Read Online A Wallflower Christmas by Lisa Kleypas - Free Book Online Page B

want—” He checked himself and tossed back the rest of his whisky, swallowing hard against the velvety burn. When the glow had faded from his throat, he gave his father a cool, steady look. “I’ll marry Lady Natalie, since it doesn’t matter in any case. I was always going to end up with someone like her. But you can keep your damned approval. All I want is a share of Bowman’s.”
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    In the morning the guests began to arrive, an elegant clamor of well-heeled families and their servants. Trunks, valises, and parcels were brought into the manor in an unending parade. Other families would stay at neighboring estates or at the tavern in the village, coming andgoing to the various events that would take place at the manor.
    Once Hannah was awakened by the muffled, busy sounds beyond the room, she couldn’t go back to sleep. Taking care not to wake Natalie, she rose and took care of her morning ablutions, finishing by braiding her hair and pinning it in a knot at the base of her neck. She dressed in a gray-green wool gown trimmed with kilt pleating and closed in front with gleaming black buttons. Intending to go for a walk out of doors, she donned a pair of low-heeled boots and picked up a heavy plaid shawl.
    Stony Cross Manor was a labyrinth of hallways and clustered rooms. Carefully Hannah made her way through the bustling house, pausing now and again to ask directions from one of the passing servants. She eventually found the morning room, which was stuffy and crowded with people she didn’t know. A large breakfast buffet had been set out, featuring fish, a flitch of fried bacon, breads, poached eggs, salads, muffins, and several varieties of cheese. She poured a cup of tea, folded a bit of bacon in some bread, and slipped past a set of French doors that led to an outside terrace. The weather was bright and dry, the chilled air fomenting her breath into white mist.
    Gardens and orchards spread before her, all delicately frosted and clean. Children played across the terrace, giggling as they raced back and forth. Hannah chuckled, watching them stream across the flagstones like a gaggle of goslings. They were playing a game of blow-the-feather, which involved two teams trying to keep a feather aloft by turns.
    Standing to the side, Hannah consumed her bread and tea. The children’s antics grew ever wilder as they hopped and blew at the feather in noisy gusts and puffs. The feather drifted to her, descending lazily.
    The little girls screamed in encouragement. “Blow, miss, blow! It’s girls against boys!”
    After that, there was no choice. Fighting a smile, Hannah pursed her lips and exhaled sharply, sending the feather upward in a fluttering eddy. She did her part whenever the feather drifted to her, running a few steps here and there, heeding the delighted cries of her teammates.
    The feather sailed over her head, and she backed up swiftly, her face upturned. But she was startled to feel herself crashing against something behind her, not a stone wall but something hard and pliant. A man’s hands closed around her arms, securing her balance.
    From over her head, the man blew a puff that sent the feather halfway across the terrace.
    Hooting and squealing, the children raced after it.
    Hannah remained still, stunned by the collision, but even more so by the realization that she recognized the feel of Rafe Bowman. The grip of his hands, the tough-muscled length of him along her back. The clean, pungent spice of his shaving soap.
    Her mouth had gone dry—probably the effects of the feather game—and she tried to moisten her inner cheeks with her tongue. “What a remarkable amount of air you are able to produce, Mr. Bowman.”
    Smiling, he turned her carefully to face him. He was large and dashing, standing with that relaxed looseness that bothered her so. “Good morning to you, too.” Helooked her over with an insolently thorough glance. “Why