A Kiss For Midwinter (Brothers Sinister #1.5)(39)

“You and your technicalities.” But she only leaned against him, running her hand along his hip. “I suppose you want French letters instead of French hens? That’s not very romantic of you.” But she kissed him as she spoke.

“There is really nothing less romantic than chickens,” he told her. “They leave droppings all over the place, die at the slightest provocation, and are stupid enough to spend three weeks trying to hatch rocks. You keep your chickens. Let me have my true love, and hang the gifts.”

She let out a little breath, ducked her head and put it against his shoulder.

“Lydia.” He pulled her close, breathed in the scent of her.

“I need your advice.” She spoke without looking up, her breath whispering against his skin.

“Mm.”

“There’s this man. He’s had his eye on me for months, but I haven’t always treated him kindly.” Her words faltered. “He gave me the truth for Christmas. The first time—and the second time—and the third time he offered it, I couldn’t take it. How do I let him know…” Her voice faltered. “How do I let him know that I want nobody but him?”

“Show up in the middle of the night with a French letter,” he advised, setting a finger under her chin, “and he’ll likely get the message.”

He tilted her face up. She looked in his eyes, and he smiled.

“No point in being subtle.”

“No,” she breathed. “I suppose not.”

“But just to be sure,” he said, leaning down and setting his forehead against hers, “you’d better try it again tomorrow. And the day after. And every day you can, until we’re married. When do you think that will be, Lydia? Because I’m hoping for soon. Very soon.”

Epilogue

Some weeks later

THERE WAS AN UNEARTHLY LIGHT IN THE ROOM when Lydia woke up that morning—that curious reflected brightness filtering through a gap in the curtains, one that suggested that there was now a foot of snow on the ground.

She sat up, leaned over, and touched her fingers to her husband’s shoulder.

Her husband. Now, that was a word that was still new, so new that she bit her lip even thinking it. That word was almost as new as the year.

“Jonas,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. She could tell he was awake, though, because his eyes screwed shut, and his mouth contorted in a half-grimace.

“Jonas,” she repeated, “it snowed last night.”

“Mmm.”

“That means that Minnie and Robert will be trapped here until the trains are running,” Lydia said, “and that we can meet them for breakfast after all.” Her best friend had come into town for the wedding, and had stayed for almost a week. It had been wonderful, even if Minnie had made a few sly comments along the lines of I told you he fancied you. Lydia had been too happy to protest. And, well, Minnie had told her so.

“Your hands are cold,” Jonas muttered. And before she could say anything in response, he reached out and took her fingers off his shoulder, and then pressed them between his palms. “Let me warm them for you.” He held them for a few moments, rubbing them lightly, before opening his eyes. “That’s scarcely helping. You know what you need?” he asked.

“What do I need?”

“Increased blood flow,” he responded smoothly.

Lydia leaned over and kissed him. “Increased blood flow is my favorite,” she informed him, and then proceeded to show him precisely how much she favored proper circulation. Somewhere, in the middle of a long, lingering kiss, he took off her night rail, and she divested him of the remainder of his clothing.

The rest was a foregone conclusion—the warmth of his skin, the slick desire of her own female liquid, and the hard thrust of his body into hers, slow and steady, his hips claiming hers as he looked into her eyes. He was her husband of just a few days, but he already knew how to drive her to the edge of wildness and beyond.

When he’d finished, he kissed her again. “Did I ever tell you why I wanted to marry?” he asked.

“Because you couldn’t resist me.”

“Because I wanted a source of regular sexual intercourse, one that wouldn’t risk disease,” he responded.

Lydia leaned into his shoulder, smiling against his skin. “Oh, too bad,” she said in mock sympathy. “And instead, you got a wife who loves you.”

A smile spread across his face—a big, golden smile, one that had Lydia smiling in return. “There is no instead,” he said. “Only in addition. I got the woman I loved.”