Virgin Unwrapped

Virgin Unwrapped

Christine Merrill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The thought of Robert Breton’s touch fills Anne Clairemont with a delicious, scandalous heat—but her family’s happiness depends on her going through with her planned marriage to his wealthy, cold business partner. Then Robert gives her a searing kiss beneath the mistletoe that changes everything. Soon he’s showing Anne the intimate pleasures they could share, determined to fan the flame of their desire and convince her to call off her engagement. But can she disappoint her parents to be with Robert, or will she break her own heart first?

Dear Readers,

When I was asked to do a companion story for A Regency Christmas Carol, I had no trouble coming up with a plot. All the while Joseph Stratford was finding redemption and falling in love, there was another story going on in the background, waiting to be told. Anne and Robert deserved a happy ending as well.

And, of course, it gave me an excuse to make Christmas last just a little bit longer.

Christine Merrill

To my readers: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter One

Anne Clairemont admired the sitting room of her once and future home, and gave an approving nod. Decoration for the holiday house party was well under way. If things were not exactly as they had been, at least it was more cheerful than it had been under her mother’s haphazard care.

Anne secretly admired the changes the new owner, Joseph Stratford, had made. It was true that he had a tendency to excess. Father called it a tradesman’s display of wealth, and unworthy of such a grand home. But it hardly mattered. Once she was married she would change everything back to the way it had been six years ago, before things had begun to go wrong.

Today, Mr. Stratford’s extravagance pleased her. It was demonstrated in the amount of holly, ivy and mistletoe that decked every available surface. The house looked as it had when she was a child, and all things had seemed larger and more wondrous. Despite herself, Anne smiled. Then, she returned her attention to her guest.

“Would you like tea, Mr. Breton?” May I pour for you?”

Mr. Stratford’s friend responded with his usual grim nod, and she tried not to let her hand tremble as she raised the pot. It was most unwise of her to have this reaction when around Robert Breton, but she could not seem to control it. He was a very attractive man.

Not to say that Joseph wasn’t handsome. In his own dark and intense way, he was. But he had a driven quality that made her more nervous than intrigued. She did not think that he would be an impatient husband, for he showed no signs of holding her unease against her. Once they were married, she suspected that he would forget her entirely. All he really cared about was the running of his mill, and the successful operation of his looms. A respectable wife was nothing more than a way to secure his place in a community that showed no signs of welcoming him.

And if Joseph was rarely to be at home, she might be forced to spend even more time alone with his business partner. Not that she really thought of Mr. Breton as such. He was a gentleman, and little more than the source of financing behind the ambitions of Mr. Stratford. But Joseph trusted him as a brother, and seemed to find nothing improper about the amount of time another man spent in her company, seeing him as a chaperone and escort rather than a rival.

Robert Breton had said nothing about finding his own accommodations in the area, seeming content with the best guest room at Clairemont. In Joseph’s absence, he treated the house almost as his own. Anne must get used to the idea that, if she was to be mistress here, he would be a semi-permanent member of the household.

Breton sipped his tea, and Anne held her breath, then chided herself for waiting on his approval. Of course, he would like it. In the many afternoons they’d spent together, she had learned to prepare it just so, and selected tidbits and delicacies for the tray knowing that he would favor them. It was foolish of her to care what he thought, or to try to impress him at all. But she enjoyed his company, and wanted him to like her.

She thought it had been going quite well. They’d struck up a friendship almost from their first meeting. They had laughed and chatted and walked every inch of the property together. But in the last few weeks he’d grown more and more distant around her, cold and silent. When they were alone, he was sometimes sarcastic in his responses. But when Joseph was present he treated her with courtesy, and smiled as though there were nothing wrong between them.

Had she offended him in some way? She could not think how. It made her work all the harder to be nice to him, hoping for some bit of warmth, or at least a smile. She quite liked his smile, especially when it was directed toward her. And the strength of his arm as they’d walked and she’d shown him the park of the manor that had once been her home. He had put his hands on her waist to help her over a stile, and she had taken longer than necessary, just to feel them holding her. Later, when she was alone with her thoughts, she could pretend that it had been a caress.

Perhaps that day he had noticed. He had stared back at her, his dark blue eyes smoldering with what she assumed was disgust at her weakness. Then he had slowly and deliberately withdrawn his hand. He had been cold to her ever since.

Was it so awful to have a tendre for a man who was not to be her husband? She would not let anything come of it, of course. She was all but promised to Joseph, and the happiness of several people depended on her ability to go through with the marriage as it had been planned.

But she could not say she loved him. Though she would lie to him on the subject if it was necessary, she should not have to lie to herself. Although he was kind, she felt no real excitement at the touch of Joseph Stratford. But the thought of Robert Breton’s touch filled her with a delicious, languorous heat. If she could not have that, then she must work to maintain his friendship. Without Robert here to visit with, she would sit alone in this great house, waiting for her husband to remember that there was anything more important in his life than work.

At the moment, it was almost as lonely as if she had no company at all. Her companion drank his tea in silence and could barely look her in the eye, ending each sip with a sigh of distaste and a glance out the window.

After a polite knock, the housekeeper entered and inquired after the menu for the next day’s entertainment. Guests were arriving for the holidays and everything had to be perfect. Anne supplied the necessary information and a smile of approval, then went back to her cup as the woman retreated.

“You treat the house as your own, already?” Mr. Breton said with a raised eyebrow and an accusing tone. “I understood that the engagement had not yet been announced.”

“Well, no,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “But it will be soon. Tomorrow, perhaps, at the ball. For now, Joseph seems to value my help. This was my parents’ house before he bought it. I know the staff and the rooms. And the best way to entertain in it. It is just…easier.”

“I see.” Robert said it as though he was catching her in some just uncovered deception, and not stating a fact that he understood almost as well as she did herself.

And then, he put down his teacup with a click and rose as though angered by the charade. “I must go. Stratford will be expecting me at the mill.”

It was an outright lie. In her presence, Joseph had often teased Mr. Breton about his disinterest in something so integral to his financial well-being. And Robert had responded with a laugh that he was quite content to remain by the fire and leave the place wholly to Joseph, so that they might both be happy. His current and sudden interest could mean only one thing: he was making lame excuses to remove himself from her presence.

Anne popped to her feet, searching for a way to stay his departure. “Must you go so soon? You have hardly touched your plate. Are you sure there is nothing more you wish? Because I would be happy to oblige you in anything you desire.”

“Do not make promises that you have no intention of keeping.” He was almost out of the room before she could think of a response.

“Wait. Please, Mr. Breton.” He turned and she decided to risk honesty and walked to him. “Is it me? Is it something I have done? You are clearly upset, and I do not know why.”

“You know quite well what the matter is,” Robert snapped.

She stood beside him now, looking up into his angry face. “In truth, I do not. Is there nothing I can do to make things right between us, as they used to be?”

“You wish things to be right between us?” He gave a mocking laugh. “Then you must begin to act like Stratford’s wife, if you truly mean to be so.”

“But I do,” she said, confused. “I am in this house from breakfast until late in the evening, ordering the servants about as though they were my own. But that is hardly odd. I belong here. I know this house like the back of my hand.”

“If you know it so well, then tell me where you are standing right now.”

It was her turn to laugh. “In the blue receiving room, of course.”

He jabbed a finger out, pointing to a place just above her head to an elaborate kissing bough hanging by a ribbon from the ceiling. “Under the mistletoe.”

She looked above her, and then back at him. “So I am,” she said, hardly able to take a breath. Without thinking, she wet her lips. What must he have thought of that? It probably appeared like an invitation. She was acting as though she wished him to kiss her.

But she did. With a marriage carefully arranged and only weeks away, she was thinking of kissing another man. It was disloyal of her, to Joseph and to her family. Robert would be disgusted by it, as he seemed to be by much of what she said and did. The silent moment stretched long between them, and she wondered what was to happen next. It would be best, she was sure, if she could make a simple apology, laugh at her own foolishness and back away from him.

“You offered me anything I might want,” he said.

Did he want a kiss, then? What harm could it do, if it was between friends? It was likely to be her only chance to have even a small taste of the lips of Mr. Robert Breton.

Without another word he removed the distance between them, standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body against her skin. She shut her eyes, waiting for the chaste peck on the lips that didn’t come. Instead his hands gripped her arms so tightly that it made her gasp. And then his mouth met hers, taking advantage of her moment of vulnerability to fill her with his tongue.

Was this natural? She had never heard of such a thing before. It felt like the most right and wonderful thing in the world. He tasted of the gingerbread that had been on the tea tray, sweet and spicy. She mimicked the slow surge and retreat of his tongue against hers, trying to catch the flavor. Though the room had seemed cold just a few moments ago, now it felt hot. But in an aching confusion, her nipples were still hard, pressing against her light stays until she feared he could feel them through her gown.

And perhaps he could. He was pushing her back toward the nearest wall until her shoulders were pressing against the plaster. Then, his hands moved to touch them, cradling her breasts in his palms as he kissed his way down her throat, covering every inch of exposed flesh with licks and nips. The massaging of his hands was so exciting that she almost forgot to breathe. There was a spiraling excitement deep within her, pressing her toward some fantastic place she’d never visited.

She could image one final touch or kiss that would take her out of this world altogether, leaving her fainting in his arms. Then he could lift her, carry her in a half swoon to the couch, cover her body with his and ravish her back to wakefulness.

Just then, he kissed her on the mouth again. Though she had only the most basic understanding of the marital act, her body tightened suddenly, and she could imagine what it must feel like to be claimed by a man. Something burst inside of her with a dizzying rush. She could breathe again in deep happy gasps that made her heart hammer and her legs tremble. It was the most amazing feeling she’d ever known, as though she’d been dead for years and suddenly reborn.

And it was the middle of the day in a public room of a house that was not hers. Servants had questions, guests would be arriving. At any moment, she might receive a visit from the man she meant to marry.

She fought free of his kiss and her own desires and pushed hard against Robert Breton’s chest. The cold rushed back into her spirit as his hands left her body. “What are you doing to me?” she whispered.

“Exactly what I’ve wished to, from the first moment I met you.” He was smiling the cold, hard, self-satisfied smile he’d worn so often when he looked at her of late, as though the kiss was not something magical, but merely a confirmation of her weak character. Then, he reached into his pocket and removed a handkerchief, touching it to the corner of his mouth to wipe away a drop of blood.

Dear Lord. Had she bitten him?

His smile grew slightly broader as he saw her shock at her total lack of control. “And now, Miss Clairemont, if you will excuse me, I must go to speak with your fiancé. I shall leave you to contemplate your own happy future with him.”

Chapter Two

Robert Breton ate the fine meal provided by his wealthy friend, willing himself to clear his plate. He would choke down each bite if he had to, and swill enough of the expensive port to blot the episode with Miss Clairemont from his mind.

A short distance from him, Anne looked equally uncomfortable, seated between her parents and scant inches from the watchful eyes of Stratford. Not that Stratford was bothering to observe her. Robert had forced a promise from him to pay more attention to the girl he meant to marry, but it seemed to be forgotten almost as soon as it was made. Joseph simply didn’t care for her other than as another measure of his success.

But that indifference did not give Robert the right to kiss her. He could pretend that he’d expected her to strike him, to protest, and to ban him from the house. If she had tried, he’d likely have kissed her all the more, using any tricks he could think of to prove to her what he already knew: she did not love Joseph Stratford. It was unworthy of her to marry him.

Robert’s own feelings were no more clear than hers. He should not be pretending that he was trying to save his friend from a fortune hunter. He wanted Anne Clairemont for himself. Her total surrender to him after only a few kisses proved the feeling to be reciprocated. The slightest prompting had produced an orgasm worthy of a Cyprian. The savage kiss she returned left him imagining the lover she would become. The idea that she might develop those talents in a bed other than his own was almost too painful to contemplate.

But he could not seem to stop brooding on it. He finished his dinner in silence and plodded through the dancing and games of the evening with a wooden smile until the last of the guests were retiring. Then he slipped from the room so that he would not be forced to witness a sweet goodbye between Stratford and Anne.

“Mr. Breton? We need to talk.” He had been too slow. The object of his desire was coming down the hallway toward him.

“Surely it can wait until tomorrow. It is late. I must be getting to bed.” There was that image again, of her, sprawled in his sheets. “Tomorrow. We will talk then. Skating is planned in the afternoon.” There would be other guests about, and servants. And God help him, Stratford. How was he to go on?

“I wish to speak to you now. Tonight.” There was an earnest desperation in her big, blue eyes. “My parents and I will be leaving soon. The rest of the party has retired. Surely you can spare a few moments.”

It was an innocent enough request. But there was no innocence left in him to spare. Still, he was not strong enough to refuse her. “Very well. A few words only.”

She took him by the arm and pulled him into a small parlor at the back of the house, shutting the door behind them. The room was rarely used and barely lit. The lack of decoration proved that no one was expecting the guests to come to this part of the manor. They might be alone together for some time before anyone even thought to look here.

The thought was both pleasing and unnerving. He took a breath, reminding himself of the risks. Then he said, “What is it you wished to discuss?”

“I need to know why you kissed me.”

“Why?” Could she truly be this naive? Had it not been obvious from the first day how he had struggled with his feelings for her, knowing he must not touch her even as circumstance had pushed them closer and closer together?

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Why would you do such a thing? I did not think you liked me.” She was wringing her hands as though it embarrassed her to admit her fears.

“Like you?” He laughed in surprise. “I wish I did not. What I feel for you is far stronger than polite regard. It will be the ruin of me, I’m sure. But there is little I can do about it.”

“You seemed so cold,” she pressed on. “So distant.”

“You are a fine one to talk. You are willing to give yourself to a man you do not care for, just to get his fortune and his house.”

“That is not true,” she said. “About my not caring for Joseph. I care…very much.”

Robert groaned. “That is even worse. What kind of woman are you that you allow me to kiss you when you claim to care for another? And now that I have embarrassed myself by revealing my desire for you, how can you torture me with your feelings for my best friend?”

“I do not mean to hurt you,” she insisted. “I do not wish ill on anyone. And, of course, I care for Joseph. How could I not? He is kind, and has been good to me and to my family. I must care for him. I simply must.” She said the last as though she needed to convince herself of the fact, more than him.

“But all those times when we were alone together, were you simply being kind to me because I am a friend of Joseph’s?” he asked.

“Yes. No. I mean…I like you. Of course I do. If things were different…” Then she stopped, as though fearful to say more.

“You like me.” He felt a totally inappropriate surge of confidence. With her formal engagement only a day away, he must take steps quickly to fan the flame, or he would lose her forever.

“Well, of course I like you,” she said, as though it should have been obvious to him.

“But that does not explain why you allowed me to kiss you.”

Her eyes went wide, as though it had not occurred to her that she might be required to take a share of the blame for their indiscretion. “It was just a kiss under the mistletoe.”

“That was all it was to you, really?”

She knew quite well that it was no simple kiss. The dim light could not hide her blush. He reached out and touched a curl at her temple. “Suppose I were to kiss you here, tonight. There is no mistletoe to be found, so you would have no excuse for what happened. Would you allow it?”

“I should not,” she said, quietly.

“Should not is quite different from shall not. Let us see which one applies.” He bent his head to her, and kissed her.

It took no coaxing to get an ardent response. Her mouth was open. Her tongue met his. Her body strained to be touched. He need have no fear that she preferred another, for it was plain when they were alone that she wanted no one but him. He pulled her hips tight to cradle them against his erection, wondering how much she knew of a man’s desire and how perfectly she might satisfy it. Did he dare to show her tonight?

“Please,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek. “You were right. It was more than a kiss. Do not tempt me to go further. My parents are here. If we are discovered…” She pushed his hand away from where it hovered by her breast.

His curiosity was satisfied. She’d admitted that she cared for him, and had been moved by him. He should make an apologetic withdrawal and escort her back to find her parents. But it would be far better to give her another reason to refuse, when Stratford finally made his offer. Robert kissed her gently on the forehead and ran a finger along the top edge of her gown, ruffling the lace that lay against her skin. “I suppose this means that you will not let me see the loveliness of your breasts. It will take more time getting you back into your gown than it will take me to have you out of it.”

“Robert!” She said his name in an urgent whisper.

“You did not say no, just now, my sweet. If you wish to put me off, you will need to be clear about the fact.”

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