Page 117 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

The way the ebony strands had curled so charmingly around the edges of her face, as if they were as unruly as its owner proved that he didn’t stand a chance when it came to her resilience.

In truth, she was more courageous than he had ever been.

Some might have called him a hero for his efforts in the war, but Ethan knew the truth.

When he’d been told his leg was a wreck and he might never walk again, he’d wept like a child.

After that, the hard acceptance had arrived and he’d grasped on to that as tightly as he could because his pride could accept anger much better than the truth.

So many times, he’d been faced with the prospect of healing remedies, but when all those promises had rung hollow, he’d resigned himself to his fate. With Claire, he had the feeling she wasn’t one who suffered fools lightly and she would not rest until she’d cured him.

“Good afternoon, Tobin.”

Claire tried to keep her voice pleasant as she greeted the aged servant.

The older man smiled politely and inclined his head as they passed each other.

She had grown weary of pacing the floor in her bedchamber and, not sure of where she might be welcome in the house, she had asked the housekeeper, Mrs. Peel where she could travel with the master’s permission.

“The library would be a great place to begin. Lord Darville has a great selection of books to suit any taste.”

Thus, that was where Claire had set out.

Situated around the left corner of the great hall, she soon discovered a billiards room directly across from the three walls of books that lined the shelves in the library.

Both were equally enjoyable, as she had grown fond of playing billiards with her father.

Not many accepted the sport as one that a lady should pursue, but she had discovered quite a talent for it and had developed a skill for trick shots that those who had observed her could not deny.

However, she decided that she would leave the baize table for another day and concentrated on finding some suitable reading material in the earl’s massive collection.

Indeed, she was impressed with the variations of literature that she discovered and found that Hatchard’s bookshop in London was the only place that she could imagine came close to such an array of substantial, leather-bound volumes.

She carefully began to inspect each one that was available, but when her gaze caught a title that seemed familiar toward the top, she realized she was a bit too short to reach it and would have to move the small stepladder in the corner a bit closer to see if she was correct in her assessment.

Lifting her skirts, she carefully set her booted foot on the first rung, then the second. Feeling confident in her footing, she stretched upward. Her fingertips had just grazed the spine when a sharp voice intruded, “What do you think you’re doing?”

As Claire spun around in shock, she realized that she wasn’t as stable as she’d believed just a moment before. With a gasp, she knew she was going to fall to the floor and closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.

It never came.

A muttered obscenity exploded into the room, and her eyes popped open just as the earl flung an arm around her waist. His knee buckled under her added weight and they dropped like a combined stone to the hard wood floor.

It took a moment for Claire’s breath to return, although she doubted it had anything to do with her recent upset.

When she finally drew air into her lungs, she realized she was lying on top of the earl in a particularly compromising manner.

Her breasts were pressed against his hard chest, her torso and legs intertwined with his, much as they had been the night before—except today, their positions had reversed and she was in the dominant position.

“I’m so… s-sorry…” she stammered.

He gritted his teeth, and his green eyes flared with something she dared not name, but she didn’t think it was solely frustration.

“Fine. But do you mind getting off me now?”

“Oh…of course, my l-lord.” Gracious, I sound like a ninnyhammer!

As she rolled to the side and sat up, she noted that he was a bit slower to do the same. “Are you hurt?” she asked softly.

“I will be well soon enough,” he grumbled, although she noticed that he grimaced when he attempted to move his lame leg. “Blasted thing,” he said bitterly.

She knew it probably wasn’t the time to assist him, his pride and honor both warring against his need to remain a strong presence, but she couldn’t stand by helplessly when he had saved her from a possible injury herself.

She wasn’t going to ponder the fact that she wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t startled her.

She didn’t ask permission but reached out and laid her hands on his thigh where she began to knead the coiled flesh.

The earl hissed through his teeth but didn’t stop her as she continued her ministrations.

She worked tirelessly until the muscles in her hands ached, but she would not desist until she could be assured of his wellbeing.

She would never earn his regard if she didn’t sacrifice some of herself in the process.

With every client who had allowed her into their home she’d suffered the same difficulties, the same resistance.

The problem with Lord Darville was that being this close to him, she realized how delicious he smelled and how aware she was of his vitality when he apparently thought the latter was long gone.

The strength coiled in the rest of his body was proof enough that he wasn’t ready for the grave just yet.

A stray strand of hair fell forward out of her bun, and she refused to tuck it back behind her ear. However, when a gentle hand reached up and brushed it away from her face, she couldn’t resist pausing to glance up at the earl.

Her breath caught because the heat swirling in his green gaze was unmistakable.

Likely because it mirrored what she felt inside.