Читать книгу A Sinful Regency Christmas - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 16

Anne Clairemont admired the sitting room of her once and future home, and gave an approving nod. Decoration for the holiday house party was well under way. If things were not exactly as they had been, at least it was more cheerful than it had been under her mother’s haphazard care.

Anne secretly admired the changes the new owner, Joseph Stratford, had made. It was true that he had a tendency to excess. Father called it a tradesman’s display of wealth, and unworthy of such a grand home. But it hardly mattered. Once she was married she would change everything back to the way it had been six years ago, before things had begun to go wrong.

Today, Mr. Stratford’s extravagance pleased her. It was demonstrated in the amount of holly, ivy and mistletoe that decked every available surface. The house looked as it had when she was a child, and all things had seemed larger and more wondrous. Despite herself, Anne smiled. Then, she returned her attention to her guest.

“Would you like tea, Mr. Breton?” May I pour for you?”

Mr. Stratford’s friend responded with his usual grim nod, and she tried not to let her hand tremble as she raised the pot. It was most unwise of her to have this reaction when around Robert Breton, but she could not seem to control it. He was a very attractive man.

Not to say that Joseph wasn’t handsome. In his own dark and intense way, he was. But he had a driven quality that made her more nervous than intrigued. She did not think that he would be an impatient husband, for he showed no signs of holding her unease against her. Once they were married, she suspected that he would forget her entirely. All he really cared about was the running of his mill, and the successful operation of his looms. A respectable wife was nothing more than a way to secure his place in a community that showed no signs of welcoming him.

And if Joseph was rarely to be at home, she might be forced to spend even more time alone with his business partner. Not that she really thought of Mr. Breton as such. He was a gentleman, and little more than the source of financing behind the ambitions of Mr. Stratford. But Joseph trusted him as a brother, and seemed to find nothing improper about the amount of time another man spent in her company, seeing him as a chaperone and escort rather than a rival.

Robert Breton had said nothing about finding his own accommodations in the area, seeming content with the best guest room at Clairemont. In Joseph’s absence, he treated the house almost as his own. Anne must get used to the idea that, if she was to be mistress here, he would be a semi-permanent member of the household.

Breton sipped his tea, and Anne held her breath, then chided herself for waiting on his approval. Of course, he would like it. In the many afternoons they’d spent together, she had learned to prepare it just so, and selected tidbits and delicacies for the tray knowing that he would favor them. It was foolish of her to care what he thought, or to try to impress him at all. But she enjoyed his company, and wanted him to like her.

She thought it had been going quite well. They’d struck up a friendship almost from their first meeting. They had laughed and chatted and walked every inch of the property together. But in the last few weeks he’d grown more and more distant around her, cold and silent. When they were alone, he was sometimes sarcastic in his responses. But when Joseph was present he treated her with courtesy, and smiled as though there were nothing wrong between them.

Had she offended him in some way? She could not think how. It made her work all the harder to be nice to him, hoping for some bit of warmth, or at least a smile. She quite liked his smile, especially when it was directed toward her. And the strength of his arm as they’d walked and she’d shown him the park of the manor that had once been her home. He had put his hands on her waist to help her over a stile, and she had taken longer than necessary, just to feel them holding her. Later, when she was alone with her thoughts, she could pretend that it had been a caress.

Perhaps that day he had noticed. He had stared back at her, his dark blue eyes smoldering with what she assumed was disgust at her weakness. Then he had slowly and deliberately withdrawn his hand. He had been cold to her ever since.

Was it so awful to have a tendre for a man who was not to be her husband? She would not let anything come of it, of course. She was all but promised to Joseph, and the happiness of several people depended on her ability to go through with the marriage as it had been planned.

But she could not say she loved him. Though she would lie to him on the subject if it was necessary, she should not have to lie to herself. Although he was kind, she felt no real excitement at the touch of Joseph Stratford. But the thought of Robert Breton’s touch filled her with a delicious, languorous heat. If she could not have that, then she must work to maintain his friendship. Without Robert here to visit with, she would sit alone in this great house, waiting for her husband to remember that there was anything more important in his life than work.

At the moment, it was almost as lonely as if she had no company at all. Her companion drank his tea in silence and could barely look her in the eye, ending each sip with a sigh of distaste and a glance out the window.

After a polite knock, the housekeeper entered and inquired after the menu for the next day’s entertainment. Guests were arriving for the holidays and everything had to be perfect. Anne supplied the necessary information and a smile of approval, then went back to her cup as the woman retreated.

“You treat the house as your own, already?” Mr. Breton said with a raised eyebrow and an accusing tone. “I understood that the engagement had not yet been announced.”

“Well, no,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “But it will be soon. Tomorrow, perhaps, at the ball. For now, Joseph seems to value my help. This was my parents’ house before he bought it. I know the staff and the rooms. And the best way to entertain in it. It is just … easier.”

“I see.” Robert said it as though he was catching her in some just uncovered deception, and not stating a fact that he understood almost as well as she did herself.

And then, he put down his teacup with a click and rose as though angered by the charade. “I must go. Stratford will be expecting me at the mill.”

It was an outright lie. In her presence, Joseph had often teased Mr. Breton about his disinterest in something so integral to his financial well-being. And Robert had responded with a laugh that he was quite content to remain by the fire and leave the place wholly to Joseph, so that they might both be happy. His current and sudden interest could mean only one thing: he was making lame excuses to remove himself from her presence.

Anne popped to her feet, searching for a way to stay his departure. “Must you go so soon? You have hardly touched your plate. Are you sure there is nothing more you wish? Because I would be happy to oblige you in anything you desire.”

“Do not make promises that you have no intention of keeping.” He was almost out of the room before she could think of a response.

“Wait. Please, Mr. Breton.” He turned and she decided to risk honesty and walked to him. “Is it me? Is it something I have done? You are clearly upset, and I do not know why.”

“You know quite well what the matter is,” Robert snapped.

She stood beside him now, looking up into his angry face. “In truth, I do not. Is there nothing I can do to make things right between us, as they used to be?”

“You wish things to be right between us?” He gave a mocking laugh. “Then you must begin to act like Stratford’s wife, if you truly mean to be so.”

“But I do,” she said, confused. “I am in this house from breakfast until late in the evening, ordering the servants about as though they were my own. But that is hardly odd. I belong here. I know this house like the back of my hand.”

“If you know it so well, then tell me where you are standing right now.”

It was her turn to laugh. “In the blue receiving room, of course.”

He jabbed a finger out, pointing to a place just above her head to an elaborate kissing bough hanging by a ribbon from the ceiling. “Under the mistletoe.”

She looked above her, and then back at him. “So I am,” she said, hardly able to take a breath. Without thinking, she wet her lips. What must he have thought of that? It probably appeared like an invitation. She was acting as though she wished him to kiss her.

But she did. With a marriage carefully arranged and only weeks away, she was thinking of kissing another man. It was disloyal of her, to Joseph and to her family. Robert would be disgusted by it, as he seemed to be by much of what she said and did. The silent moment stretched long between them, and she wondered what was to happen next. It would be best, she was sure, if she could make a simple apology, laugh at her own foolishness and back away from him.

“You offered me anything I might want,” he said.

Did he want a kiss, then? What harm could it do, if it was between friends? It was likely to be her only chance to have even a small taste of the lips of Mr. Robert Breton.

Without another word he removed the distance between them, standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body against her skin. She shut her eyes, waiting for the chaste peck on the lips that didn’t come. Instead his hands gripped her arms so tightly that it made her gasp. And then his mouth met hers, taking advantage of her moment of vulnerability to fill her with his tongue.

Was this natural? She had never heard of such a thing before. It felt like the most right and wonderful thing in the world. He tasted of the gingerbread that had been on the tea tray, sweet and spicy. She mimicked the slow surge and retreat of his tongue against hers, trying to catch the flavor. Though the room had seemed cold just a few moments ago, now it felt hot. But in an aching confusion, her nipples were still hard, pressing against her light stays until she feared he could feel them through her gown.

And perhaps he could. He was pushing her back toward the nearest wall until her shoulders were pressing against the plaster. Then, his hands moved to touch them, cradling her breasts in his palms as he kissed his way down her throat, covering every inch of exposed flesh with licks and nips. The massaging of his hands was so exciting that she almost forgot to breathe. There was a spiraling excitement deep within her, pressing her toward some fantastic place she’d never visited.

She could image one final touch or kiss that would take her out of this world altogether, leaving her fainting in his arms. Then he could lift her, carry her in a half swoon to the couch, cover her body with his and ravish her back to wakefulness.

Just then, he kissed her on the mouth again. Though she had only the most basic understanding of the marital act, her body tightened suddenly, and she could imagine what it must feel like to be claimed by a man. Something burst inside of her with a dizzying rush. She could breathe again in deep happy gasps that made her heart hammer and her legs tremble. It was the most amazing feeling she’d ever known, as though she’d been dead for years and suddenly reborn.

And it was the middle of the day in a public room of a house that was not hers. Servants had questions, guests would be arriving. At any moment, she might receive a visit from the man she meant to marry.

She fought free of his kiss and her own desires and pushed hard against Robert Breton’s chest. The cold rushed back into her spirit as his hands left her body. “What are you doing to me?” she whispered.

“Exactly what I’ve wished to, from the first moment I met you.” He was smiling the cold, hard, self-satisfied smile he’d worn so often when he looked at her of late, as though the kiss was not something magical, but merely a confirmation of her weak character. Then, he reached into his pocket and removed a handkerchief, touching it to the corner of his mouth to wipe away a drop of blood.

Dear Lord. Had she bitten him?

His smile grew slightly broader as he saw her shock at her total lack of control. “And now, Miss Clairemont, if you will excuse me, I must go to speak with your fiancé. I shall leave you to contemplate your own happy future with him.”