Page 12 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

“That,” Maria sat back in the tub, a glass of brandy dangling from her hand, “was an utter disaster.” Soot floated across the top of the water, turning the bubbles black at the edges. Enid had drawn the bath, washed her hair, and left the room at the appearance of Balwyn.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He kneeled beside her, moving a sponge gently over one shoulder blade. “Worth it to see my sister faint and shut her up.” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “Also, the view.” A finger trailed along one of Maria’s hips. “Perfection, from this vantage point.”

“I had all the fireplaces cleaned before we arrived. I’ve no idea what happened.

” She took a swallow of the brandy. Maria was not the sort of woman who would burst into a fit of tears over a few bumps while hosting a house party.

A terrible cook. Uninvited, unwelcome guests.

Such things could be overcome. Smoothed over.

But bats?

A big hand settled between her thighs. “I sense you require comfort once more.”

“I do not think I’ve impressed Lady Piedmont.”

“Harriet should be far more concerned about your opinion of her.” His fingers started a lazy, languorous exploration across Maria’s body.

“Bringing Wilma was bad enough. I should have forced them both back into Piedmont’s coach and sent them back to London.

But inviting Uncle Leonard with no warning?

” Balwyn paused. “My mother’s youngest brother is a walking catastrophe.

The man rarely leaves his ramshackle home just outside London.

The last time he dined with the family, he set my favorite chair on fire after spilling scotch all over it and lighting a cheroot. ”

Maria craned her neck to look at him. “You’re joking.”

“I am not. Harriet won’t even allow him in her own home, yet she invited him to yours. I’ll—”

“No, you will not. As much as I appreciate”—Maria gasped as his thumb brushed over a particularly sensitive spot—“your protection of me, I must navigate Lady Piedmont on my own if we are to…well, you’ll make things worse if you are constantly coming to my defense.”

A soft moan came from her. She’d almost said ‘marry,’ but now Maria was starting to question her future with Balwyn.

Circumstances aside, wouldn’t he be better off with someone like Wilma?

Lady Piedmont was unlikely to ever accept Maria.

And perhaps he’d realized as much, because Balwyn had yet to actually… propose.

“I had such a lovely evening planned,” she continued. “We were going to sing songs. Tell amusing stories. Watch the bloody yule log burn.” She shook her head. “Dinner was bad enough. Mrs. Killigrew shouldn’t be anywhere near a kitchen.”

“Agreed. I can still taste the mackerel. She used a great deal of mint.”

“And she attacked your uncle. I’m sorry I mistook him for a beggar.”

“Why? He resembles one. The coat he wears, I recall from my childhood. Mrs. Killigrew would have been better off a mercenary than a cook.”

“Does Alicia have some sort of…skin condition? She keeps scratching, and there’s a rash forming on her neck.”

“I don’t believe so,” he said thoughtfully, clever fingers stopping their perusal of her person.

“Though I seem to recall a series of rashes when Alicia was a child. But we thought it was due to picking berries one summer at my country estate. She hasn’t had a blackberry in years.

” A hum came from his chest as his hands pushed her thighs apart and his fingers resumed their exploration.

“Perhaps that is what she and Dr. Forester were in such deep discussion about.”

“Oh,” Maria gasped, grabbing his wrist. “Oh, yes, that feels lovely. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t plan on it. You are in dire need of comfort. After you fled upstairs—”

“I didn’t flee,” she panted. “I was covered head to toe in soot. I had bats in my drawing room. A fainting Lady Piedmont, though I do wish Jonathan had slapped her cheeks harder.”

“Jonathan,” a low, disgruntled hum left him.

“Again, I’ve known him since he was a child. I rarely address him so formally. I find your jealousy to be somewhat appealing, though completely unnecessary. Besides, I think he and Alicia like each other.”

“I did find them seated together on the settee. I would have intervened, but he was admiring her sketches while your staff cleaned up the soot. The rug will need to be replaced.”

“That’s…” A delicious tingle shot straight between her thighs, igniting every nerve in her body, all focused on the way two of Balwyn’s fingers sank deep inside.

“Fine,” she managed to get out. “Since Archimedes is particularly enamored of the far corner of the rug. I fear he has made it his own, so to speak. Perhaps you might send the rug back to London as a gift to your sister.”

Balwyn chuckled and pressed a kiss to her neck as he intensified his efforts.

“Only three bricks came loose from inside the chimney, so the fireplace is in no danger of collapsing. I checked myself. But your bats had carved out a small alcove for a nest inside. Why they waited until Christmas Eve to come flying out, I’ve no idea.

Possibly the weather drove them to it.” His hand retreated, leaving Maria breathless.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her entire body was stretched taut, on the very edge of blissful pleasure. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Oh, I’m not.” He stood and unbuttoned his shirt. “Comfort can be dispensed more adequately when I am also unclothed.” Once naked, he paced back towards the tub, lifting her out.

“This has been a disaster, just as you predicted.”

“Not entirely.” Balwyn clasped her slippery, wet body to his own. “For instance, your bath has proved quite promising.” His mouth fell over hers.

Maria clung to him as he took her to the bed. This certainly helped make up for the bats and the destruction of the yule log. “We can play Snapdragon tomorrow,” she said against his mouth. “Alicia told me once that it was a favorite of hers.”

“Do you think that wise? Given recent events.”

“I’ll never win over your sister, but I can still make an attempt with Alicia. There is a young, attractive gentleman here, loads of mistletoe. A game is not out of the question. Wilma can entertain us once more on the pianoforte while swatting Uncle Leonard.”

This time a deep rumble of amusement came from him.

“I don’t trust the syllabub, nor anything else that comes from Mrs. Kiligrew, but Owen can concoct a lovely punch with rum. And I have plenty of cheese.”

“I’m sure Christmas Day will be splendid,” Balwyn assured Maria, before rolling her onto her stomach. “Now get on your knees, my love,” he said in that commanding tone.

Maria did without hesitation.

His fingers caressed the back of her neck, before he thrust into her, holding her down, taking her roughly.

Comfort, indeed.

Balwyn’s moans of pleasure mingled with her own, taking Maria to a place where there were no obnoxious guests, or pugs destroying her home, or anything at all except pleasure.

“There is nothing…” His hips rocked into her as he teased Maria with his fingers until she was panting. Begging. “Nothing I want so much as you. Don’t ever forget that.”