Page 91 of The Mistletoe Countess
“Might I accompany you to our sitting room? Where we can…” Her gaze spoke in a language his pulse interpreted perfectly. “Talk?”
“Excellent.”
“There is a lot to say.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It may take a while.”
“All afternoon, I’d expect.” He met her volume, ready to devour those lovely lips of hers.
“Do you wish to have tea brought up, my lord?” Mrs. Powell asked as they passed through the threshold.
“No, thank you.” Frederick turned to her but did not release his hold on his wife. “In fact, I should like to rest until dinner.”
He pressed his palm over Grace’s hand so snug against the crook of his arm and kept an unhurried pace up the stairs of the Great Hall. The room looked resplendent with holiday decor. The tree, which had been barren before he’d left, now stood adorned in old ornaments, strings of white beads, and dashes of holly. Garland trimmed the stair rail, framing the room in evergreen and ribbons.
“I don’t know as I’ve ever seen the hall so festive.”
Grace’s nose wrinkled with her grin. “Do you like it?” She leaned close as they continued their climb. “I would have you note the very strategic placement of mistletoe. I expect you to keep with tradition, my lord, publicly or privately, at your pleasure.”
“At my pleasure?” He raised a brow, and as soon as they turned the corner on their private hallway away from curious eyes, he swept her into his arms for a lingering kiss. “Will that do?”
“It’s a wonderful start,” she breathed, tugging at his jacket. “But don’t worry, I’ve placed mistletoe around my bed too, just in case you needed more reminders.”
“I need no reminders, darling.” He brought her fingers to his smile and kissed them, slowly trailing his lips over each one in such a way that his beautiful bride gasped. “I think you should write me letters every day.”
“I was inspired by your grandparents’ letters.” Her breath shook out the words, her gaze focused on his lips against her hand. “They provide such lovely romantic inspiration.”
Once they were sequestered in their sitting room, Frederick guided Grace to the window seat and tugged her down on his lap, continuing the kiss he’d started in the hallway. She tasted of warmth and strawberries—and home. Her rosemary scent wrapped around him in welcome as she melted against him, the softest breath escaping her mouth as he skimmed his lips down her neck.
“Grace,” he whispered against her neck as he skimmed kisses across her skin. “I’ve never longed for anyone like I long for you.”
She pulled back, her palms framing his face as glimmers of sunlight bathed her glorious hair in fiery gold. “That was beautifully poetic.”
He kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. “Next time you’re going with me to London.”
Her nose skimmed over his, teasing. “And on any of your other adventures?”
“Allof my other adventures.” His mouth took another detour down her neck.
“Since you’re so agreeable for the moment.”
His lips found her ear.
“I have a confession to make.”
His palms found their way into her hair, loosening her pins. Cool locks of silk fell over his knuckles, and he buried his face into them. “Mm-hmm?”
“I met Lily yesterday.”
Lily?His hands paused in her hair, his gaze meeting hers. “What?”
She smoothed her palms over the front of his shirt, a pucker forming on her brow. “I didn’t plan to meet her, but I was out riding—”
“What did you think of her?”
“She’s wonderful!” Her smile spread. “I fell in love with her on the spot, and the fact you named her after your grandmother—”
“You knew about her name?”
“You forget, I have your grandmother’s letters, and when you’ve talked of them, I’ve listened.” Grace drew so close those gold flecks hidden in her sapphire orbs glistened in the sunlight. “I see the love of your grandparents in you. Their kindness and desire to do good.” She rubbed against his chest as if she was trying to wipe away a wound. “They’ve influenced who you are, even if the past hurts overshadowed it for a while.”
