angeline and Peter. Much to the horror of Quinn, Bran insisted on wearing the same clothes he had the night before. They were a little wrinkled, but Bran hardly cared. He managed to shave and have a sponge bath, but he could still smell Angeline on his skin. Perhaps he loathed to be rid of her essence
as yet.

  The servants must have been in early to tidy and arrange the presents as there was no evidence that wild, passionate sex had taken place there. Bran closed his eyes briefly and relived the sensual memory of the previous night.

  Bran poured himself a snifter of brandy. Perhaps too early to imbibe, but it was Christmas. Swirling the amber ambrosia in the glass, he gazed out the window. Freshly fallen snow shimmered in the early morning sun. A couple of goldfinches landed on a nearby branch of the major oak tree. Their glorious song spoke to his heart, which soared in joyous bliss. Overly sentimental, but Bran did not care. It was the season for such thoughts.

  Still, a nagging thought picked at him. They did not speak of love or a life together at all last night. But their bodies spoke more than mere words, surely. There was still a chance Angeline did not want what he did—a life together.

  He patted his coat pocket, the pocket which held the papers he would gift Angeline. Bran wanted to discuss this with her last night, but they were pleasantly distracted. How best to proceed here? Bran had thought of nothing else while he was bedridden. This was the best solution, though he had a backup plan as well. First and foremost, he had to think of Angeline and Peter, not himself.

  Angeline entered the room alone. She wore a pretty dark-green gown with white lace, which looked very festive indeed. It took all Bran’s self-control not to take her in his arms and muss her quite thoroughly. Angeline’s warm and welcoming smile caused his heart to tumble in his chest.

  “Peter is having his breakfast and will join us directly. I thought we should spend a moment alone.”

  Bran set his brandy on the table. “I could not agree more. Come, sit with me. I wish to speak with you.”

  He led her to the settee and they both sat upon it. Bran turned to face her. “I have something here that should ease your worries.” He reached into his side pocket and pulled out the folded officious-looking documents. “I will save you the time of reading all the solicitor jargon. It is proof of purchase of a large cottage just outside Herne Bay and the property is in your name.”