My Christmas Knight: a steamy Christmas novella by Anne Knight

Author:Anne Knight [Knight, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ARKA Publishing
Published: 2024-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

York, December 26, 1856

Dennis wished he had his rifle. Or a knife. Even a sharp fork, at this point. There weren’t even candlesticks in the room to use as a club.

By midnight, cold had seeped into the car. Without the heat of the car’s friction along the track the air had cooled noticeably. Sighing, he bent over and began to unlace his shoes.

“What are you doing?” Blanche’s clear voice cut through the haze of helpless rage surrounding him. Her voice wasn’t especially melodious, dusky, or bell-like. But the sincerity she conveyed through her tone made him feel…seen. How had she survived so long?

“I’m tired,” he said. “If you do not mind?” His mind unhelpfully provided images of Blanche in bed, twining around him like ivy, naked limbs trembling with pleasure. No, if he was trying to escape marriage to the woman, those fantasies moved him in the wrong direction.

She shook her head, eyes bright.

Dennis removed his shoes but not his socks. He didn’t like people staring at his left foot. He’d lost his small toe to frostbite around last New Year, and Blanche didn’t need to know that. He was one of the lucky ones; he knew several men who’d lost a whole foot. He unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged it off, looking up to see if Blanche would blush and protest.

Instead, she stared at him with wide eyes and parted mouth. Those lips were begging for a kiss.

God, his throat was tight. Why couldn’t he breathe? His fingers dug between his necktie and collar, and he quickly untied it. “Do you want to be more comfortable?” he asked, clearing his throat. “Change into anything?”

Blanche hesitated, then nodded. She stood and opened a trunk, withdrawing a linen nightdress. She glanced up at Dennis, question in her eyes.

Dennis turned away, knowing she wanted privacy. “You realize this isn’t what a red-blooded man likes to do when locked in a room with a beautiful woman.” Shite, had that actually come out of his mouth? He was no lady’s man, but he’d thought he had more decorum than a blootered sailor.

Blanche squeaked, but she didn’t sound upset by his presumption.

Fabric rustled for a second time that evening. Dennis’s cock grew hard in half a second. He gritted his teeth at the sensation. Down. This is the worst thing for her. But the blood steadily pumped southward until he pressed against the waistband of his trousers. Blood pounded in his ears. It was a good thing she couldn’t see his lust.

Dennis closed his eyes and willed his erection to subside. Frogs. Artillery fire. Gangrene. Great aunt Astrid. Nothing changed, save for his fists becoming sweaty.

“I’m decent,” Blanche chirped.

Dennis didn’t know what to do. He turned and went to the bed. He sat down and placed one of the two pillows casually across his lap. Like he was thirteen. Good grief, what was happening to him?

Blanche didn’t seem to notice. And why would she? She’d been reared at a strict all girls’ school, then practically a prisoner at her uncle’s house.

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