Page 118 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Ethan’s pride had taken a worse fall than his physical body.

He remembered a time when he could run fast and far over these hills and barely find himself winded.

These days it was all he could do to rise from the chair without the threat of crumpling back onto the cushions.

He was worthless, a waste of good space after the war.

And yet…

Although he ought to find himself outraged by his foolishness in rushing to save the damsel in distress when he’d caught her off guard in the first place, he found that the moment she touched him, nothing else mattered. His leg might be throbbing, but his cock was on fire for her.

He hardly comprehended when the tightness in his leg began to ease because his entire focus was riveted on her mouth, the gentle rise and fall of her breasts as she took each breath, the gentle citrus scent that he would forever associate with her…

Look at me… his inner voice demanded. He wanted to see her lovely blue eyes darken with the same passion that coursed through his veins.

From the moment he’d seen her, strange emotions had begun to flare in his chest and his nether regions, the likes of which he’d thought had died on that battlefield where his body should have lain for all eternity.

When that unruly strand of black hair had fallen forward, he was struck with the desire to remove the rest of the pins holding it in place.

As the heavy length tumbled down her shoulders, he would gather a fistful in his grasp and drag her closer to him where the kiss they shared would be nothing short of intense wanton need.

Unable to resist reaching out, he grasped the soft strand and moved it behind her ear as she lifted her gaze. As it met and held his, he saw her lips part slightly. They were damp and eager for his kiss. At least, that was what Ethan told himself as he slowly closed the distance between them.

Her breath caught as he gently pressed his mouth to hers.

He wanted to capture her, devour her, but something told him that he had to take things slow.

And when it came to loving Miss Meyer, he didn’t want to rush.

He wanted to savor every moment she was near him because he knew that their association was fleeting, temporary, as was every peccadillo he’d ever embarked upon.

Unfortunately, he cared too much about Miss Meyer’s feelings to subject her to his savage nature, so other than this light embrace, he intended to keep his distance.

There was only so much restraint he could endure and she tested every ounce of his control.

To allow things to go any further would be hazardous, and in the end, she was the only one who would suffer.

As he released her, he allowed the cold mask of “Darkville” to return. “Bring me my cane,” he ordered flatly.

She blinked, as if coming out of some sort of haze. “Of course,” she murmured, ducking her head as she scurried off to do his bidding, like she was some sort of frightened mouse that had narrowly escaped the cat’s hungry clutches.

She handed him his cane, and he could sense her hesitation. “That will be all,” he snapped.

Without waiting for him to rise, she turned and fled the room.

Ethan despised himself for being so relentless, and he knew that he’d made her head spin with a show of kindness one moment and frustration in the next, but it was the sole means of protection that he was able to muster these days. God only knew he couldn’t rely upon his prowess any longer.

Expecting the excruciating pain that always accompanied any sort of weight he attempted to put on his limb, he was surprised when he managed to get to his feet without feeling the anguish he normally experienced.

While it was still a struggle because it was still injured nearly beyond the point of any sort of repair, he had to admit that whatever methods Miss Meyer was using to ease his discomfort was actually working.

If he was a weaker man, he might have wept at the prospect that there might actually be a cure for his condition, or at least something resembling one.

He decided that since he hadn’t lost his leg when the doctors had almost begged him to allow the amputation and managed to walk when the same professionals had vowed that he would not, determination had seen him through a lot of dark days.

The problem was, as the years had gone by and he’d lost any further progress, his outlook had turned bleak and his mood darker than it had ever been.

He inhaled slowly, where the slight scent of oranges remained, and decided that he needed to find a way to apologize to Miss Meyer for his crass behavior. She was not to blame for anything when her presence brought light back into his miserable existence.

Claire returned to her room and leaned against the heavy oak door at her back, her eyes shut tightly for the longest time. She couldn’t say how long she stood there trying to either hold back tears, laughter, or some contorted combination of both.

What she had just shared with the earl certainly wasn’t funny by any means. In truth, it was shocking, and nerve-wracking, and… thrilling.

Heavens, what had she been thinking to allow him to kiss her? Never before had she allowed such liberties, and especially from a client. This was not the sort of healing process she intended to extend and she was quite sure that the earl knew that.

And yet…

She hadn’t moved away discreetly or changed the subject to something more befitting the situation. No, she’d merely sat there and let him set his mouth to hers.

It was the reason her legs were still unsteady and her heart was racing.

She knew it had been a mistake to entertain such an enigmatic man, but her desire to help someone in need always trumped her personal preferences.

It still did now, although the two were starting to become entangled, coiled in a mess that she wasn’t sure she could untangle.

But she had to try. She would not return to Lady Mimbley in disgrace and ruin.

Lord Darville’s aunt had entrusted her to administer to her nephew in a proper manner, not one befitting a doxy or common whore.

If she allowed the earl to take things further, to compromise her dignity, that is exactly what she would be doing and that was certainly not like her.

Straightening her shoulders, Claire opened her eyes and moved to the window overlooking the front gardens.

The snow was still coming down in earnest and it hadn’t taken long before the ground was covered in fluffy white.

She was quite certain she would remain at Darville House for several days, if not a week or two.

It was very likely that this storm could cause her to miss spending Christmas in London with her father, but she had been truthful when she’d told the earl that they hadn’t really celebrated the holiday for many years.

It wasn’t as though it was particularly special, although she decided that it was entirely too intimate to spend the season with Lord Darville.

There could be talk if she did so, and a woman’s good reputation was all she really had.

Nevertheless, if the weather didn’t wish to cooperate, there was nothing to be done for it. She would merely have to bide her time until she could find an opportunity to leave.

Until then, she would do the job she was tasked with.

Walking over to the modest desk on the other side of the room, she was grateful that some ink and parchment had been left out.

Dipping the quill in the inkwell, the tip hovered for a moment before she began to write out a list. It always helped her to focus on the best exercises for every client and she was determined that the next time she encountered the earl, it would be as if she was observing at the gymnasium in Switzerland once more.

There were men who were lightly dressed to engage in physical activities in shirts and trousers and if she could endure that then she could surely withstand the sight of the earl as he strengthened his leg.

Integrity. Accountability. Appropriate. Formal.

This list was for herself and all the attributes she would endeavor to adhere to from this point forward.

It would be easier when she thought of the cool manner in which the earl had dismissed her.

It was obvious that he was already considering their embrace as a terrible mistake.

Which it was, of course. Nothing good could come of an intimate association between them.

It wasn’t as if they were courting. She was here to complete a job.

When that was over, she would be on her way to the next individual that required her assistance. That was all this was.

Nothing more.

Thus empowered, Claire waited for one of the servants to fetch her for supper.

When the appointed time came, Claire gathered her list of exercises and headed to the great hall intent on putting them into place at the earliest opportunity.

Instead, she saw that it was empty and Tobin escorted her into another room that she had not yet seen.

The walls were covered with oak carved paneling and the fireplace set in the center would have been cozy in the midst of a Gothic Radcliffe novel.

It was quite impressive, although it was the man seated in one of the wingback chairs by the fire that captured and held her attention. The earl looked the same as he had earlier, but there was a decided ease to his expression that hadn’t been there before.

He nodded to Tobin, who departed, and then the earl waved a hand to indicate the expanse. “This is aptly named the Oak Room.”

She glanced toward the large window with the heavy drapes and allowed her focus to take in the rest of the furnishings, the paintings on the wall and the upholstered settee and chairs. When she brought her focus back to the fireplace and the man before it, she offered a polite smile. “Impressive.”

“I was hoping you would like it.”