Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways, #5)

by Lisa Kleypas

“Everything I did was for my men.

As for Prudence … she was a dream he had to let go of. A ruined illusion. Part of him died a little more each time he saw her. She felt no real love for him, that was clear.

He had loved and been betrayed by someone whose name he didn’t know. He loved her still—that was the unforgivable part. And she would pay, whoever she was.

“You have my heart,” Christopher said tonelessly, holding her close, while his cold gaze fastened on a distant point outside the window. Except that he had no heart left to give.

Understand something, Audrey: I am scarred from neck to foot. I have been shot, stabbed, bayoneted, struck by shrapnel, and treated by doctors so drunk they could barely stay on their feet.” A savage pause. “And none of that hurt like this.”

“Tell her that I’ll find her,” he said. “And she’ll regret it when I do.”

she had discovered that the best remedy for heartache was trying to make herself useful to others.

“Are wicked women more entertaining?” Beatrix asked him. “No, darling. But one needs them for contrast.”

She had never experienced jealousy before now, and it was agonizing. It was like a slow death by poison.

Prudence had spent the summer being courted by a handsome and heroic soldier, whereas Beatrix had spent the summer with his dog.

To err is human, to forgive, canine.”

“Why did you do it?” he asked softly. “He’s very much worth saving. Anyone could see that.”

The awareness between them became unbearably acute. Christopher’s heart worked in hard, uneven beats.

How pretty she was in the w...

“I’ve invited Captain Phelan to join us,” Beatrix announced. “He doesn’t want to talk. Do not ask him direct questions unless absolutely necessary.”

“Come in, Phelan,” Leo said easily. “We love silent guests—it allows us to talk all the more. By all means, sit and say nothing.” “But if you can manage it,” Catherine added with a smile, “try to look impressed by our wit and intelligence.”

“Do you always take dinner with the rest of the family?” Christopher asked him sotto voce. “Most of the time,” Rye whispered back. “They don’t mind as long as you don’t talk with food in your mouth or play with the potatoes.” “I’ll try not,” Christopher assured him gravely. “And

Yes. That would work, as long as she seemed nonchalant about the whole matter. Except that it was difficult to appear nonchalant when one was filled with panic.

She stole surreptitious glances at Christopher, as she had been doing all evening, mesmerized by the sight of him.

She wanted to revel in him as one might dash out-of-doors in a storm, letting the elements have their way. Most of all she longed to talk with him … to pry each other open with words, share every thought and secret.

“Those of us who have a difficult time with godliness,” Amelia replied with a grin, “must settle for cleanliness.”

“I still have reservations,” Leo said. “You always do,” Amelia replied. “If you’ll recall, you objected to Cam in the beginning, but now you’ve accepted him.” “That’s because the more brothers-in-law I acquire,” Leo said, “the better Cam looks by comparison.”

One of his hands sank into her hair, gripping in a gentle but inexorable hold. A gasp slipped from her throat as he pulled her head back.

His free hand came to the exposed line of her throat. For a heart-stopping moment she thought he might choke her. Instead he caressed her gently, his thumb moving in a subtle swirl in the hollow at the base.

“Go to hell,” Beatrix said unsteadily. She had never used such a phrase in her life. “I am in hell.” His body corralled hers, his legs intruding amid the folds of her skirts.

His fingers delved into her hair with a grip just short of painful. His mouth was close to hers. He was surrounding her, all the strength and force and maleness of him, and she closed her eyes as her senses went quiet and dark in helpless waiting.

“I’ll make you tell me,” she heard him mutter. And then he was kissing her.

Somehow, Beatrix thought hazily, Christopher seemed to be under the impression she would find his kisses so objectionable that she woul...

She couldn’t think how he had come by such a notion. In fact, she couldn’...

“Tell me what you know,” he said, his breath searing her lips. “Or I’ll do worse than this. I’ll take you here and now. Is that what you want?” As a matter of fact …

“Is it you?” he asked hoarsely. “Is it?”

Her heart was ablaze. It seemed that her entire life had led to this man, this moment of unexpressed love.

The scheme of formal black and white was becoming to any man. On someone like Christopher, it was literally breathtaking.

But no, I had to wait for someone special. Someone who would make my heart feel as if it’s been trampled by elephants, thrown into the Amazon, and eaten by piranhas.”

“Is it infatuation?” she heard herself asking softly. “Because it feels much worse than that. Like a fatal disease.”

“I don’t know, dear. It’s difficult to tell the difference between love and infatuation. Time will reveal it, eventually.”

‘Love forgives all things.’ Do you remember?” “Of course,” Beatrix said. She had written that exact phrase to Christopher in one of her letters.

“Amelia, I can’t discuss this now. Or I’ll start weeping and throw myself to the floor.” “Heavens, don’t do that. Someone might trip over you.”

it was the worst possible manners to refuse such an invitation at a private ball. Unless one had a plausible and obvious excuse, such as a broken leg, one danced.

“It’s hard for a fellow to challenge that,” Chickering told Beatrix dryly, nodding in Christopher’s direction. “Fame, great wealth, and a full head of hair. And one can’t even despise him, because he singlehandedly won the war.”

“But you do have a full head of hair,” Beatrix pointed out. Chickering grinned. “Dance with me again, and you can view my abundant tresses at your leisure.” “Thank you, but I’ve already danced with you twice, and any more would be scandalous.” “You have broken my heart,” he informed her, and she laughed.

“Be still,” she said. Standing on her toes, she carefully blotted his face with a handkerchief. And he let her.

The instinct of self-preservation struggled with her desire to help him, share with him. “Boldness be my friend!” she thought ruefully, summoning her favorite line from Shakespeare. It was practically the Hathaway family motto.

Torchlight flickered in Christopher’s eyes as he stared at her. He reached out and drew her close with slow, stunning tenderness.

“Why did you take the shaving brush in the first place?” “I told you, I can’t help—” “No. I meant, what were you feeling anxious about?” “Oh, that’s not important.” “It’s important to me.” Beatrix drew back just enough to look up at him. You. I was anxious about you. But what she said was, “I don’t remember. I have to go back inside.”

“I thought you weren’t worried about your reputation.” “Well, it can survive a little damage,” Beatrix said reasonably. “But I’d rather not have the whole thing blown to smithereens.”

“Go, then.” His hands fell away from her, and she began to walk away. “But Beatrix …” She paused and glanced at him uncertainly. “Yes?” His gaze h...

A slow grin curved her lips. “I’ll return it soon,” she promised, and left him...

“I would ask to go with you,” he said, “but I have to finish my lessons. I so look forward to the day I know everything. Then I won’t have to read any more books or do any more counting.”

“I don’t wish to be discouraging, Rye, but it’s not possible to know everything.” “Mama does.” Rye paused reflectively. “At least, Papa says we must pretend she does, because it makes her happy.” “Your father,” Beatrix informed him with a laugh, “is one of the wisest men I’ve ever known.”