His expression changed, and she saw that her words left him profoundly moved. “Christabel, I don’t deserve you.”
Wondering, she stared up at him. “You’ve never called me that before.”
He touched her cheek with such tenderness that she felt ready to melt. “Tonight you’re Christabel, beautiful and mysterious.”
She’d never before felt that her prosaic, busy self measured up to such a fanciful name, but as she stared into Quentin’s blazing gold eyes, for the first time rough-and-tumble Kit was also Christabel.
“You make me Christabel,” she whispered.
He smiled and touched her hair. “Although I hope Kit’s still in there somewhere. I’d miss that ragamuffin if I never saw her again.”
His teasing leavened the intense atmosphere building between them, and she laughed. “I promise Kit will be back.”
“Excellent news. I did so enjoy kissing a stableboy.”
A stifled giggle emerged. “That would have caused a scandal indeed.”
“Now let me see what Kit was hiding under that execrable coat,” Quentin said, letting her go and moving behind her again to finish untying her laces. “The thought has kept me awake for many a night.”
Now that was nice to hear. “Has it indeed?”
“Oh, yes.”
She gulped. He kept saying these things that stole her breath. “The coat was a bit of an eyesore, wasn’t it?”
He gave a grunt of sardonic laughter. “An eyesore? It was uglier than a two-headed pig.”
“I’ll burn it.”
“Don’t you dare. It holds wonderful memories for me. Not to mention that I want to show it to our children when I tell them about their mother’s adventures.”
“Ch…children?” It seemed absurd, but until now Kit hadn’t really considered bearing Quentin’s children. Life in recent years had been a series of short-term decisions, made in a rush to solve a current crisis. She’d barely had the chance to look beyond the next week.
“Of course.”
“Of course,” she said on a breath.
His tone remained teasing. “How do you feel about half a dozen?”
Something inside her twisted with poignant emotion. He’d make a good father. She had a sudden vivid image of a little boy with Quentin’s mussed tawny hair and bright hazel eyes and arresting intelligence.
Thanks to Quentin – and Hamish and Emily and Laing, too – her long ordeal was nearly over. One more day, and she was free of Neil. In fact, in marrying Quentin, she was free now. The terms of her father’s will were that once she wed, she gained control of her inheritance.
The constant tension loosened, and the next breath she took filled her lungs in a way no breath had, since long before her father’s death. “Let’s start with one and see how we go from there,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even.
“Sounds like a plan. Lift your arms.”
Without thinking – she was too preoccupied imagining the future that extended before her – she did. Quentin pulled the pretty dress over her head and crossed to lay it over the chair. He took considerably more care with her clothes that he had with his own, she noticed.
As he walked, the kilt swayed about his narrow hips. He was surely naked beneath the plaid. At the thought, her heart leaped with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. “You make a fine lady’s maid.”
He returned to her, still with that graceful swinging gait. “I intend to spend a lot of time undressing my wife.”
She flushed, as she suddenly realized that she stood in front of him wearing only her undergarments. Before this, she’d been too busy admiring the fine figure of a man she’d married to notice.
When he paused in front of her, the blatant admiration in his gaze made her cheeks burn hotter. “By heaven, that dreadful coat covered buried treasure.”
He reached forward to unhook her corset and draw it away, leaving her in shift and petticoats. Emily had lent her everything she wore, not just the elaborate wedding gown. Emily, it turned out, had a fondness for naughty, extravagant undergarments. Embroidered birds and branches twined around the pale pink corset, and the shift and petticoats were sheer white silk.
Quentin’s hands worked fast as he untied the tapes on her petticoats, until they slithered to the floor at her feet. Kit might still wear shift and drawers and stockings and slippers, but she felt close to naked. Under his hungry gaze, she shifted self-consciously, even as her breasts ached for the touch of his hands.
Gently he drew her forward and kissed her again. Despite her innocence, she sensed a universe of hunger banked behind the kiss. Her knees turned to jelly, and she slid one hand behind his neck to keep her balance. And to touch him. Touching Quentin turned out to be one of life’s greatest delights.
Kissing her, he began to investigate her shape through the fine material. Running his hands up and down her back, spanning her waist, stroking the bare skin of her arms. Her nervousness receded under the wash of pleasure. When he lowered his hands to squeeze her buttocks, she made a soft sound of surprise against his seeking mouth. Then another gasp as he pulled her against his thighs.
She felt his hardness through his kilt. Hot liquid welled in the pit of her stomach, and she shifted at the unfamiliar craving.
Quentin wrenched up the hem of her shift and released her drawers, so they fell about her ankles with her petticoats. He made a soft growl of satisfaction as this time his hands closed around the naked cheeks of her bottom. A shudder of response rushed through her and made her whimper.
“Come into the bedroom, my lovely wife,” he whispered, trailing his lips along her neck.
Anticipation rushed through her, and goose bumps broke out all over her skin. “Aye,” she said shakily.
He kissed her softly on the lips. Earlier he’d seemed all impatience, but now every touch conveyed care and tenderness. Taking her hand, he led her through the doorway into the candlelit bedroom. A fire roared in the hearth, so even wearing as little as she did, she was warm.
“How very pretty,” she said. More flowers and Christmas greenery decorated the room, and fragrant flower petals were scattered across the sheets and pillows. Bowls of herbs were placed around the room, so the air smelled like paradise. “They’ve gone to such trouble for us.”
“Everyone is overjoyed to welcome you to the family.”
Kit blinked back tears. “I feel like I haven’t had a family for so long. Since Papa died, it’s been like living with a pack of wolves.”
“I’m your family now,” Quentin said softly, as he drew her close for a swift kiss that was all gentleness.
Powerful emotion squeezed her heart. Of all the lovely things he’d said tonight, this was the most moving. “Thank you. You can’t know what that means to me.”
“I can guess.”
Her free hand made a gesture eloquent of her past unhappiness. “I’ve felt so alone since Papa died. Which sounds ungrateful, when Emily and Hamish and Laing have done so much to help me.”
“That isn’t the same as having someone of your own.”
“You understand.”
“I think so.” His voice deepened in a way that had her unruly heart cramping again. “I won’t let you feel lost and alone ever again, Christabel. You have my word as a MacNab on it.”