Page 122 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Adecided thump broke through Ethan’s consciousness.

He blinked and then glared at the clock on his side table.

It wasn’t yet half past six in the morning, but something told him that, while the servants were usually up at this hour, there was something different—a decided scent of pine that seemed to permeate the air.

Frowning, he lifted his leg and moved to the edge of the bed. Grabbing his cane with annoyance, he got to his feet and shuffled to the door. Each day was getting a bit easier to maneuver, but he still wasn’t ready to give in to the temptation that Miss Meyer presented whenever she was near.

It had been deuced difficult to restrain himself around her, and he knew his grouchy exterior was starting to wear on her pleasant demeanor.

Although she took a cue from him and ensured that their relationship was purely polite—that of a lord and his servant—all he could think of was that she wasn’t in his employ.

She was there out of the charitable nature of her heart and that was it.

She was a member of the gentry, well-spoken and educated, more than most because of her travels.

If it hadn’t been for her father’s desire to humor her inclination to learn the same sort of interests he pursued, she might have already been married to some honorable man and started a family.

He wondered if she ever intended to marry or if she intended to continue pursuing a career.

It was difficult for women to venture outside the realm of matrimony, but if she was determined, he had no doubt she could succeed in whatever field she wished to explore.

It was obvious, by his physical improvements, that she had the skill.

She just needed the approval, and he would be glad to give her a glowing recommendation.

Coming from an English earl, it would likely help her chances greatly with future clients.

Opening the door to his chamber, he was struck with not only the overwhelming smell of pine, but also cinnamon and spices that took him back to the days of his youth.

For a moment, his lungs froze in his chest, unable to draw breath.

He recalled so many times the same sensation when he would greet his father and mother on Christmas morning.

His sister’s face would be wreathed in smiles, both of them eager to open the gifts that were wrapped with brown paper and twine and sitting in the corner.

It was always a joyous holiday in the Grange household, and Ethan had no doubt that Camilla continued to honor the same traditions.

She was sentimental when it came to such things.

It was one reason she tried so hard to get him to join her for the holidays.

She believed that she would be able to pull him out of the despair into which he’d fallen.

He’d eschewed her invitations because he hadn’t wanted to ruin the festivities with his wounded pride and limp that was a continual reminder of how cruel fate could be.

As Ethan made his way to the landing, he wasn’t sure what to make of the bustling sight below in the great hall.

His servants were doing their best to hang branches decorated with holly berries.

Everywhere he looked, it appeared as though the beauty of the forest was present within.

The air was perfumed with it, and in the center of the activity was Miss Meyer.

She was directing the servants where to take their items and as the cook came to speak with her, she happened to turn and catch sight of him.

She paused her conversation and offered a tentative smile in his direction.

Sensing that something was different, the rest of the assemblage ceased their efforts and looked at him and then at the lady at the center of the chaos.

When he said nothing, keeping his face a neutral mask, her enthusiasm began to slip. “Thank you, everyone.” Miss Meyer announced. “I need a moment alone with Lord Darville.”

He watched as they obeyed her as readily as if she were the lady of this house.

His gaze narrowed as they dispersed and she moved toward the stairs. When she stopped on the same level as he was, he dared not turn to look at her. “I was hoping to offer some festive décor, my lord. I hope you are not too upset that I took a few liberties.”

“A few?” he snarled. “My house smells like a bloody forest.” He turned and stomped his cane on the floor as he closed the distance between them.

He brushed by her and had to momentarily close his eyes for the citrus that assailed him as he passed.

He was hoping to retreat in his room and close the door, to block her out and the rest of the nonsensical whimsy that she had dragged into his domain.

This place was his sanctuary, the only place he could rule as master, where he still had power and dominance, and in the span of a single morning, she’d ripped that authority away.

He was feeling adrift, like a lone shell upon the water, floating without any particular destination.

His plans were interrupted by the determined footfalls of Miss Meyer as she boldly entered his room without his permission.

She shut the door, closing them inside. Not a wise choice.

“I implore you, my lord, not to ruin this for the servants, nor punish them when I was the one who coerced them to engage in this activity. We were only trying to engage the uplift of your spirits—”

He spun on her, his lip curling away from his teeth. “Have my spirits ever been uplifted? Truly? You might have been fooled, as was I, by the temporary lapse in judgment, but I am always reminded of my hindrance.” He tapped the cane against his leg.

“Your leg is not the hindrance. It’s your stubbornness to try to conform, to adjust to your circumstances. If you would but see—”

“See what, exactly?” He moved closer to her, where a mere breath separated them.

“The mangled state of my leg? Shall I recount to you the horror that was on my family’s face when I returned from the war, a shell of the man I once was?

Shall I explain how my fiancé decided she couldn’t stomach the very sight of me and fled into the arms of another?

” He could feel the heat of anger rising in his body, but when he looked into her mesmerizing blue eyes, that fire was displaced to other places as well.

“You cannot keep living in the past. There is nothing you can do about what happened to you, but you can accept that not all is lost. I know your sister aches to see you, and I’m sure there are others that have longed for your resurgence.”

Her face was flushed with her impassioned speech.

“You present a scenario where I’m not given passing glances of pity and fans don’t flutter as I struggle to make my way through a crowd.

I shall never be healed from this infirmity, no matter how much you might wish it to be so.

No matter how much I wish it to be so. I am cursed for all time as a worthless cripple. ”

“Stop it!” she hissed. “I am tired of your constant squabbling. You are the only impediment to your progress. I will agree that not every injury can be completely forgiven, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ignore those who would disparage you and prove your worth in other ways.”

His nostrils flared, overwhelmed by the smell of her unique scent. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, unable to withstand the lure another moment. “Why do you always smell of fresh oranges?” he murmured.

There was a pause, as if she wasn’t expecting the abrupt change of topic. “I… it… there isn’t a particular reason. I just… enjoy it.”

“I wish you would smell of roses or violets because for the rest of my days I will never forget the scent of citrus. And you.”

Claire’s head was spinning. How could he switch from anger to seduction in nearly the same breath? She understood that he was angry at the world, and perhaps more so at himself, for being wounded on the battlefield in France, but why should he say that he was tormented by the smell of her perfume?

“Do you know that I lay awake at night and imagine you are here with me? Your hair fanned out on the pillow beside mine? My hands roaming over your naked body and giving you pleasure the likes you’ve never known?”

Her breath was starting to become shallow with his wicked words.

As if wanting to bring that fantasy to life, he slid his arms along her waist, gently gliding up the side of her ribcage and imprisoning her against the door and his hard body.

She exhaled on a shaky breath. “My lord, perhaps we should talk downstairs—”

“I’m weary of talking.”

With that, he crushed his mouth on top of hers.

Claire wanted to resist him because she knew he was using seduction as a tactic to avoid the true issue at hand, but she found she was powerless to do so.

He was the temptation that she never knew she couldn’t ignore.

His pain and self-loathing touched her heart, but it wasn’t pity that was fueling her passion.

It was the man himself. He might have believed that he’d lost his virility, but the opposite was true.

If anything, she found his destruction quite alluring because she wanted to save him from himself.

He was on a dark path and she was doing her best to reach out to him before he fell completely over the precipice.

Instead, he was taking her down with him.

She clutched his shoulders, nothing separating her touch except a thin sheen of fabric that did nothing to dispel the warmth seeping into her fingertips. She ground her nails into his flesh, desperate to hang on to something substantial before she found herself drowning in his kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his green eyes were bright and almost feverish, his breathing labored. “You should leave before I’m unable to allow it. If you stay, I can promise that you will be naked beneath me, writhing and pleading for my cock.”