Bedded Under The Christmastide Moon by Christina McKnight

Author:Christina McKnight
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: 0
Published: 2018-08-06T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

ALARM BELLS—NO, EAR-PIERCING SIRENS!—went off in Brigham’s head.

This was not how things were supposed to progress. Mellie was not to be at the steward’s cottage. She was not meant to remove her cloak and her—gulp—gloves. And she, most definitely, positively, unquestionably was not destined to place her bare, naked hands upon him in such an intimate manner.

Naked… His mind spiraled to more than just her hands being bared before him.

Oh, dear blessed Father above.

Brigham was losing the thin thread of composure he’d held on to since her arrival in the doorway.

Her breath was like a warm summer breeze on his neck. She was so close, a lock of her long, reddish blonde hair fell upon his shoulder. Blast it all, but he had to halt himself from reaching up and bringing it to his nose. Would she smell of strawberries? Vanilla? Perhaps she’d have the scent of blueblossoms clinging to her as she had on their wedding day.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, concentrating on why he was at the steward’s cottage in the first place.

Yes, he remembered. His mind was foggy with lust, but he did, indeed, remember his purpose herein.

He’d come in search of a private space where he did not have to fear interruption for the specific purpose of thinking through all he was to say to Mellie when next they met. He’d thought to outline a conversation where he would confess his misdeeds and beg her forgiveness, then and only then, would they speak of the past and decide, as rational adults, if they had a future together or if their time to be a true wedded couple had come and gone while both were preoccupied with other things. Certainly, Mellie’s ailing mother had been far more important than their marriage, though Brigham knew his work in London hadn’t been imperative enough to keep him from his husbandly responsibilities.

Bloody hell. He never should have abandoned her for his lofty aspirations among the ton. It had taken him five long years for this truth to break through his thick head.

…and now it could be too late.

What had they been speaking of before she placed her hands on his shoulders?

Mr. Briars, his steward.

For some reason, speaking of the servant in this moment—as Mellie’s hands moved from his upper arms, back to his shoulders, and down toward his chest—did not seem a wise choice.

Or even a discussion Brigham capable of.

He exhaled, his breath leaving him in more of a moan than a sigh as his eyes drifted closed.

They were alone and over a mile from Hockcliffe manor and two miles from town. No one was close enough to give this private moment an ounce of propriety. But then again, he and Mellie were husband and wife and were not in need of a chaperone.

Her hands drifted lower still, nearly reaching his stomach as they glided over his jacket.

“You are very tense, my lord.” With his eyes still closed, he could feel her lips by his ear.

“Brig-ham,” he hissed and immediately sucked in his breath as something grazed his neck, directly behind his ear.

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