Page 22 of The Virtues of Christmas
And wedding vows, for heaven’s sake.
Michael settled in beside her on the sofa. “You’re in the market for a house?” He could help with this, being nothing if not well versed in commercial transactions. He’d searched long and thoroughly before settling on Inglemere for his country retreat.
“I’m in the market for a home,” she said. “This is another reason I’m determined to reconcile with my father. All the family I have lives within a few miles of Amblebank, but if he refuses to acknowledge me, then settling elsewhere makes sense.”
I’ll make him acknowledge you.The only way Michael could do that was by marrying her.
“Give it time,” he said, patting her hand. “Family can be vexing, but they’ll always be family.” Witness his sisters, who had no more time for the brother who dowered them than they did for Fat King George.
Miss Whitlow turned her palm up, so their fingers lay across one another. “You are very kind.”
He was a charlatan. “One aspires to behave honorably, though it isn’t always possible.”
Her fingers closed around his, and Michael felt honor tearing him right down the middle of his chest.
“I have a sense of decency,” she said, “as unlikely as that sounds. I’ve sworn off sharing my favors for coin. I’d like to share my favors with you for the sheer pleasure of it. Lucille has reminded me that the coming years will be…”
She fell silent, her hand cold in Michael’s. In another instant, she’d withdraw her hand, the moment would be lost, and he’d be reduced to asking her about Mrs. Radcliffe’s prose.
“Lonely,” he said. “The coming years will be lonely. The coming night need not be.”
Michael drew Henrietta to her feet and wrapped his arms about her. The fit was sublime, and for a moment, he pitied all the men who’d had to pay her to tolerate—much less appear to enjoy—their advances. That she’d offer him intimacies without a thought of reward was more Christmas token than he’d ever deserve.
And in return, what would he offer her?
“I’ll take a tray in my room,” she said, kissing his cheek. “You can come to me after supper, after I’ve had a proper soak.”
She’d taken a bath the previous evening, as had Michael. He suspected hers had been a good deal warmer than his.
“You don’t need to fuss and primp,” Michael said. “I don’t care if you bear the scent of books, or your hair is less than perfectly arranged. I’d rather be with you as you are.”
She drew back enough to peer at him, and they were very nearly eye to eye. “I insist on toothpowder. That’s not negotiable.”
God, what she’d had to put up with. “I insist on toothpowder too, and I generally don’t bother with a nightshirt. Shall we surprise each other with the rest of it?”
“You think you can surpriseme?”
She’d had a half-dozen lovers, probably not an imaginative bone in the lot, so to speak. “I know I can.” Her patch-leaf fragrance was fainter today, as if she’d forgotten to apply it, though the aroma yet lingered on her clothes. Michael bent closer to catch the scent at the join of her neck and shoulder. “Shall we go upstairs now?”
Darkness had fallen, though dinner was at least two hours off. Michael was famished, and food had nothing to do with his hunger. He’d regret this folly, but he’d regret more declining what Henrietta offered.
And if he was lucky, Beltram’s damned book had been tossed in the fire years ago.
* * *
Henrietta stepped behind the privacy screen, aware of a vast gap in her feminine vocabulary. No man had sought to share intimacies with her for the simple pleasure of her company. From Beltram onward, all had regarded her as a commodity to be leased, though Beltram had masked his agenda as seduction.
Michael had cast her no speculative glances, assayed no “accidental” touches, offered no smiles that insulted as they inventoried. Any of those, Henrietta could have parried without effort.
His honest regard might have been a foreign language to her.
“Shall I undress for you?” She was tall enough to watch over the privacy screen as Michael added peat to the fire.
“Not unless you’d enjoy that,” he said, setting the poker on the hearth stand. “Perhaps you’d like me to undress for you? Can’t say as a lady has ever asked that of me.”
A lady.To him, she was a lady. “It’s a bit chilly to be making a display out of disrobing.” Some men had needed that from her, had needed as much anticipation and encouragement as she could produce for them—poor wretches.
“Burning peat is an art, and my staff hasn’t the way of it,” he said. “I keep the smell about to remind me of the years when a peat fire was the difference between life and death. Your hair is quite long.”
