Page 69 of The Virtues of Christmas
Chapter Six
Late on a bitter winter evening, Patience delighted in her own personal springtime. The soft breeze of Dougal’s breath at her nape had been her only warning that a man could kiss a lady in places every bit as interesting as her mouth. The sensations that followed had been sweet, surprising, lovely, and so…
Words failed. Patience suspected they’d fail frequently when it came to Dougal P. MacHugh’s lovemaking. His nightshirt bore the scents of heather and lavender, his blue and white quilt put her in mind of the sky on a fine May morning.
He came around the privacy screen, his manly wares on display from the waist up.
Gracious, everlasting angels.“What was the point of combing your hair, Dougal?” She would delight in mussing it up for him.
“To be presentable for my lady. My nightshirt has never looked so fetching. I haven’t a warmer to run over the sheets.”
Patience had cuddled in Dougal’s lap for the better part of an hour, and nothing—nothing at all—compared to the snug, cozy intimacy of his embrace.
“I suspect a warmer won’t be necessary.”
“I wish I had one, though,” he said, starting on the buttons of his falls. “Seemed like an extravagance for a bachelor. For you, I want only warm sheets, fresh sachets, and a steaming pot of chocolate in the morning.”
He might have been reciting the legend of Beowulf for all Patience could heed his words. The tone, though—the intimate, casual tone—did odd things to her insides. The placket of his falls draped open, and he stepped out of his remaining clothing all at once.
He folded his breeches over the privacy screen, giving Patience a good view of his backside.
“I’ve seen statues,” she said. “The Elgin Marbles, for example.”
Dougal, as naked as God made him, banked the fire. “Are you a connoisseur of ancient sculpture, then?”
Patience’s breath had developed a hitch to go with the peculiar leaping about of her heart. “I have a lively sense of curiosity, which I suspect you are generously obliging.”
The viscount certainly hadn’t. He’d fussed about under her skirts, told her to close her eyes, and then commenced slobbering, poking, and muttering mangled French allusions to flowers and honeybees.
“I am a great believer in the power of knowledge,” Dougal said, hanging the cast-iron poker on the hearth stand and facing Patience. “I also favor deliberation over a heedless rush.”
Patience had lost the ability to fix her gaze where a lady should. She’d apparently acquired the eyes of a lover, because every inch of Dougal fascinated her. His arms, his knees, the distribution of hair over his chest, and… elsewhere.
“That ancient sculptor would have needed a deal more clay if you’d been his model.”
Dougal scratched his chest and yawned, looking magnificently male and oh so gloriously comfortable with it. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you were one of those Greek fellows, in the museum. The sculptor would need… perhaps the Greeks were a diminutive lot. I’m babbling. Are you giving me time to change my mind?”
Had Patience been cold earlier? The sight of Dougal in his natural glory pooled heat low in her belly.
He stepped closer. “You can change your mind, Patience. If you ask me to share that bed with you and not touch you the whole night through, I’ll do it. Don’t adhere to an earlier decision out of stubbornness, pride, or some notion that Mrs. Wollstonecraft would approve. Become intimate with me solely because you want to.”
Dougal’s regard was the least lover-like expression Patience had ever seen on a man. He was serious, almost somber.
“You could share a bed with me, having proposed marriage to me, and simply roll over and drop off to sleep?” She didn’t like that idea at all. Her fists were clenched with the effort to not touch him, to not lean in and taste him, not feel him body to body.
“I’d be daft by morning,” he said, threading a hand beneath Patience’s braid. “You might find me lying in the snow stark naked on the roof of the awning, only George to guard my carcass, but if you tell me to keep my hands to myself, I will.”
“I’d rather you made the effort to warm up the bed with me.”
He swept Patience up against his chest and deposited her on the bed, then came down over her.
“Do you have any questions, Patience?”
She loved Dougal for that. For making one last gesture as the man who believed in knowledge, the lover who was determined her role would not be passive.
“When can I take off this nightshirt?”
