A Sinful Regency Christmas. Ann Lethbridge
“You treat the house as your own, already?” Mr. Breton said with a raised eyebrow and an accusing tone. “I understood that the engagement had not yet been announced.”
“Well, no,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “But it will be soon. Tomorrow, perhaps, at the ball. For now, Joseph seems to value my help. This was my parents’ house before he bought it. I know the staff and the rooms. And the best way to entertain in it. It is just … easier.”
“I see.” Robert said it as though he was catching her in some just uncovered deception, and not stating a fact that he understood almost as well as she did herself.
And then, he put down his teacup with a click and rose as though angered by the charade. “I must go. Stratford will be expecting me at the mill.”
It was an outright lie. In her presence, Joseph had often teased Mr. Breton about his disinterest in something so integral to his financial well-being. And Robert had responded with a laugh that he was quite content to remain by the fire and leave the place wholly to Joseph, so that they might both be happy. His current and sudden interest could mean only one thing: he was making lame excuses to remove himself from her presence.
Anne popped to her feet, searching for a way to stay his departure. “Must you go so soon? You have hardly touched your plate. Are you sure there is nothing more you wish? Because I would be happy to oblige you in anything you desire.”
“Do not make promises that you have no intention of keeping.” He was almost out of the room before she could think of a response.
“Wait. Please, Mr. Breton.” He turned and she decided to risk honesty and walked to him. “Is it me? Is it something I have done? You are clearly upset, and I do not know why.”
“You know quite well what the matter is,” Robert snapped.
She stood beside him now, looking up into his angry face. “In truth, I do not. Is there nothing I can do to make things right between us, as they used to be?”
“You wish things to be right between us?” He gave a mocking laugh. “Then you must begin to act like Stratford’s wife, if you truly mean to be so.”
“But I do,” she said, confused. “I am in this house from breakfast until late in the evening, ordering the servants about as though they were my own. But that is hardly odd. I belong here. I know this house like the back of my hand.”
“If you know it so well, then tell me where you are standing right now.”
It was her turn to laugh. “In the blue receiving room, of course.”
He jabbed a finger out, pointing to a place just above her head to an elaborate kissing bough hanging by a ribbon from the ceiling. “Under the mistletoe.”
She looked above her, and then back at him. “So I am,” she said, hardly able to take a breath. Without thinking, she wet her lips. What must he have thought of that? It probably appeared like an invitation. She was acting as though she wished him to kiss her.
But she did. With a marriage carefully arranged and only weeks away, she was thinking of kissing another man. It was disloyal of her, to Joseph and to her family. Robert would be disgusted by it, as he seemed to be by much of what she said and did. The silent moment stretched long between them, and she wondered what was to happen next. It would be best, she was sure, if she could make a simple apology, laugh at her own foolishness and back away from him.
“You offered me anything I might want,” he said.
Did he want a kiss, then? What harm could it do, if it was between friends? It was likely to be her only chance to have even a small taste of the lips of Mr. Robert Breton.
Without another word he removed the distance between them, standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body against her skin. She shut her eyes, waiting for the chaste peck on the lips that didn’t come. Instead his hands gripped her arms so tightly that it made her gasp. And then his mouth met hers, taking advantage of her moment of vulnerability to fill her with his tongue.
Was this natural? She had never heard of such a thing before. It felt like the most right and wonderful thing in the world. He tasted of the gingerbread that had been on the tea tray, sweet and spicy. She mimicked the slow surge and retreat of his tongue against hers, trying to catch the flavor. Though the room had seemed cold just a few moments ago, now it felt hot. But in an aching confusion, her nipples were still hard, pressing against her light stays until she feared he could feel them through her gown.
And perhaps he could. He was pushing her back toward the nearest wall until her shoulders were pressing against the plaster. Then, his hands moved to touch them, cradling her breasts in his palms as he kissed his way down her throat, covering every inch of exposed flesh with licks and nips. The massaging of his hands was so exciting that she almost forgot to breathe. There was a spiraling excitement deep within her, pressing her toward some fantastic place she’d never visited.
She could image one final touch or kiss that would take her out of this world altogether, leaving her fainting in his arms. Then he could lift her, carry her in a half swoon to the couch, cover her body with his and ravish her back to wakefulness.
Just then, he kissed her on the mouth again. Though she had only the most basic understanding of the marital act, her body tightened suddenly, and she could imagine what it must feel like to be claimed by a man. Something burst inside of her with a dizzying rush. She could breathe again in deep happy gasps that made her heart hammer and her legs tremble. It was the most amazing feeling she’d ever known, as though she’d been dead for years and suddenly reborn.
And it was the middle of the day in a public room of a house that was not hers. Servants had questions, guests would be arriving. At any moment, she might receive a visit from the man she meant to marry.
She fought free of his kiss and her own desires and pushed hard against Robert Breton’s chest. The cold rushed back into her spirit as his hands left her body. “What are you doing to me?” she whispered.
“Exactly what I’ve wished to, from the first moment I met you.” He was smiling the cold, hard, self-satisfied smile he’d worn so often when he looked at her of late, as though the kiss was not something magical, but merely a confirmation of her weak character. Then, he reached into his pocket and removed a handkerchief, touching it to the corner of his mouth to wipe away a drop of blood.
Dear Lord. Had she bitten him?
His smile grew slightly broader as he saw her shock at her total lack of control. “And now, Miss Clairemont, if you will excuse me, I must go to speak with your fiancé. I shall leave you to contemplate your own happy future with him.”
Chapter Two
Robert Breton ate the fine meal provided by his wealthy friend, willing himself to clear his plate. He would choke down each bite if he had to, and swill enough of the expensive port to blot the episode with Miss Clairemont from his mind.
A short distance from him, Anne looked equally uncomfortable, seated between her parents and scant inches from the watchful eyes of Stratford. Not that Stratford was bothering to observe her. Robert had forced a promise from him to pay more attention to the girl he meant to marry, but it seemed to be forgotten almost as soon as it was made. Joseph simply didn’t care for her other than as another measure of his success.
But that indifference did not give Robert the right to kiss her. He could pretend that he’d expected her to strike him, to protest, and to ban him from the house. If she had tried, he’d likely have kissed her all the more, using any tricks he could think of to prove to her what he already knew: she did not love Joseph Stratford. It was unworthy of her to marry him.
Robert’s own feelings were no more clear than hers. He should not be pretending that he was trying to save his friend from a fortune hunter. He wanted Anne Clairemont for himself. Her total surrender to him after only a few kisses proved the feeling to be reciprocated. The