Page 43 of A Shop Girl’s Christmas (Pennington’s Department Store #3)

Stephen lifted his head from Cornelia’s breast, his heart thundering and his erection straining. He would have given anything to make love to her. To see her flushed and happy after their lovemaking, his own body comforted and replete from being with a woman who had somehow touched places inside him he had thought dead.

She watched him, her cheeks tinged pink, her breathing soft. ‘What is it?’

‘Your family. Us…’ He shook his head, shameful tears pricking his eyes as he lifted a curl from her cheek. ‘Our lives are so different. The investigation… Everything is just too dangerous, and if anything were to happen to you, happen to me, what then?’

‘Isn’t that a risk every person takes with someone at some time?’ She pulled her rumpled chemise back over her bosom and focused on re-lacing her bodice. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘But it’s not really the investigation worrying you, is it?’

He swallowed. ‘It’s just the investigation.’

She swept a trembling hand over her hair and straightened her shoulders. ‘Tell me the truth. I deserve that if I am to walk away from you. Turn my back on a man I really believe I was meant to meet. Meant to know.’

Her honesty was shaming in the face of his cowardice. How, after everything she had been through in her marriage, did she manage to be so forthright? To wear her heart so openly on her sleeve? He would never possess half of her strength. Further proof he was not the man she needed.

He tugged at the lapels of his jacket before pushing the hair back from his brow. ‘I can’t allow it to come to mean something that we’ve met. That our feelings are deepening for one another. I have a job to do for Mr Carter, and I must make myself whole again before I can be anything to anyone. Anything to you.’

Her eyes clouded with sympathy that struck like a knife in his chest. She could now see how truly weak he was.

She took his hand and the sympathy in her eyes vanished, only to be replaced with fiery passion. ‘You are not an island, Stephen. You can’t grow, change or get better alone. Don’t you understand? I am living with my brother, working at Pennington’s after Esther recommended me to Elizabeth. Your advice, wisdom and encouragement were what secured my divorce. I would be nothing without the people around me. Can’t you see that?’

His heart lurched painfully to hear her talk about herself in such a way. He clenched his jaw, passion burning inside him. ‘Don’t ever say you’re nothing. Not ever.’

‘Then why do you think you are?’ Her gaze turned angry, her fingers tightening on his. ‘Why can you not welcome the love and care of these new people you’ve met since you started working at Pennington’s? Why should I stop helping and caring for you when you say the help I’ve received was beneficial? The same can be true for you.’

A firm rap sounded at the door.

‘Cornelia?’ Lawrence asked. ‘Is everything all right?’

With her eyes on Stephen’s, Cornelia said, ‘I’m fine. We’ll be there in a minute.’

Lawrence Culford cleared his throat. ‘We’ll be in the drawing room. Ruth has prepared coffee.’

They both stood as her brother’s footsteps retreated. Stephen stared at the beautiful woman in front of him. What could he say to Cornelia without further provoking her frustration? She was right in everything she’d said. Everything she’d accused him of. She deserved to know that after the honour he’d had of touching her – of loving her – he was not a cad, but a man afraid. How was he to resist her? How was he ever to close his eyes and not see the perfect blue of hers? How was he to breathe and not smell her scent?

‘Please, Stephen. I will leave you to do as you will with the investigation if that’s what you want, but…’

He stared deep into her eyes, longing to embrace her, to kiss her hair and tell her everything would be all right. But to do so, would be foolish when space between them was imperative.

‘But?’ He feared whatever she said next would break down his feeble, self-imposed barriers.

‘But,’ she sighed. ‘Unless you specifically demand it, or if I ever feel you are wrong for me, wrong for my boys, I won’t walk away from us.’

Before he could respond, his heart damn near bursting from his chest, she swept to the door. With a final flash of fire from her eyes, she unlocked it and marched into the hallway, leaving him standing alone.

She’d said she wouldn’t walk away… before she had even learned of his exoneration. Was it madness that he would not give them a chance?

He ran his hand over his face, innumerable emotions tumbling through him. He’d be a liar to say he didn’t want to explore what might grow between them. Be a liar to not admit how much he had enjoyed her family’s – her sons’ – company throughout dinner. He’d seen so much of their mother in Alfred and Francis’s eyes. So much of Cornelia in their easy smiles and laughter.

He’d also seen her determination in Francis’s assessing gaze. Seen the wary, protectiveness in Alfred’s as he’d slid his arm around his brother’s shoulders or cast a look at Cornelia as though checking she was happy. Stephen was thirty years old and had hardly any experience with children. Did Cornelia really think him kind enough, wise enough, to be a part of Alfred’s and Francis’s lives?

Another knock and Lawrence Culford strolled into the room, his hands relaxed in his pockets, as he surveyed the space. ‘Well, well. Nothing’s changed in here over the years.’

Stephen straightened his shoulders. ‘Cornelia said this was once your father’s study?’

‘Indeed. His study and a place for things other than work.’

Stephen carefully gauged the man in front of him. A man who owned the prestigious Phoenix Hotel. A man who’d thrown caution and society to the wind and married a woman who worked in a department store. A woman who now carried his child. Was Lawrence Culford not living, breathing proof of how convention could be tossed aside if a person was brave or determined enough?

Culford paced around the room, picked up and replaced a glass paperweight on the huge, oak desk. ‘My sister is very fond of you, Stephen. Fond and proud.’

He frowned. ‘Proud?’

A small smile curved Culford’s lips. ‘Oh, yes. She hasn’t said as much, but, with Cornelia, her actions speak louder than words about her feelings. You’ve struck her good and proper. So, why don’t we retire to the drawing room and finish this Christmas Eve on a note that will lead us splendidly into tomorrow?’

Uncertain, Stephen stared at his host. He should excuse himself and leave the house immediately. He should thank Culford for his hospitality and then exit with an excuse…

Instead, he smiled. ‘What’s life for if not for a little risk?’

‘I couldn’t have said it better myself.’ Lawrence held his hand out towards the door. ‘After you, my friend.’