Page 116 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

It took Claire a full minute to recover from the shock of the earl’s agreement. She hadn’t been sure he was listening to a word she said. Or at least, allowing it to penetrate his consciousness. But she supposed it was the Christmastide season and miracles were wont to happen.

Thinking of the easiest maneuver to begin, she cleared her throat and attempted to calm herself before she began, “Wonderful. We shall start with a few easy exercises.” She glanced about the great hall. “Would you rather retire to someplace more comfortable?”

He looked at her through a hooded glance. “If you are referring to my bedchamber, rest assured it would not be more comfortable for either one of us. At least, not fully clothed.”

Claire didn’t know if his purpose was to discomfit her or to send her to anger, but it was a mixture of both. “I can assure you, my lord, that I am completely professional when it comes to assisting any of my clients.”

He waved a hand. “Let’s see what you can do.”

She stiffened her spine. It would not be easy to earn the earl’s trust, nor his respect, but if she started acting like a wilting wallflower whose sensibilities were shocked every time he mentioned intimacy, that would not endear her to him.

The issue was the strange attraction she felt toward him, but she knew that she had to push that aside in order to succeed in her task and earn the gratitude of Lady Mimbley.

She got to her feet. “Although we don’t have the proper equipment here for everything I observed, we can start with some basic exercises to promote health and strength.”

He appeared skeptical. “What does this entail?”

“It’s simple, really. You use your own body weight to work on weakened muscles. We will do a series of stretches and then slowly, as you acclimate yourself to the exercises, we can increase the difficulty. It is best if you mimic what I’m teaching you, but to begin, I will show you what to do.”

“And it’s safe?” he asked warily as she bent down and reached for his right leg.

“Completely,” she assured him. “As I said, I’ve had the opportunity to gain extensive study into the physiology of the human body, not to mention that these sorts of maneuvers have been around since the time of the Spartans.

Over the years, it has expanded and most recently, became employed by the British military to develop stamina.

” She grabbed his ankle and slowly started to move it higher.

“Try to keep your knee locked in place and tell me if something starts to hurt.”

She hadn’t gone very high before he hissed through his teeth and clutched at his thigh. “That is quite sufficient.”

Slowly, she lowered his leg. “That is very minimal. Your muscles are tight and have to be loosened. At least we know where to begin. As I lift your leg again—”

He glared at her. “I must endure this torture again?”

She tried not to wince. “Several times, in fact. It is the only way to ease the bunching of those injured tendons.” She hesitated, waiting until he could acclimate himself to the idea, and then she asked, “Are you ready?”

“Not in the least,” he grumbled, but he stiffened his lips as she lifted his leg once more. He grimaced, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead, but he said nothing as she slowly moved his limb back downward.

After several more attempts with little result, Claire told herself it was a start. She just hoped it hadn’t been too much for the earl to endure. Once she released him, she returned to her chair and asked softly, “How do you feel?”

He was still clutching his thigh. “As if I have been through battle a second time.”

She did wince this time. “I do apologize for that. I’m afraid it can’t be helped at the beginning, but the more we manipulate your leg, I promise that the efforts will be worth it.

You shouldn’t even need the use of your cane when we are finished.

That is, if you continue the process after I’m gone. ”

As some of the visible tightness receded from his face, proving that the pain was slowly fading, he said evenly, “If I can endure the initial interaction, I might do that.” He glanced out the window where the snow was still falling in steady, silent flakes.

“If this storm continues as it is, it could be days before someone can come by to collect you and whisk you back to London.”

“That doesn’t concern me overly much, so long as we can get you back on both feet.”

He frowned. “What of the Christmas holiday? Do you not celebrate it?”

She shrugged. “I have never cared for such frivolities. I am like my father in that regard. We are more interested in medicine and science and philosophy to worry about familial traditions.”

He sat back in his chair and looked at her curiously, as if she was suddenly the subject of great curiosity. “There is nothing you enjoy doing around this special time of the year?”

She thought she detected a slight hint of mockery in his voice, but she shook her head and responded truthfully.

“Not really. My father and I stopped exchanging gifts many years ago. I am glad just to spend time in his company.” As she spoke, the spark of a memory resurfaced.

“But now that you mention it, I suppose I was fond of sugar plums. When I was young, before my mother died, she used to make them. I can’t say that they were strictly for Christmas, but I recall liking them very much. ”

“Sugar plums,” he echoed with a murmur.

Warmth spread through Claire’s midsection at the seductive lilt to his tone. Although it had been years since she’d brought sugar plums to mind, she rather fancied one now if he would just continue to speak in that manner.

As he sat across from his comely houseguest, all Ethan could think of was how he should like to trail a sugar plum down Miss Meyer’s delectable body as she lay naked in his bed.

He had also been fond of the treat and combined with her, he had no doubt he would develop a certain fondness for them once more.

He would have a word with his cook at the earliest opportunity. If Miss Meyer was still here on Christmas, he would make sure it was one that she never forgot.

As his leg throbbed, Ethan decided that it did feel slightly improved.

It would not heal overnight, because his injury had been severe and doctors had told him that he would always be lame.

But it was certainly a different sensation from what he’d endured in the past. A dull ache was much more preferable than that of stabbing agony whether he moved or sat still.

It was torture the likes of which he could never escape.

That was why he’d pushed away his elder sister and her family, as well as anyone he’d dared to call a friend over the years.

He didn’t want their pity, but most of all, he didn’t want them to see him suffering.

Thinking of his sister, he asked abruptly, “You don’t have any siblings to speak of?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He snorted. “Then you are fortunate. I have an elder sister who continues to bedevil me although I have sent my regrets to join her brood for the past several years and refused their offer to attend to me here.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You know you are painting yourself in a dark light, like some sort of miserable curmudgeon who cares for no one but himself.”

His eyes sharpened on her. “It’s what I am.”

She met his glare with a steady one of her own. “I disagree. You are not a bad man, you just don’t want the attention your current condition causes. You don’t want to endure the fluttering fans and whispers as you pass by with your cane. You want to be as you were and nothing else will endure.”

Ethan blinked. It wasn’t often that anyone pegged him so clearly, but she was one of the few who knew the man he was afraid to show to anyone else.

It made him uncomfortable. “You seem to have me all figured out, Miss Meyer,” he murmured.

He waved a hand in dismissal. “You shall have to find a way to entertain yourself for the rest of the morning. I’m weary of this interaction. ”

Instead of appearing hurt or injured by his crass words, she got to her feet. “Of course, Lord Darville. Perhaps we can try some exercises later.” With that parting remark, she left him.

He watched her retreat until she reached the upper landing and disappeared within the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

Once he was alone, Ethan felt as though he could breathe properly again.

He leaned his head back and clutched his fist until the burning desire that was flowing through his body began to subside.

When it was obvious it would not, he bellowed for Tobin.

The servant appeared almost instantly. “A brandy,” he demanded, but not as harshly as he might have before Miss Meyer’s arrival.

“Of course, my lord.”

The butler returned moments later with the requested drink and a crystal tumbler. When he would have poured some of the liquid from the decanter to the glass, Ethan flicked his hand. “Leave it. I’ll drink from the bottle.”

The man obediently backed away, and as Ethan brought the alcohol to his lips, he gulped a harsh, fortifying drink.

It took nearly half the bottle before he started to feel some of the glorious numbing effects that he was used to.

This drink had kept him sane for the first few months after his injury, when the nightmares and the pain were both so excruciating that he could think of nothing else but the desire to perish as he hadn’t done on that miserable battlefield in France.

But now, he imbibed for another reason entirely.

He was afraid that Miss Meyer had the ability to remind him of his humanity, the compassion he’d tamped down so deep that he’d nearly convinced himself he didn’t have a heart.

But, of course, he did. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be drumming with the anticipation of seeing Miss Meyer’s blue eyes and soft black hair again.