Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways, #5)

by Lisa Kleypas

“Recently I realized that I’m no longer in love with him,” she told Albert as they neared Phelan House. “It’s such a relief. Now I’m not at all nervous about the prospect of seeing him. I suppose this is proof that what I felt for him was infatuation. Because it’s completely gone now. I couldn’t care less about what he does or whom he marries. Oh, what a feeling of utter freedom.”

Christopher was in terrible pain. She felt answering pain, for his sake, piercing beneath her own ribs.

Everything she had told herself about her newfound freedom, about the death of her infatuation, was revealed as an absurdity. She was mad for him. She would have done anything for him.

“I … Miss Hathaway … I don’t think that would be safe. Nor sensible.” “Mrs. Clocker, my family has always believed that when we are faced with large and apparently impossible problems, the best solutions are found by the insane people, not the sensible ones.”

“Don’t,” came his sharp rebuke. “Don’t come close. Don’t say anything. Just leave.” “Why?” He gave an impatient shake of his head. “Whatever words would make you go, consider them said.”

“You’re too drunk to catch me.” She was startled by a burst of movement. Christopher reached her, fast as a leopard, and slammed his palms on the door on either side of her head. His voice was harsh and low. “I’m not as drunk as I look.”

She had to remind herself to start breathing again. The problem was, once she resumed, she couldn’t control her lungs, which were working as if she had run miles. Faced with a hard wall of masculine flesh, she could almost feel the heat of his skin.

“Last chance,” he said in guttural voice. “Get out, or get in my bed.”

“And he’s not mine, and—” She swatted his hand away as he touched her breast again. “Stop that. I just want to—” Undeterred, he had gone for the button placket of her shirt. She scowled in exasperation. “All right, then,” she snapped, “do as you please! Perhaps afterward we could manage a coherent discussion.” Twisting beneath him, she flopped onto her stomach.

“What are you doing?” “I’m making it easier for you,” came her defiant reply. “Go on, start ravishing.”

“Well, it may be humorous to you, but it’s a very serious matter to the squirrels.” That set him off again. In a display of rank insensitivity to the reproductive rights of small mammals, Christopher had buried his face in a pillow, his shoulders shaking.

gather it’s not the same for people,” Beatrix said with great dignity, inwardly mortified. “They don’t go about it the same way that animals do?”

“Yes. No. That is, they do, but …” “But you don’t prefer it that way?” Considering how to answer her, Christopher reached out to smooth her disheveled hair, which was falling out of its pins. “I do. I’m quite enthusiastic about it, actually. But it’s not right for your first time.”

“Why not?” Christopher looked at her, a slow smile curving his lips. His voice deepened as he asked, “Shall I show you?”

he was riding her, owning her, driving the need to an impossible pitch.

His hands cradled her head as he kissed her again, openmouthed and deep, as if he were trying to draw the soul from her body.

“My God, I want you.” Christopher sounded far from pleased by the fact. His thumb swept over her kiss-swollen lips. “Even though I annoy you?”

“You don’t annoy me.” Carefully he rebuttoned the placket of her shirt. “I thought you did, at first. But now I realize it was more like the feeling you get when your foot’s been asleep. And when you start moving, the blood coming back into it is uncomfortable … but also good. Do you understand what I mean?” “Yes. I make your feet tingle.” A smile came to his lips. “Among other things.”

He had the most remarkable face, Beatrix thought. Strong, flawless … and yet it was saved from cold perfection by the lines of humor at the corners of his eyes, and the hint of sensuality edging his mouth. The subtle weathering made him look … experienced.

It was the kind of face that made a woman’s heart beat faster.

can’t go back to who I was before the war,” he eventually said. “And I can’t be who I was during the war. And if I’m not either of those men, I’m not sure what I’m left with.

She felt an overwhelming need to physically draw him closer, as if to ease him away from a precipice.

If only she could smooth her palm over that hard, rippled surface. If only she could soothe him. But he had to find his own way out.

know that it must torment you to think that he died alone, or worse, at the hands of the enemy. But it’s not how we die that matters, it’s how we live.

“I don’t think you should blame yourself,” she said. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe. You’ll have to come to that conclusion on your own. It wasn’t your fault that you were faced with a terrible choice. You must give yourself enough time to get better.” “How much time will that take?” he asked bitterly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But you have a lifetime.”

But you’ve already been forgiven for whatever you think your sins are. You have,” she insisted as he shook his head. “Love forgives all things. And so many people—”

Christopher was staring at her, his eyes gleaming with a strange, mad light. “I knew it,” he whispered. She wondered if he might try to kill her. She decided not to wait to find out.

Christopher followed her to the threshold, bellowing her name. Beatrix didn’t pause for a second, knowing he was going to pursue her as soon as he donned his clothes.

“He’ll probably kill me. Good, that’s better than having him hate me. A quick throttling, and it will be over. I wish I could throttle myself and spare him the trouble.

If only I’d been honest. Oh, what if he goes to Ramsay House and waits there for me? What if—”

Albert bounded into the room and came to her. “You led him here, didn’t you?” Beatrix accused in a furious whisper. “Traitor!”

He stared at her with the barely suppressed wrath of a man to whom entirely too much had happened. Beatrix wished she were a swooning sort of female. It seemed the only appropriate response to the situation.

Unfortunately, no matter how she tried to summon a swoon, her mind remained intractably conscious.

“Tell me why you did it,” he said, his voice low and vibrant with … hatred? Fury?

“No, damn you, don’t cry. Was it a game? Was it only to help Prudence?”

“No, it wasn’t a game … Pru showed me your letter, and she said she wasn’t going to...

I felt as if it had been written for me. It was only supposed to be once. But then you wrote back, and I let myself answer just once more …...

“How much of it was t...

“All of it,” Beatrix burst out. “Except for signing Pru’s name. The rest of it was real. If you believe noth...

“Why did you stop?” She sensed how difficult it was for him to ask. But God help her, it was infinitely worse to have to answer.

“Because it hurt too much. The words meant too much.”

“I fell in love with you, and I knew I could never have you. I couldn’t prete...

I loved you so much, and I...

What … but her thoughts dissolved, and she stopped trying to make sense of anything.

Shaken to her soul, she molded against him.

“Loved?” he asked hoarsely. “Past tense?” “Present tense,” she managed to say. “You told me to find you.”

“I didn’t mean to send you that note.” “But you did. You wanted me.”

Those gray eyes looked into hers, no longer bright as hellfrost, but soft as smoke.

“I love you, Beatrix.” Maybe she was capable of swooning after all.

Christopher covered her mouth with his again. Beatrix answered helplessly, unable to withhold anything.