Page 74 of His Wicked Little Christmas
Chance’s brow rose, waiting for her to say more, so she didn’t.
Finally, he scrubbed his hand over his mouth, tilting his head, thinking. “You’re going to marry him, then. It looked quite official on the ballroom floor. Hillsdale had a look of complete ownership on his face. Should I offer congratulations?”
A wave of lightheadedness hit her, and Franny swayed, reaching for the newel post. Her bonnet tumbled to the floor. Chance was on his feet instantly, grasping her shoulders. She shook her head, embarrassed, trying to sidestep his bruising hold. Yanking her coat from her arms, he tossed it over the banister alongside his.
“I haven’t eaten. This dress. It’s Hildy’s, and the modiste implied my ample curves would bust the seams if I consumed so much as even one biscuit.”
With a harsh oath, his hand trailed down her arm, leaving fire in its wake. Clasping her fingers, he led her down the hallway, thankfully toward the kitchen. He linked his with hers, the first time she’d held hands with a man in her life. “Your body is a bloody fantasy, don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
She stumbled along behind him, her breath caught in her chest.Fantasy. She’d never been anyone’s fantasy.
Well past midnight, the kitchen was deserted when they entered it. Only the scent of grilled meat and stewed cabbage remained. Lighting a candle, then a wall sconce, Chance pulled out a chair from a scuffed table the scullery staff used for meals. “Turn,” he ordered after she sat. Too hungry to argue, she swiveled, presenting her back.
From the first touch, she couldn’t have said a rational word had her life depended on it.
He was efficient. Obviously well acquainted with the intricacies of women’s attire. Easily undoing the top two buttons of her gown,allowing her to breathe without constraint. He wore no gloves, and his calloused fingertips sent trails of heat whispering through her.
The man worked with his hands, and it showed.
He paused, a sigh slipping free, his body towering over her. She was thankful she couldn’t gaze into his face from this position. “If you were truly my governess, I wouldn’t be this familiar. Not that I should, in any case. But we’re friends more than the other, I suppose. Employer and such. I wanted you to know.” Stepping back, he swore beneath his breath, his hands dropping from her. “I’m not, that is, I’ve never taken advantage of someone vulnerable.”
Her heart skipped a beat because a man had once taken advantage of her vulnerability. “You’ve never had to. They come to you.” She glanced over her shoulder, letting him know she appreciated his honesty. And that she was teasing.
Startled, he blinked and stepped back, bumping into the cupboard. Lips curving in self-mockery, he began assembling the items to make tea.Tea. Her fascination blossomed in the cozy confines of his decaying estate’s kitchen—as she watched an honorable viscount trying desperately toprovehe was honorable.
No one had believed him before, she guessed.
In less than a minute, he delivered a plate piled high with cheese, ham, and the lemon scones she’d spied earlier, followed soon by a cup of tea, steam lifting free to tickle her nose. Then he sprawled in the opposite chair, his own cup cradled in his broad palms. The tip of his boot edged her ankle, and they shifted in their seats to adjust, gazes downcast.
She took a sip of excellently brewed tea and dug into the ham. “You’re quite handy in the kitchen, my lord,” she murmured, chewing as delicately as a ravenous person could.
“Destitution requires a man to prepare his own meals. My funds only allow for service at breakfast and lunch.” He sipped, his cobalt gaze striking hers over the rim of his cup. “You’ve never had a viscount wait on you before? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I’ve never hadanyman wait on me.”
Her words registered in a way she hadn’t intended. The chemical charge that traveled between them whenever they were in the same spacecrackled like lightning. His pupils expanded, a muscle in his jaw starting to tick. Seconds passed while they breathed softly in the winter twilight.
Finally, in tense silence, he reached for a scone. Then turned it in his hand like he didn’t know what to do with it.
“You don’t like Hillsdale.” Dusting a crumb from her bottom lip, she tried to ignore the way his gaze tracked the movement. But her body clenched, seeing everything her mind sought to repel.
He shook his head, biting into the scone. His hair glimmered, amber threads sparking in the candlelight. Grainy stubble dotted his cheeks, giving him the look of a swashbuckler. Both elegant and ferocious. And beautiful, even if she wished he wasn’t. “No, more like I feel you’re selling yourself to the lowest bidder.”
“I don’t have the luxury to be selective. My father will disown me. He’s threatened, and I believe him. We’re not close. We never have been. A woman alone, without funds, can’t survive in this world.” Glancing at her plate, she decided to be honest. Flickering candlelight and the gentle rumblings of a slumbering house made it seem as if they were the only two people in England. “I made a mistake a year ago that limits my negotiating power.”
He looked up, arrested. Swallowing, he placed his cup on the table. “A mistake.”
She traced a crack in the plate with her pinkie, avoiding his gaze. “The kind that men can make every day, but a woman never can. Not even a hint of one. He was cruel, and I was foolish. Other than that, it’s in the past.”
He sat back, his chair squealing in protest. Such a broad body housed in a threadbare piece. He must have hated it when he designed the most gorgeous furniture. “So that’s why you’re running.” His words were edged with anger. She wasn’t sure where they were directed.
Her temper sparked when she had no reason to be incensed. “I’mnotrunning. I would have stayed despite the scandal. It only ruined my chances of a proper marriage in Philadelphia. High society, they call it there. Nothing so graceful as theton. An entanglement I never desired anyway. I could have lived as a spinster without issue. I want to, in fact.”
His lips parted, closed, then parted again. He fiddledwith his cup before grabbing another scone. She’d never known a man to considerheropinion before imposing his own. “What about love?”
The sip of tea she’d taken went down too fast. She coughed and dropped a slice of cheese to her plate. “Love?”
“You don’t believe in it?”