A Dom for Christmas (4 page)

“No.”

Yeah, you obviously subscribe to the school of why use three words
when one will work just as well.
She’d thought as much. Angie gave in with good grace. It
wasn’t worth fighting for something so insignificant—especially when she knew
the outcome wouldn’t be in her
favor
. “Ah well.
Tea, please.
You
know,
those little
black leaves you infuse in boiling water.” Her foggy brain cleared a little and
she remembered a book she’d read the week—or no, maybe not the week—sometime
before.
When she wasn’t in her dream.
“And,
er
, keep locked away because it’s so expensiv
e
.”

He stood up and pulled the bell
rope. “I know what tea is, and yes the tea chest is in your
parlor
.
Mrs. Nicholls has a key, as do you.”

 
Angie deciphered those words to mean
she—
they—had a housekeeper. Well, if they were aristocrats
they would have, wouldn’t they?
Damn it,
I should have read more Regency romances lately. What’s the norm in 1818? If
I’m going to have a dream, I want to dream it right.
“Then I’d love a
cuppa, please.
Weak, black, no milk or sugar.”

Cam nodded and when someone tapped
at the door, went into the hall to speak to whoever was there. He came back in
and shut the door behind him. Angie studied him closely. Under the fine linen
shirt he wore, his muscles were firm and well-defined. Every movement he made
was infused with authority and the knowledge that he was in charge. Angie
shivered, and tingles of hot awareness coursed through her. Her pussy muscles
clenched as her arousal increased.

Hell on wheels, I can’t have a wet dream like this, can I? A wet
dream in a dream is a bit over the top, surely?
However, the tops of her thighs were
coated with her essence. Angie put her hand under the covers to rub the sheet
over them. Now not only were her pussy curls damp, but so were her legs and
even worse, the sheet.

“You look flushed. Can I do
anything to help?”

Did he wink? Bloody hell, does he know just what he’s saying? Or
in his time was innuendo different?

“We…” She chickened out. Dream
or not, if she didn’t go to the loo before anything else, there would be a
problem.
Oh,
lordy
,
there is a problem.
Loos.
Or the
lack of.
How on earth do I ask delicately for him to shove off so I can
hunt for the gazunder?
She was reasonably sure that was what her gran had
said
her
gran
called a chamber pot.

“Tell me, my dear. My job is to
serve you.” The look in his eyes belied that. If she believed him she was in a
coma, not a dream. He had “I’m in charge” written all over him.

“I need a few moments to
myself.”

He frowned. “Doctor Taylor said
you shouldn’t be left by yourself. You were unconscious for several weeks.”

Then who helped me to the loo? And what about…
shit,
my pills. Okay, be brave.

“I think perhaps I need my maid
here.”

“I can act as your maid.”

In your dreams, mate.
Oh fuck, no, I’m in
my
dream. Now I’d
best be polite.
“I think,” Angie said as politely as she could when she was
clenching every muscle in her body, and not from pleasure, “that in this case,
my maid might be better.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “You have your
curses?
’
Tis
a pity.
I’d hoped we’d created our first child on
our wedding night. One moment, I’ll send for her.”

Angie was sure her face was
flame red.
“Um, no.”

“No? Then surely I can help.
Both in making sure your curses do not
come,
and in
aiding you at this moment.”

He sounded as if he had the
stick her angel ornament was on stuck up his ass. Oh so prim and proper. And
who would talk about making love so prosaically?

 
A Regency hero, that’s
who
.

Angie decided to knock him off
balance. His level-headed calm was annoying her, even though she didn’t know
why.

“I need a pee. I’m not peeing
in front of you. Shit, it’ll be bad enough in front of a maid, but at least I
can pretend I’m back in my teens, in a disco loo with my mates.”

 
It was unfair of her. After all, if she was
dreaming of Regency times, shouldn’t she be in character as well?

“I mean, no thank you, and yes
send for my maid if you must. But I’ll have to go before I have my cuppa, or
there might be an accident.
”

 
He still frowned. Couldn’t he at least get rid
of the lines across his forehead?

“You need to rest. You’re
confused.”

I’m not, but you sure are. Okay, I can do this. Remember that
book.

Angie cleared her throat. “My
Lord,” she began and stopped. How on earth could she do this and not giggle?
She sounded like a particularly large box office flop.
B
movie material.

“My Lord, I need to use the
chamber pot, and I’d prefer privacy. Then perhaps you could carry me into—”
Into where
?
“—into our
private room?
If I promise to rest?”

“I can’t see you’ll be ready
for our private room for a while yet,” he said, somewhat cryptically.

 
Sheesh.
Must he talk in riddles?

 
“Our sitting room, maybe.”

“So what’s the difference?”

 
Before he had time to answer, there was a
knock at the door and the young girl Angie had woken up to entered, carrying a
tray with a teapot and cup on it. Cam smiled at her. The tray wobbled before
the maid steadied it. Angie smirked. So it wasn’t just her he had that effect
on. Cam either didn’t notice, or affected not to, to spare the young girl’s
blushes.

“Esther, My Lady needs help.”

He turned to Angie and tipped
her chin gently up so she looked at his face. His fingers were warm, his hold
firm, and his touch seared her, sending a rush of red-hot heat through her
body. Angie wouldn’t have been surprised to see an imprint of those digits on
her skin.

“Call me when you’re ready, and
I’ll carry you to the sitting room.
As long as you promise
not to move.”

Angie beamed. “And I won’t
clype on you to the doctor either, for not following orders.”

“Clype?”

“Squeal, grass, tell on you,
er
, tell the doctor what we did, do…”

“Ah, no need, for I will.”

That’s boring. Is he a
fuddy
duddy
? Not in my dream, he isn’t. I want a sex-on-legs,
hot, bad, take-me-I’m-yours guy. Mind you, I also want him to be masterful and
in charge
. It
was hard not to giggle. In “real life” she was sure she had that. A picture of
this Cam’s
doppleganger
flashed into her head. Dark
hair, black shirt and…
 
Oh my God…Cam. How on earth didn’t I see that?
Shoot, what if this is real life? I don’t want a headache, the curse, or to be
celibate, either. In my dream I want it every which way we can. It can be my
Christmas present. Hold on, do they
do
presents? I should have read that next book in the series.
 

The need to pee became urgent.
“Then please, My Lord, exit the room at once.” She waved at the door. “Shoo.”

 
His eyes widened and he grinned. “Ah, yes.
Call me.”

Chapter Three

Cam paced the corridor. Three
days had passed since his wife had dismissed him into this very same place.
Three days during which, to her annoyance, he’d made her rest. Now, though, it
was time for answers. He wasn’t sure
Dr.
Taylor could
help, but he needed to know. Could a knock on the head create such a change in
a person? His wife had been a natural submissive. This Angelina seemed
altogether more feisty and ready to challenge him at every turn, whereas
beforehand his wife would only challenge him when she deemed it really
necessary. The thought of what that attitude could add to their enjoyment when
they made love brought his cock to high alert, about to edge over the waistband
of his pantaloons, ready and eager for action. It was so hard that one strike
with a ruler, such as his tutor did when he caught him masturbating as a
schoolboy, would snap it in half. At least, Cam ruminated as he waited to be
recalled, he could give lie to the old wives tale that playing with your
pego
shriveled
it and you would
go blind. He had excellent vision. Turning the corner into the square, looking
across to your house, a hundred yards away, and seeing your wife being carried
into the house was not a sight anyone would relish.

Now, however, he waited with
patience.
Almost.

Esther exited his wife’s
bedchamber and curtsied. “My Lady is ready for you, My Lord.”

He didn’t think the maid meant
ready as in ready in their preferred position to play, or waiting for his cock
inside her, more was the pity.

Angelina was sitting up against
the pillows once more, her hair a halo of honey-
colored
curls around her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were no longer cloudy with pain,
and she seemed bright and alert. She scowled at him and waved her cup in the
air. “This isn’t tea. It’s another dose of cat’s pee. What on earth did you put
in it?”

Cam removed the cup from her
grasp. He hadn’t missed the sudden glint in her eyes, or the way her fingers
tightened around the handle of the cup. Full or not, he didn’t want it flung at
him, even if, he reasoned, she might not throw straight. In his opinion, most
women didn’t. His mind flashed back to when she’d asked if she could try out
his flogger. She hit the back of the settle and the wooden spanking bench, but
not his outstretched hand. Of course she’d said that was on purpose, but
spoiled her assertion by giggling.

Cam had then shown her once
more, just how painfully pleasurable a well-directed flick of the flogger could
be. “I suspect Mrs. Nicholls added a little something of her own making to give
you a boost,” he said. Angelina looked at him blankly.
Demm
, I forgot she appears to have no memory.
“Our
housekeeper.
She is an herbalist. Ever since I was a young boy in short
coats, she’s ministered to all my aches and pains. Mrs. N. has been with the
family for as long as I remember.”

“You’re lucky you
can
remember,” Angelina replied. “I
can’t.” She shuffled under the covers. “This nightgown has sneaked into all the
places I don’t want it.
Ahh
, that’s better.” She
wriggled her shoulders. “I’m as stiff as a poker.”

So was he, but not in the same
way.

“I will apply some salve
later,” Cam said. His salve was multi-purposed. “Do you feel well enough to
tell me what you remember?
Both of the attack, and anything
else?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”
Angelina coughed, somewhat theatrically, Cam thought. “Perhaps a drink?” she
queried.

“One small glass of wine,” Cam
said. “Or the good doctor will have me strung up.” He poured a tiny amount of
madeira
into a goblet and handed it to her.

She sniffed it suspiciously and
then sipped. “Hmm, somewhat sweet, but better than c…” She looked straight at
him and
colored
.
 
“Than nothing,” she finished. “Thank you.”

He dipped his head. “You’re
welcome. So?”

“So, I’m all at sea here. I
don’t really remember anything before I opened my eyes to hear you bullying me.
Well…” She worried her lip. “I don’t think I do. Maybe you should start? How we
met, who I am.”

“You’re my wife.” Hadn’t he
said so earlier?

“So you say, but
who
am I.” Frustration showed in every
word. “What’s my name, my birth name, not Lady
so-and-so
or whatever. Where do we live, what do I do? For that matter, what do you do?
Hell, I knew I shouldn’t have dogged off my history lessons to snog Donny
Jepp
behind the bike sheds.”

She made very little sense, and
Cam suspected it wasn’t the time to question her too closely. Instead he needed
to answer her questions and allay as many of her fears as possible. He dragged
a button-back chair next to the bed and sat down in it, conscious of the way
the material of his pantaloons lovingly followed every contour of his body. He
shouldn’t be aware of that fact. After all, they should fit properly; his
tailor was second to none. Cam was considered to be a nonesuch in the manner of
his dress. Pinkney, the tailor in question, often remarked
,
His Lordship, the Earl of Camberley’s patronage, had been the tailor’s making.