Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways, #5)

by Lisa Kleypas

“I th-thought you would hate me …” Her dazed voice seemed to come from far away.

“Never. You could run to the farthest corners of the earth. There’s no place you could go where I wouldn’t love you. Nothing you could do to stop me.”

“I thought you were going to murder me,” she said with difficulty. A ghost of a smile came to his lips. “No. That wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

“It’s been too long. I don’t trust myself with you.”

“I want to be yours.” “You are, God help you.” “Then love me.” Feverishly she kissed his throat. “Love me—” “Hush,” Christopher whispered. “I have little enough self-control as it is. I can’t make love to you here. It wouldn’t be right for you.”

“I wanted you.”

“It nearly drove me mad, looking for the things I loved in her and not finding them. And then beginning to see them in you.”

“I was lonely. I didn’t know her well. But I needed … someone.

When I received that reply, about Mawdsley’s donkey and the smell of October, and the rest of it … I started falling in love right then.

“I knew you wouldn’t want letters from me. I knew I wasn’t the kind of woman you wanted.”

Rolling Beatrix to her side, Christopher brought her against his aroused form. “Does this feel as if I don’t want you?”

The hard pressure of him, the rampant heat of his body, d...

it was like being drunk … like drinki...

“You thought I was peculiar,” she said in a...

She felt that he was smiling. “Darling love … you are.”

was a strange, delicious, vulnerable moment.

His expression was engrossed, as if her body fascinated him, as if she were made of some precious substance he had never encountered before.

She felt the soft, hot shock of his breath as he bent to kiss the inside of her wrist. He let the tip of his tongue rest against a tiny pulse. So new, this intimacy with him, and yet it was as necessary as the beat of her own heart.

She never wanted to be out of his arms again. She wanted to ...

I wouldn’t do this to any woman. Least of all to the woman I love more than my own life.”

“How long do you intend for us to wait? Obviously you’re not perfect, but—” “‘Not perfect’ is having a bald spot or pockmarks. My problems are a bit more significant than that.”

“I come from a family of flawed people who marry other flawed people. Every one of us has taken a chance on love.”

“I love you too much to risk your safety.” “Love me even more, then,” she begged. “Enough to marry me no ...

I want you with me every moment of the day. I want to hold you every night. I want to make love to you so badly I can’t even breathe. But I won’t allow any harm to come to you, especially from my hands.”

“You’re willing to accept my problems,” she said dolefully, “but you won’t allow me to accept yours.” She buried her face in her arms. “You don’t trust me.” “You know that’s not the issue. I don’t trust myself.”

“Beatrix.” Christopher knelt beside her, drawing her against him. She stiffened. “Let me hold you,”

“If we don’t marry, when will I see you?” she asked miserably. “On chaperoned visits? Carriage drives? Stolen moments?”

“It’s more than we’ve had until now.” “It’s not enough.” Beatrix wrapped her arms around him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I want you, and you say you want me, and the only thing standing in our way is you. Don’t tell me that you survived all those battles, and suffered through so much, merely to come home for this—”

Amusement threaded through his voice. “Stop squirming. There is no possible way a man can think when you’re doing that.” “Haven’t you finished thinking yet?”

“That’s what my family believes, too.” His eyes narrowed skeptically. Perhaps that had been taking it a bit far.

“Very well, Medusa stays.” “Are you proposing to me?” Beatrix asked hopefully. “No.” Closing his eyes, Christopher let out a short sigh. “But I’m considering it against all better judgment.”

“Very well,” Beatrix said reluctantly. “But I warn you, they may be resistant to the match.” “I’m resistant to the match,” Christopher informed her. “At least we’ll have that in common.”

Thinking of Beatrix, he felt an ache of yearning.

I know that she is compassionate, intelligent, and brave, and the only thing she truly fears is being abandoned. And I would never do that, because I happen to love her to distraction.

“As the Rom say, ‘Take too much time, and time will take you.’”

At least one of you should point out that Beatrix deserves a better man.” “That’s what I said about my wife,” Leo remarked. “Which is why I married her before she could find one.”

Well, we’ve tried that, and it hasn’t worked. She doesn’t want that kind of man. Apparently what she wants is you.”

“He’s a man, dear,” Amelia explained kindly. “Sustained thinking is very difficult for them.” “As opposed to women,” Leo retorted, “who have the remarkable ability to make decisions without doing any thinking at all.”

You wouldn’t mind the idea of a woman pursuing such unorthodox interests?” “Of course I wouldn’t. There would be no point in marrying a woman with unorthodox interests and then trying to make her ordinary, would there?”

“No. God, no. What I meant was, we will have relations, but we will not sleep together.” “But … I think I would like sleeping with you.” His hand tightened on hers. “My nightmares would keep you awake.” “I wouldn’t mind that.” “I might accidently strangle you in my sleep.” “Oh. Well, I would mind that.”

“My love … I would choose the small sum of hours I’ve spent with you over a lifetime spent with another woman. You never needed to write that note, asking me to find you. I’ve wanted to find you my entire life. I don’t think there’s a man alive who could be all the things you deserve in a husband … but I beg you to let me try. Will you marry me?”

“Well,” he said conversationally, “she’s finally written a letter to someone.”

“I don’t care.” Beatrix dove her hot face against his chest. “I don’t care,” she repeated feverishly. “I care. You deserve something far better than a tumble in the hay. And so do I, after more than two years of going without.”

“Beatrix, do you know what happens to girls who ask such naughty questions?” “They’re ravished in haylofts?” she inquired hopefully.

You’ve worked long and hard on this place.” “Yes. But I keep hoping if I feign ignorance, they’ll stop asking me to do things.”

“Why did he leave right in the middle of a quarrel?” Beatrix demanded, dusting off her breeches with short, aggravated whacks. “One can’t just leave, one has to finish it.”

“I don’t want a chaperone. That’s never any fun.” “Yes, Beatrix, that’s the purpose of a chaperone.”

“Well, in our family, anyone who chaperoned me would probably need a chaperone more than I do.”

But he had been too rattled to think clearly. She meant too much to him—she was his life.