Read Online Kissing Comfort by Jo Goodman - Free Book Online Page B

that it doesn’t matter. You’re looking on the wrong side of things, Comfort. Hasn’t it occurred to you that at the end of two months you’ll be the one wishing you’d accepted my original terms? I intend that we should have such a fine time as an engaged couple that you will put aside your reservations about my character and want to accept my proposal in earnest.”
    What Comfort wished was that she could duck into the shadows. It required a great deal of effort to keep her expression guarded and skeptical. “We’ll see,” she said. She took his arm and led him away from the light and toward the stone bench where she’d found Bode. “But I’m doubtful.”
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    Alexandra DeLong paced the length of the rug in front of the fireplace in her son’s room. Bode lay on a chaise brought in for him from one of the guest rooms. It was a necessity when it became apparent the bed did not offer enough support or comfort for him. He claimed there was less pain in a partial recline than either standing or lying flat on his back.
    The door had just closed on the retreating servants when she spoke. “This is why you should come home,” she said, gesturing broadly to indicate the length of the damask-covered chaise.
    â€œI am home,” Bode said reasonably.
    â€œDo not pretend you are obtuse. You know perfectly well what I mean.”
    â€œYes, I do. It’s a familiar argument.”
    â€œI prefer discussion.”
    â€œSo do I, Mother, but surely we know by now that this will end badly.”
    Alexandra stopped pacing, regarded her son for a long moment, and finally sighed. “You shouldn’t assume I’m surrendering my position just because I’m choosing not to continue this discussion .”
    One corner of Bode’s mouth kicked up. “It never occurred to me.”
    Sweeping her train to one side, Alexandra dropped into the wing chair closest to the chaise. She plucked several rosebuds from her hair and dropped them on a side table. When she saw Bode giving her a look while pointing to his chest, she glanced down at herself and saw a cluster of white petals clinging to her bosom like snowflakes. She carefully collected them and dropped them on the table.
    â€œThe roses were Mrs. Dufré’s idea. She showed me illustrations in one of her pattern books from Paris. I think perhaps it was too much. Rosebuds are for young women, not matrons, and certainly not widows.”
    Bode arched an eyebrow at her. “And not for mothers who are marking their son’s thirty-second birthday.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    He rubbed his chin, a reserved half smile still playing about his mouth. “I wonder what a proper response might be.”
    â€œBram would know.”
    â€œHe certainly would.”
    Alexandra fell quiet, waiting. When Bode didn’t fill the silence, she did. “You could try, you know.”
    â€œVery well. I don’t think I’ll mention you were skirting dangerously close to self-pity.”
    â€œNo. Don’t mention that.”
    â€œThen perhaps what I should say is that you are an arbiter of good taste and your tastes influence fashion. You’ve made rosebuds extraordinarily popular this evening, and Mrs. Dufré should thank you for carrying off her design with such confidence.”
    â€œI’d rather you didn’t say any of that either.”
    He chuckled. “All right. The truth, then. You made the rosebuds want to be the rose.”
    She stared at him. “My God,” she said quietly. “You have his silver tongue.”
    â€œBram’s?”
    â€œNo, your father’s.”
    â€œYou’ll understand if I don’t accept that as a compliment.” Alexandra nodded, her expression momentarily sad as she reflected on the past. “I don’t think I meant it as one.” She forced a smile. “Still, it was lovely what you