Read Online A Christmas Bride / A Christmas Beau by Mary Balogh - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Balogh
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She had spent six years building independence and self-assurance, convincing herself that they were enough.Last night the glass house she had constructed had come smashing and tinkling down about her head. It would take a great deal of rebuilding.
Mr. Edgar Downes could not help. Not in any way at all.
She could no longer possibly deny that she wanted him. Her body was humming with the ache of emptiness. She wanted his weight, his mastery, the smell of him, his penetration. She wanted him to make her forget.
But she knew—she had discovered last night if she had been in any doubt before that—that there was no forgetting. That the more she tried to drown everything out with self-gratification, the worse she made things for herself. She should not have told Hobbes to send him up. What could she have been thinking of? She must leave the room before they came upstairs.
But the door opened again before she could take a single step toward it. She stood where she was and smiled.
A T EACH OF his professions in turn Edgar had learned that there were certain unpleasant tasks that must be performed and that there was little to be gained by trying to avoid them or put them off until a later date. He had trained himself to do promptly and firmly what must be done.
It was a little harder to do in his personal life. On this particular morning he would have preferred to go anywhere and do anything rather than return to Lady Stapleton’s house. But his training stood him in good stead. It must be done, and therefore it might as well be done without delay. Though he did find himself hoping as he approached the house that she would be from home. A foolish hope—if she was out this morning, he wouldhave to return some other time, and doubtless it would seem even harder then.
He knew that she was at home when he turned to climb the steps to her door and looked up and caught a glimpse of her at a window, ducking hastily from sight. She would not, of course, wish to appear overeager to see him again. His irrational hopes rose once more when that pugilist of a manservant who answered the door informed him that he thought Lady Stapleton might be from home. Perhaps she would refuse to see him—that was something he had not considered on his way here.
But she was at home and she did not refuse to see him. He drew deep breaths as he climbed the stairs behind the servant and tried to remember his rehearsed speech. He should know as a lawyer that rehearsed speeches scarcely ever served him when it came time actually to speak.
She looked even more beautiful this morning, dressed in a pale green morning gown. The color brought out the reddish hue of her hair. It made her look younger. She was standing a little distance from the door, smiling at him—that rather mocking half smile he remembered from the evening before. The events of the night seemed unreal.
“Good morning, Mr. Downes.” She was holding his card in one hand. She looked beyond his shoulder. “Thank you, Hobbes. That will be all.”
The door closed quietly. There was no sign of the aunt or of any other chaperone—an absurd thing to notice after last night. He was glad there was no one else present, necessitating a conversation about the weather or the social pages of the morning papers.
“Good morning, ma’am.” He bowed to her. He would get straight to the point. She was probably as embarrassed as he. “I believe I owe you an apology.”
“Indeed?” Her eyebrows shot up. “An apology, sir?”
“I treated you with—discourtesy last evening,” he said. Even in his rehearsed speech he had been unable to think of a more appropriate, less lame word to describe how he had treated her.
“With discourtesy?” She looked amused. “
Discourtesy
, Mr. Downes? Are there rules of etiquette, then, in your world for—ah, for what happens between a man and a woman in bed? Ought you to have said please and did not? You are forgiven, sir.”
She was laughing at him. It had
Mr. Edgar Downes could not help. Not in any way at all.
She could no longer possibly deny that she wanted him. Her body was humming with the ache of emptiness. She wanted his weight, his mastery, the smell of him, his penetration. She wanted him to make her forget.
But she knew—she had discovered last night if she had been in any doubt before that—that there was no forgetting. That the more she tried to drown everything out with self-gratification, the worse she made things for herself. She should not have told Hobbes to send him up. What could she have been thinking of? She must leave the room before they came upstairs.
But the door opened again before she could take a single step toward it. She stood where she was and smiled.
A T EACH OF his professions in turn Edgar had learned that there were certain unpleasant tasks that must be performed and that there was little to be gained by trying to avoid them or put them off until a later date. He had trained himself to do promptly and firmly what must be done.
It was a little harder to do in his personal life. On this particular morning he would have preferred to go anywhere and do anything rather than return to Lady Stapleton’s house. But his training stood him in good stead. It must be done, and therefore it might as well be done without delay. Though he did find himself hoping as he approached the house that she would be from home. A foolish hope—if she was out this morning, he wouldhave to return some other time, and doubtless it would seem even harder then.
He knew that she was at home when he turned to climb the steps to her door and looked up and caught a glimpse of her at a window, ducking hastily from sight. She would not, of course, wish to appear overeager to see him again. His irrational hopes rose once more when that pugilist of a manservant who answered the door informed him that he thought Lady Stapleton might be from home. Perhaps she would refuse to see him—that was something he had not considered on his way here.
But she was at home and she did not refuse to see him. He drew deep breaths as he climbed the stairs behind the servant and tried to remember his rehearsed speech. He should know as a lawyer that rehearsed speeches scarcely ever served him when it came time actually to speak.
She looked even more beautiful this morning, dressed in a pale green morning gown. The color brought out the reddish hue of her hair. It made her look younger. She was standing a little distance from the door, smiling at him—that rather mocking half smile he remembered from the evening before. The events of the night seemed unreal.
“Good morning, Mr. Downes.” She was holding his card in one hand. She looked beyond his shoulder. “Thank you, Hobbes. That will be all.”
The door closed quietly. There was no sign of the aunt or of any other chaperone—an absurd thing to notice after last night. He was glad there was no one else present, necessitating a conversation about the weather or the social pages of the morning papers.
“Good morning, ma’am.” He bowed to her. He would get straight to the point. She was probably as embarrassed as he. “I believe I owe you an apology.”
“Indeed?” Her eyebrows shot up. “An apology, sir?”
“I treated you with—discourtesy last evening,” he said. Even in his rehearsed speech he had been unable to think of a more appropriate, less lame word to describe how he had treated her.
“With discourtesy?” She looked amused. “
Discourtesy
, Mr. Downes? Are there rules of etiquette, then, in your world for—ah, for what happens between a man and a woman in bed? Ought you to have said please and did not? You are forgiven, sir.”
She was laughing at him. It had
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