Page 70 of The Virtues of Christmas
He shifted to the mattress beside her and pulled the covers up over them. “When the sheets aren’t as cold as the rooftop, I’ll be more than happy to assist you with that nightshirt.”
“You are so warm.” Warm like sunshine on daffodils, like a soft breeze on green fields.
To see Dougal behind his desk, polishing his spectacles, working at his ledgers, or reading the broadsheets put out by his competitors, Patience would not have suspected him of warmth.
But when he left the last of his crumpet for Harry, petted the lazy old cat, or strutted about his quarters in the altogether for Patience’s benefit, she saw a generosity of spirit that kindled both tenderness and desire.
“I’m having my cousins knit you some proper stockings,” Dougal said, working an arm beneath Patience’s neck. “Your feet are… they wake a man up.”
“Sorry.”
He cuddled her close. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Patience. If you’ve cold feet, I’ll warm those up too.”
Too?Well, yes too. Dougal rolled to his side and recommenced the kissing at a lazy, daundering pace. At first Patience tried to hurry him, to urge him on. She went so far as to put his hand on her breast—surely that was part of it?—but Dougal made no move to…move.
“I think the sheets are quite comfortable now,” Patience said as Dougal traced her eyebrows with his nose.
“I think you are in much too big a hurry. We haven’t a deadline here, my love. If, for example, you wanted to touch me—my chest, say—you have as much time to do that as you like.”
My love. What a delightful pair of words. “Touch… your… chest.”
The sheets were toasty by the time Patience realized that Dougal had presented himself as an assortment of sweets. She could select the curious textures of his chest—springy hair, odd little nipples, solid muscle, and a steady heartbeat—or she might prefer the satisfaction of sinking her fingers into the silky abundance of his hair and clutching tightly, the better to delight in his kisses.
Or those kisses might be her choice—soft, tender, passionate, playful. Dougal’s kisses were like spices wafting from a busy kitchen. Tantalizing, heady, exotic.
So much he offered her, and so generously.
This is how lovemaking is supposed to be.In the midst of this abundance, Patience felt both anger and sorrow for the young woman who’d been willing to settle for a mere prancing title.
“They lie to us,” she whispered. “The parents, governesses, and dancing masters. They lie, Dougal. And thus we lie to ourselves, until the truth is so obscured, a young woman dares not recognize it.”
Dougal shifted over her. “My feelings for you are honest, Patience. I love you. All that I am, all that I have will be yours forevermore.”
She kissed him, for having listened to her, for the very deliberation that had so frustrated her earlier.
“If you don’t get me out of this blasted nightshirt, Dougal, I will—”
He sat back, a rearing lion of a healthy male. “Sit up, then, lass.”
Patience wiggled to her elbows, and there was an awkward moment when her breasts were first bared to her lover. The awkward moment didn’t last, because she was too busy studying the part of Dougal that would now requirefarmore clay than those puny Greeks in the museum had.
“Touch me,” Dougal said. “I adore your curious mind.”
They touched each other. Patience learned the contours and textures of the aroused male, and Dougal obliged her with all manner of caresses and kisses to her breasts. She also learned that lovemaking could happen in a variety of positions—Dougal claimed most of his knowledge was theoretical, which diplomatic untruth she allowed him.
No man who brought a lady this much pleasure was working entirely from theory.
And Patience was through with testing theories anyway.
“Enough talk,” she panted, for Dougal’s attentions to her breasts left her breathless. “Enough Latin, cant, and anatomy. Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m delighting,” Dougal replied, bracing himself on his arms above her. “It’s no’ the same thing a’tall.”
His burr grew thicker, along with other parts of him. Patience positively reveled in that knowledge.
“Make love with me, Dougal. There’s a deadline now. A tight, pressing deadline.”
“Never that,” he said, hitching closer. “This is the easy part, Patience. We take all the time we please, maybe even have a wee discussion as we go.”
