Page 107 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Shutting the nursery door, Cornelius tried not to look at the beautiful woman beside him.

The night was perfect; in fact, he couldn’t recall when he’d ever had such a glorious celebration for his birthday.

Selfishly, he wanted to hold on to the memory of the day.

He had never seen the girls so happy, so childlike and free.

Spending the day with Imogen and his nieces reminded him of everything he might have if not for the damn Latchwood curse.

A family. A loving wife who baked cakes and laughed with their children and oversaw snow angels in the park.

A woman who kissed him like he was the only man in the world for her.

“Thank you for tonight,” Imogen whispered, her husky voice trembling with emotion. “It was the best night of my entire existence.”

His heart thundered. The fine hairs along his neck rose as his body stirred with need, raw and overwhelming, as if he were an unlearned youth. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her, draw her close, and taste her again.

It had been hours since their kiss in the park, hours since his life was irrevocably changed forever. The curse no longer mattered to him. Not his lack of fortune, nor the uncertainty of tomorrow. Only her.

Imogen.

The best night of her existence?

Before he could speak and declare the words in his heart, she turned, her skirts whispering like secrets against the carpet as she walked down the corridor.

“Miss St. Croix—Imogen.” His voice cracked, shaking with emotions he could no longer contain.

Forcing his legs to move, he reached her in two quick strides. Without another word, he took her hands in his. The world tilted. The years of despair lifted like a fog. Curse or no curse, days, weeks, or months, whatever time he had remaining he wanted to spend it with her in his life.

From the moment he’d seen her on the Serpentine Bridge bathed in moonlight like she hadn’t a care in the world, she’d stolen the very breath from his lungs.

“Cornelius.” His name was like a prayer on her lips, a siren’s call to the deepest darkest corners of his soul.

“Stay,” he rasped, voice breaking. His thumb pressed the soft flesh of her hand. “Don’t go. Stay with me. With the girls. Forever.” She was the light he’d been missing, what they all had been missing for so long.

Imogen St. Croix belonged with them; he was as sure of that fact as he was his own name.

Her silence was a spear to his heart, sharp and deadly. The tears streaming down her angelic face shattered his fragile hopes, destroying any thought of happiness.

She tore her hands from his, fleeing down the long hall. But he could not, would not, let her go. Each step he took thundered in his ears, the pounding in his temple in perfect time with his heart.

Cornelius reached her before she could escape into the safety of her rooms. “Please,” he said, breath ragged, eyes burning from the intensity of his gaze. “Please, Imogen. I don’t know how it’s even possible in the short time that we’ve known each other, but you’re the missing part of me.”

Her fingers touched his lips, silencing him. “I can’t stay with you, Cornelius.” Her voice broke, trembling with the weight of her words. “I must return.” The tears in her eyes flowed freely down the apples of her cheeks.

He kissed her fingertips desperately wanting Imogen to know his need for her. “Tell me you don’t feel this?”

She turned, shoulders rigid, and faced the closed door of her chambers. “I feel it,” she confessed, voice raw with emotion. “God help me, I feel it too. But it doesn’t change anything, Cornelius.” Her body trembled like a leaf in a violent storm. “You have to let me go.”

Having heard enough, he cloaked her in his embrace. “I’ll never let you go; you’ll always be with me.” His lips pressed against the hollow between her neck and shoulder. His body molded with hers, and in that moment, they were one.

She turned, one hand cupping his cheek, brown eyes filled with anguish. “If I could stay, I’d stay with you and the girls forever.”

She pressed her warm lips to his, shocking him once again. Unlike the last time she’d kissed him, it did not take Cornelius moments to recover. Taking her by the nape, he pressed her against the door, deepening their kiss with a desperation he’d never felt before.

If this was all the time he’d have with her, then he would brand this moment into both their memories for the rest of their lives.

She tasted like wine and fate, her breathy moans emboldening him to pull her closer. The soft curves of her body were torture against the hard plains of his own. Her fingers teased up his neck to his hair as his own hands traveled down her back to her plump bottom.

A firm weight on his chest halted all movements, her hand pushed him away, the cool air that greeted him officially breaking the spell she’d momentarily cast upon him.

Cornelius ran a hand down his face, trying to control himself. He’d pushed her beyond propriety, and he’d promised her that she’d be safe with him.

A weight of shame and regret swirled in his chest. “Forgive—”

“Come inside,” she demanded in a husky whisper, her gaze never leaving his as she twisted the doorknob from behind her back.

The door opened, and Cornelius blinked several times, frozen in place. “Are you certain?” he asked, fighting a war between his body and propriety.

He had begun to dream of a life with her as his wife, spending their nights wrapped in each other’s arms.

Of course he wanted her, she was beautiful, kind and intelligent, but it was her choice, not his. Silently, she stepped into the dark room, the fire in the hearth casting a shadowy red and yellow glow around her.

“Well?” She tilted her head, a stray curl falling into her hypnotizing eyes. “Are you coming, Cornelius?”

He battled with himself, wishing he was a better man, but knowing he’d never forgive himself if he walked away from her. If all she could give him was one night, than he’d grasp it with both hands and cherish it forever.

In one fluent motion, he was in the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoed through the quiet chamber. His pulse raced as if he’d run across London in a single day.

The silence that stood between them was thick. Fear had Cornelius frozen in place. It had been years since he’d been with a woman, and never had he experienced the overwhelming longing he had for Imogen with another woman.

There would never be another for him. He was certain that in just their brief time together he was in love with her.

It was madness, utter and complete madness.

The cruelty of it all was that he was plagued by the Latchwood curse that cared nothing about his plans or desires.

Perhaps it was better for her to return to wherever she was from.

America or perhaps one of the Caribbean Islands?

He knew so little about the woman who had consumed his very being.

A goddess in burgundy, she stepped closer, the skirts of her gown swaying side to side with every step.

“Jenny helped me dress,” she said before turning to face the room. “Can you undo me?”

With trembling hands, he began undoing the silk laces of her gown, his fingers brushing the delicate curve of her spine. Every loosened tie stroked a fire he had long denied himself. The fabric loosened around her slim shoulders and slid to the carpet.

Cornelius wanted to worship her slowly, memorize every curve, every sigh, every secret she wanted to reveal. He made quick work of her stays, wanting to see her bare before him. His hunger for her burned so sharp, so crisp, he feared it would undo him completely.

Her stays joined the gown on the carpet, and she stood before him wearing nothing but a thin shift. The outline of her curves called to him like a lost song.

She was beautiful, simply magnificent in every way imaginable.

Imogen faced him. Her fingers trailed down his chest, undoing the buttons of his waistcoat one at a time. He dared not breathe, wanting to savor every second of their time together.

His jacket and waist coat joined her gown. Cornelius made quick work of his long shirt, wanting to free himself.

She slipped the chemise off her shoulders, letting it glide down her body, revealing inch by wonderous inch of smooth brown skin.

Dark nipples greeted him like old friends, and his mouth watered at the sight.

He wrapped his arms around her small waist pulling her to him. The feel of her skin on his was divine.

Her fingertips trailed up his chest, his neck, his face. She pulled him in for a sensual kiss. Their lips molded together in a dance older than time.

Cornelius groaned in pleasure as he walked them toward the large canopy bed in the center of the room.

Her lips were pliant against his, desperate, as he guided her lips in a sensual dance of pleasure.

His hands cupped her full breast, massaging her nipples, as his mouth slid down the long slope of her neck, tasting, and savoring her like it was the last time. Because it was.

He tried not to dwell on the sobering fact that he would never experience her touch again, never taste her mouth, or hear the little breathy moans she made when she enjoyed his touch.

All he wanted to do was focus on her and the rare gift she was giving him at that moment.

He cupped her cheek, gliding his thumb over her smooth skin.

“On the bed, Imogen,” he commanded, his eyes on her lips, swollen from his kisses. She climbed into the bed her naked body on display.

Dear God, she was glorious. Everything he’d ever dreamed of and never dared hope.

She was his. It didn’t matter if it was only for the night. Whatever she was willing to give him, he would cherish her like the queen she was.