A Dom for Christmas (5 page)

 
Angelina glanced at his cock, which once more
strained the material, and then looked away quickly. He couldn’t blame her.
This was no time for rampant arousal.

“We met at a ball given by an
admirer of yours. One who I believe was pursuing you closely,” Cam said. “I
rescued you from his unwanted advances, and began to court you formally. I’d
been abroad for several years and not
au fait
with who was part of the
ton. I
appraised
you of my personal preferences, and
you decided they would be to your liking.”

“Eh?” She sounded and looked
confused, as well she might.

“Dominance.
I as your master,
you as my subservient.
We mesh.
More of that later.
You agreed to be my wife, and we married in the chapel of my country estate.
There is no doubt I put
Rawcliffe’s
nose out of
joint, and I believe he was muttering retribution in the clubs.”

“Do you think it was him who
attacked me, then?” Angelina leaned forward and tapped his shoulder. It seemed
she was ignoring his other information, however; it didn’t seem to have fazed
her. “Can we find out?”

“I’m trying,” Cam said simply.
“If we discover he’s in the capital, then that is one step forward. However, no
one seems to know of his direction, not even his parents.”

“Roddy and Serena wouldn’t tell
you anyway. They’re loyal to a fault,” Angelina said absently and then blinked.
“Stuart
Rawcliffe
.
The worm.”
She threw one of the pillows from beside her across the floor. It hit the floor
in the middle of the expanse between the wall and the bed. She blinked. “Damn,
I wanted that to hit the wall.”

As Cam suspected, her aim was
lousy.

“Oh, the
snake.”
Angelina was still talking about
Rawcliffe
. “But he’s
not aristocracy, not really.”

“You remember him?” Cam cupped
her face with his hands and pressed his lips softly to hers. She didn’t resist
and increased their closeness with pressure of her own. If he hadn’t been aware
that not seventy-two hours ago he didn’t know if she’d ever
waken,
he’d have gone one step further and deepened the kiss. Instead he
let her set the pace for a few seconds and then drew back, so gradually he
guessed she would think it was of her volition, not his.

“I think what I remember is
enough to worry even the most open-minded of men, and send me straight to
Bethlem
Hospital if I’m not careful,” Angelina said and
shuddered. “So, I’m going to plead the fifth, or whatever you say.”

“The fifth what?
Commandment?
Honor
thy father and mother? Stuart
Rawcliffe
certainly doesn’t uphold that one.” He really
would have to speak to the doctor about these ramblings she had.

“Nor the ‘
thy
shall
not kill’ that some people use as number five.” Angelina shook her
head and her hair danced around her like it had a mind of its own. This time
she didn’t wince at the action. Maybe she was improving as she insisted.

Cam noticed that untied and
unpinned, the honey-hued strands curled gently around her ears.
Such a strange length.
He ached to run his fingers through
it, to twist those curls around his digits and use the hold to pull her close
and… He pulled back out of his promising, erotic thoughts, and concentrated on
what she was saying.

 
“No, it’s an American thing.”

Now he had no idea what she was
talking about. The Americans were a law unto themselves. However, he nodded.
“Continue with what you do know.”

“Didn’t you get what I mean?”
she asked.

He raised one eyebrow. Who
could?

“Oh, never mind. Let’s just say
I can’t tell you all I know until you promise not to have me committed.”

“My dear, why on earth would I
do that?” Had she forgotten all the safe and secure houses he owned? “If I
thought your faculties were
,
shall we say impaired, I
would send you
posthaste
to one of my country
properties where you could be watched and looked after. So, tell me now, what
do you know.”

****

Damn him, does he have to be so authoritative? How do I say what I
know, or not?
Why the hell do I want to agree to
everything he says?
More to the point, why am I tingling and
tense?
Shit, one finger on my clit and I’d come like a volcano erupting.
Argh, if I was a dog, I’d roll over and say tickle my
tummy—or not my tummy.
Ew
,
no, not a dog. Oh for fuck’s sake, give over now. But blimey, that look of his
could sell snow to the Arctic, let alone make me agree to any bloody thing.

Cam cleared his throat, and
Angie realized she’d been lost in her own erotic thoughts.

“Angelina, unless you want me
to make a list of your
misdemeanors
and chastise you
in a way we both like, at a later date, I suggest you tell me what you
remember, what you
think
you
remember, and what you know for fact. Be it
Rawcliffe
or someone else, we need to know why you were attacked, and make sure it is not
repeated.”

Put like that, she could see
the sense in what he said. She didn’t want another bang on the head. But how do
you explain you had a row with an ex-boyfriend over a battered tree ornament?
Especially when they didn’t exist in the time you seem to have landed in? That
said ex pushed you, and you ended up waking up almost two hundred years
earlier? You’d get committed for that in the present day, let alone in Regency
times. Once Cam had uttered Stuart’s name, things became much clearer.

“I remember someone coming up
to me on the doorstep,” she said slowly. She did remember that.
“And asking for something.
My angel, I think. I wasn’t
giving it to him, so he shook me and threw me down. Then I woke up properly
with you bullying me. Come to think of it, you still are.”

“If you think this is bullying,
you had better rethink,” Cam advised her in a dry tone. “This is me at my most
patient
.”

Heaven help her, then. She ran
her tongue over her dry lips. Cam watched every move and swallowed heavily.

“That my
dear, inviting as it may be, will not work.
Continue.”

“I don’t remember anything of
our life together here before then.” That was true. Could she say what she
remembered of their life together two centuries later? Because once you looked
past the Regency clothing, there was no doubt the Earl of Camberley was
Campbell McAllister, her present-day husband.

Argh and shit, this is one fucked up dream.

“Then I’ll have to teach you.”
Cam pulled back the bedcovers and lifted her into his arms. “First I’ll do as I
promised and take you into our sitting room.”

She yelped as the room spun
round and he walked across to a door she’d not noticed before.

“Push it open, please.” His
voice was level and he wasn’t at all out of breath. This close to him, Angie
realized she was the one who couldn’t breathe properly. Damn if he didn’t make
her want to jump his bones, and sod the headache.

By the time he put her oh so
carefully on the long daybed, she had goose bumps and damp thighs all over
again. How on earth she hadn’t nuzzled into him and given him a hickey, she had
no idea. Love bites were a big no-no in her usual mind, but the thought of
sucking, tasting and marking his flesh, made her juices gather even more. Did a
bump on the head alter your rationale?

“Do you want a blanket for your
legs?”

“
Er
,
no thank you. I’m not in my dotage. In fact, I don’t see why I can’t get
dressed.” Did she even have clothes to wear, other than this voluminous
nightgown? Surely if she was young and newly married, her nightwear would be
somewhat more alluring?

Her husband—she’d have to get
used to this Cam who wasn’t really her Cam—shook his head. “Tomorrow, if the
doctor decrees it. I have already disregarded some of his wishes. He was
insistent you should remember everything yourself. However, as I have no idea
why you were attacked, I think a helping hand, or memory nudge, might be
appropriate.”

Angie more than agreed. She
might not remember life with him, pre-waking up, if she’d even had any, but she
did feel almost her old self again. Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t her old
self. It was this new one. Or, she thought semi-hysterically, perhaps this
was
her old self
. Lord, this is so confusing.
 
It was no wonder her head hurt.
Two
Angies
, two lives, and one Cam?
She bit back the urge to laugh hysterically. After all, how could you say to a
complete stranger that you could tell them anything they needed about the
twenty-first century, but all you knew of the time they seemed to be in was
from high school history and Regency romance
novels.
Raunchy ones, at that.

“Seems good
to me.
If I
think it’s going to make me swoon or have hysterics or something, I’ll let you
know.”

“Good.” He kissed her nose. “I
think you’d be more comfortable like this.” Cam lifted her slightly, so he
could sit on the end of the bed and hold her in his arms. The gesture was so
recognizable as one her own Cam did, that Angie gave in to temptation and
twisted so she could tug the bottom of his shirt out of his pantaloons and run
her fingers over his hair-roughened chest. She reached his nipples, stroking
each tiny nub until they hardened. Cam gave a sharp intake of breath and
stopped her movements.

“Minx.
That is unfair. If I
reciprocated, Doctor Taylor would have my head on a platter. Not that long ago,
we wondered if you would ever wake up. Stop teasing, and listen, or I’ll take
you back to bed and leave you alone.”

Reluctantly, Angie let Cam move
her hand off his chest and out from under the fine linen of his shirt. She
couldn’t help but notice how his pantaloons outlined his cock, which pushed
hard at the knit material. It gave her a warm feeling to know he was affected
by her presence as she was his. Even if he wasn’t going to let her play, or
play with her, evidently it wasn’t due to disinterest.

“Do we live in London all of
the time?” Angie asked him. “Or do we spend time in the country?” She twisted
to look up at him; something dug in her side, and she glanced downward. If it
was his cock that nudged her, it must be one of the
seven
wonders of the world
and be large enough to… She blanked out the images
that hit her.
And fumbled between them.
Her fingers
touched something hard, but nowhere near the size and shape of the cock
outlined under his clothes.

“How did this get here?” Angie
lifted up the angel ornament and fluffed out her skirts.

“You take it everywhere,” Cam
said. “At first I thought it an affectation, now I take it for granted. It’s a
bit battered and the diamonds around the bottom of her skirts could do with a
visit to Rundle and Bridge for cleaning, but after my mama explained its
significance to my family as well as yours, then I agreed it should be kept
close.”

“Significance?”
Angie’s head was beginning to
spin. It was just a Christmas ornament, wasn’t it? Okay, one that had been in
her family for years.
However, not two hundred years.
Family lore said it had been a betrothal gift to her great-great-
gran
from her husband-to-be in Victorian times, when
Christmas trees had just become popular. As for diamonds, Stuart had said that
the stones around the bottom of the dress were glass and tawdry. Then he’d
offered to throw it in the bin.

“It was a family heirloom.”

She’d agree with that bit, but
the rest?
“
Okay,
and what else?”

“It was a toy given to you as a
way to ensure you would always have wealth. It is important to my family as
well, but that, I think, isn’t relevant. Those diamonds are worth a small
fortune. Personally, I’d prefer it not to be carried everywhere, but I
understand why you do it. After the break-in whilst we were on our honeymoon,
and your
jewelry
boxes ransacked, we agreed to hide
it in your reticules or cloaks in specially designed pockets. In the burglary,
every item that contained
diamonds
 
was
taken. Luckily most of your jewels
were with us.”

“Why though?” None of it made
sense. She didn’t have diamonds. Hell, she lost earrings so often that Cam had
taken to putting all the odd ones onto a bracelet. Then she bought new pairs
from a local craft shop.
Cheap and cheerful.
“It’s not
diamonds,
they’re paste or something, surely?”

He shook his head.
“Stones of the first water.”

Angie did her best to formulate
her thoughts in some kind of order. “But Stuart said they were
glass, that
it was battered and tawdry and he was going to
throw it in the bin.”