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A Yuletide Invitation: The Mistletoe Wager / The Harlot's Daughter. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.

A Yuletide Invitation: The Mistletoe Wager / The Harlot's Daughter - Christine  Merrill


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none of my doing, I swear to you,’ she said earnestly, before he could speak, again. ‘I would never have agreed to any of it had I known … ‘He could see the obvious distress in her eyes, and she twisted the holly in her hands until the leaves scratched her fingers and the berries had been crushed. ‘I never meant to hurt you or anyone else by my actions. Or to help anyone, for that matter. I simply did not think.’ She looked down at the destruction, dropped the twig, and hurriedly wiped her hands on her skirt. She held them out in appeal. ‘I am afraid I am prone to not thinking things through. But I have worked hard to improve my character, and the messes I make are not so severe as they once were.’

      He nodded, though her unexpected presence still filled him with unease. ‘I understand. I am beginning to suspect we are both here for reasons that have little to do with our preference in the matter and everything to do with the wishes of others.’

      She said, ‘I think Harry hoped that I would have the opportunity to impress eligible male guests with my ability as a hostess. I doubt that will be the case, since my skills are nothing to write home about. In any case, the single gentlemen he promised have failed to materialise. There is you, of course, but if you are with Elise …’ She trailed off in embarrassment, as she realised that her babbling had sounded like an invitation to court her.

      He watched her for a time, allowing her to suffer a bit, for it would not do for the girl to think he was interested. Whatever Harry had planned for him this weekend, he doubted it would include courting his sister. Rosalind could not tell by looking at him what his real feelings might be for Elise, and he had no wish to inform her of them. But if Elise learned the truth before he could escape, there would be hell to pay.

      He said, ‘It is very awkward for everyone concerned. Elise wished to come and speak with Harry, and she did not want to come alone. Now that my job as escort has been done, I mean to stay no more than tonight—whatever Harry’s plans might be. I suspect I will be gone shortly after breakfast, and I will trouble you no more.’

      Rosalind glanced out of the window at the fast-falling snow. ‘You do not know how treacherous the local roads can be after a storm such as this. You may find travel to be impossible for quite some time. And you are welcome until Twelfth Night in any case.’

      But she looked as though she hoped he would not stay, and he did not blame her. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. I trust you will not find it strange if I avoid your company at breakfast?’

      She nodded again. ‘I will not think it the least bit odd. As a matter of fact, it is probably for the best.’ She hesitated. ‘Although I do wish to apologise, one last time, for what happened when we first met.’

      ‘It is not necessary.’

      ‘But I cannot seem to stop. For I truly regret it.’

      He gave a curt bow. ‘I understand that. Do not concern yourself with it. We will chalk it up to the folly of youth.’ And how could he fault her for that? For he had been guilty of folly as well, and was paying for it to this day.

      ‘Thank you for understanding.’

      ‘Then let us hear no more apologies on the matter. Consider yourself absolved.’

      But, while he might be able to forgive, he doubted he would ever forget her.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      ELISE glared through the wood of her bedroom door at the man in the hall. She had not thought when she made this trip that she would end up back in her own room. She would be alone with her memories, and scant feet from her husband, while Nicholas was stowed in the remotest corner of the guest wing like so much discarded baggage. Though he showed no sign of it, she was sure that Harry had anticipated her appearance and sought an opportunity to separate them.

      But if he did not want her, then why would he bother? So Harry did not mean to come and take her in the night? Fine. It was just as she’d feared. She meant nothing to him any more. And telling her the truth, with that annoying little smile of his, had removed all hope that he had been harbouring a growing and unfulfilled passion since her precipitate retreat from his house. If he cared for her, an absence of two months would have been sufficient to make him drag her back to his bed the first chance he got, so that he might slake his lust. But to announce that he meant to leave her in peace for a fortnight while she slept only a room away …

      She balled her fists in fury. The man had not left her alone for a fortnight in the whole time they had lived together. But apparently his visits had been just as she’d feared: out of convenience rather than an uncontrollable desire for her and her alone. Now that she was not here he must be finding someone else to meet his needs.

      The thought raised a lump in her throat. Perhaps he had finally taken a mistress, just as she’d always feared he would. It had been some consolation during the time that they had been together to know that he was either faithful or incredibly discreet in his infidelities. For, while she frequently heard rumours about the husbands of her friends, she had never heard a word about Harry.

      And to have taken a lover would have required equally miraculous stamina, for even after five years he had been most enthusiastic and regular in his bedroom visits, right up to the moment she had walked out the door. Then, his interest in her body had evaporated.

      If they had not married in haste, things might have been different between them. She should never have accepted Harry Pennyngton’s offer when she had still been so angry with Nicholas. She had been almost beyond reason, and had hardly had time to think before she had dispensed with one man and taken another.

      But Harry’s assurances had been so reasonable, so comforting, that they had been hard to resist. He had said he was of a mind to take a wife. And he had heard that she was in desperate straits. That her parents were returning to Bavaria, and she must marry someone quickly if she wished to remain in England. If so, why could it not be him? He had described the house to her, the grounds and the attached properties, and told her of his income and the title. If she refused him he would understand, of course. For they were little better than strangers. But if she chose to accept everything he had would be hers, and he would do all in his power to assure that she did not regret the decision.

      He had laid it all out before her like some sort of business deal. And although he had not stated the fact outright, she had suspected that she would not get a better offer, and would end up settling for less should she refuse.

      That should have been her first warning that the marriage would not be what she’d hoped. For where Nicholas had been full of fine words of love and big dreams of the future, Harry had been reason itself about what she could expect should she choose to marry him.

      It had been quite soothing, in retrospect, to be free of grand passion for a moment, and to give her broken heart a chance to mend. Harry had been willing to give without question, and had asked for nothing in return but her acceptance.

      They had been wed as soon as he’d been able to get a licence. And if she’d had any delusions that he wished a meeting of hearts before a meeting of bodies, he had dispelled them on the first night.

      Elise had thought that Harry might give her time to adjust to her new surroundings, and wished that she’d had the nerve to request it. For intimacy had hardly seemed appropriate so soon. They had barely spoken. She hadn’t even learned how he liked his tea, or his eggs. And to learn how he liked other things before they had even had breakfast? It had all happened too fast. Surely he would give her a few days to get to know her new husband?

      But as she had prepared for bed on her wedding night, she had reached for her nightrail only to have the maid pull it aside. ‘Lord Anneslea says you will not be needing it this evening, ma’am.’

      ‘Really?’ She felt the first thrill of foreboding.

      ‘Just the dressing gown.’ And the maid wrapped her bare body in silk and exited the room.

      What was she to do now? For clearly the staff had more instruction than she had over what was to occur. And it was not likely to be a suggestion that they live as brother and sister until familiarity had been


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