Page 120 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Claire didn’t know when she’d passed such a favorable meal. It was certainly the best since her arrival here, as well as the earl’s demeanor toward her. They had engaged in civil conversation in the Oak Room and chatted over most anything and everything.

However, when it came to the subject of the holiday season and if he might choose to change his mind and spend it with his family this year, she could tell she’d pushed the subject too far.

“I wouldn’t wish to feel their sympathy.

” He sipped from his port while she imbibed a bit of wine.

“I can feel it in my sister’s letters when she writes to me.

The way she implores me not to remain alone.

I may not be the subject of ridicule, but I am the subject of pity and I deplore it. ”

“Are you quite sure that is the reasoning? Perhaps she misses you.”

He clenched his jaw, the hard line of his jaw easily visible in the flickering firelight.

The sun had long since set and Claire wasn’t sure if the servants had retired or not, as the hour had grown late, but she wasn’t yet ready for this night to end.

It had been one of the most enjoyable evenings she’d had in some time.

Although she enjoyed her father’s company, it was not the same as conversing with a member of the opposite sex that wasn’t a relation.

And she rather enjoyed looking at the different emotions that played across the earl’s face, as well as the sound of his baritone voice.

Combined with the wine, their interaction had gone far to relax her, making her a bit bolder in her queries than she might have been otherwise.

“She might miss the Ethan she once knew, but he no longer exists.”

“I don’t agree.”

His gaze shot to hers.

“I think he’s still there, trapped beneath a mountain of anger and frustration.”

He snorted. “Are you some sort of healer for the brain now? An interpreter of the mind?”

“No. I am merely observant. I think you want to be that same man again but you feel it is impossible, so you keep others at arm’s length, not to spare their feelings, but to spare yours.”

He stilled, his hand resting lightly on his glass of port.

But she could see the white-knuckle grip and she knew she’d overstepped.

“Forgive me. It’s the wine speaking.” She set her glass aside although it wasn’t yet empty.

She could tell that her head was starting to spin when before she thought it a comforting sensation.

“I know better than to drink too much, especially when I’m at the service of a client.

I should retire before I say something else that is out of line. ”

She got to her feet, but when she would have left the room, she heard Lord Darville speak up softly from behind her.

“You’re right. All of it. I’ve been living in a river of my own self-pity.

It’s not fair to my sister, to the rest of my family that’s been concerned over my wellbeing.

” She looked back to see him staring intently into the grate.

When he spoke again, his tone was harsh.

“But I don’t know if I can face them all yet. Maybe I never can.”

Her heart immediately went out to him, and whether she could blame the wine or her own foolish heart, she crossed back to him and knelt by his chair.

Taking his hand in hers, she whispered, “I promise that I will do everything in my power to ensure this is a Christmas worth remembering, one that is worth… something.”

He turned his head and regarded her, and the fire she saw in his green eyes melted everything inside her. It was a mixture of resignation and hope. She had finally found a way to give him hope, and she vowed that it would not be misplaced.

“Christmas is worth everything with you here.”

Claire’s breath caught at the raw intensity in his tone. It hypnotized her.

He hypnotized her. Never in her life had she been tempted to engage in more than a brief interlude, but with him, she found herself yearning to grasp onto more.

When he began to bend closer to her, Claire knew she couldn’t stop this kiss any more than she could the embrace earlier that day.

Her lids fluttered closed and when his lips touched hers, she was drawn into his spell almost instantly.

The butterflies in her stomach went wild and her senses were aware of every part of him, every scent and touch.

She was surrounded, consumed, almost as if she was drowning and she didn’t want to resurface for air.

His arms encircled her waist and he lifted her until she was sitting sideways on his lap, her feet dangling over the side of his legs. She worried about his injury, but he didn’t seem overly concerned as he kept her imprisoned within his embrace.

She was expecting the fire of his kiss, but he reached out and ran the back of his knuckles lightly across her cheek.

The motion was almost more intimate because it seemed as though he was allowing her a brief glimpse of the man beyond the anger and pain.

She was seeing his vulnerability. That scared her more than if he’d laid her down on the rug in the Oak Room and taken his wicked way with her.

Her throat clogged and she had to struggle to keep her breathing even. “It’s getting late,” she whispered without the conviction she needed. “I should be getting to bed.”

His gaze latched on to hers and wouldn’t let go.

She was enraptured in his stare, and her body began to flutter madly from the effects he was having on her. More than one of her senses was scrambled. Coherent thought had fled long ago.

“I’m not ready for this night to end yet. I’m afraid that if I let you go, I will realize all this has been nothing more than a dream and the nightmares will soon return.”

Claire silently wept for all the misery he’d suffered alone. She placed an unsteady hand on his chest. “I won’t let them come back. I promise. Together we will defeat this.”

Ethan didn’t want her to go, but he knew that to remain in such a precarious position for long would not be wise. For either of them.

Covering her hand with his, he gave it a gentle squeeze and murmured, “I shall see you in the morning for breakfast.”

He saw her visibly swallow, a marked indication of her unease. “Good night, my lord.”

She got to her feet and left the room.

Long after she’d left, Ethan’s focus was riveted on the doorway. With a sigh, he finally leaned his head back against the chair and exhaled heavily.

All this time he’d not let anyone close enough to make him…

feel again. He wanted to be numb, to ignore the desire rising in his chest to keep Miss Meyer, not just in his home, but in his life.

Forever. He had never believed that life might be so cruel as to send a woman like that to him when he had never felt like less of a man.

And yet, here she was. The angel he hadn’t asked for, nor the saving grace he hadn’t prayed for.

But now that she was here and had already found a way to charm her way into his house and under his skin in such a short amount of time, it concerned him when it would come time for her to depart.

He had never resorted to pleading to gain a woman’s regard, had quietly backed away when Margo had made her choice, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to do the same with Miss Meyer.

Claire.

Such an unassuming name for a remarkable woman who was courageous, determined, and most importantly, kind.

It had touched him when he realized that her desire to help him was genuine, that she wasn’t there to poke and prod him like some sort of laboratory experiment.

She was actually hoping to make a difference in his life.

The odd thing is, was that she already had. She just didn’t know it.

He grabbed his cane and got to his feet. He waited for the moment his leg would crumple beneath him and he’d fall back in the chair, but it never happened. It was amazing how a few exercises had done wonders for his condition. It almost made him anticipate the dawning of a new day.

Before he headed for his room, he shuffled over to the window and looked outside. The moon was nearly full this evening and shone upon the newly fallen snow with breathtaking brilliance. The ground sparkled with the promise of something new, something… pure.

He set a hand on the sill and gripped it tightly.

As he searched the landscape, he asked himself if it was fair to Miss Meyer to ask her to remain at his side.

Not only could he never waltz her about a London ballroom, but she was a free spirit, eager to explore the world and heal others.

If she were tied to him, she would be trapped in this house, unable to do the things she most wanted to do. It seemed a cruel fate, even to him.

So, no. As much as he might respect Miss Meyer, that she was the closest thing he might ever have of gaining redemption in this life, he would not drag her down and sully her sweetness.

She was not like the Margo’s of the world who chose to better their circumstances by whatever cost to anyone else.

He knew Claire would never complain or act unhappy.

It was not her way. She would take things in stride and assume that the new day could bring new possibilities, whereas Ethan was jaded and knew that there was nothing hopeful in tomorrow. It was just as bleak as the present.