Love in the Afternoon (The Hathaways, #5)

by Lisa Kleypas

Holding the nightgown up, Beatrix saw that it was made of black gossamer and fastened with tiny jet buttons. Since the only nightgowns she had ever worn had been of modest white cambric or muslin, this was rather shocking. However, if it was what husbands liked …

Christopher had just finished pouring two glasses of champagne. He turned toward her and froze, except for his gaze, which traveled over her in a burning sweep. “My God,” he muttered, and drained his champagne. Setting the empty glass aside, he gripped the other as if he were afraid it might slip through his fingers.

“Do you like my nightgown?” Beatrix asked. Christopher nodded, not taking his gaze from her. “Where’s the rest of it?” “This was all I could find.” Unable to resist teasing him, Beatrix twisted and tried to see the back view. “I wonder if I put it on backward …” “Let me see.” As she turned to reveal the naked line of her back, Christopher drew in a harsh breath.

Although Beatrix heard him mumble a curse, she didn’t take offense, deducing that Poppy had been right about the nightgown. And when he drained the second glass of champagne, forgetting ...

She was being seduced, quite skillfully.

“My heart belongs only to you,” he whispered. “It was never lovemaking before. This is a first for me, too.”

“Then it’s different, when one is in love?” “Beatrix, dearest love, it’s beyond anything I’ve ever known. Beyond dreams.”

“I meant every word,” he murmured. “I would have written much more, but I didn’t want to frighten you.”

“You’re so warm here,” he whispered, stroking her intimately. “So soft. Oh, Beatrix … I fell in love with you by words alone … but I have to admit … I prefer this way of communicating.”

She could barely speak, her mind dazzled by sensation. “It’s still a love letter,” she said, sliding her hand over the golden slope of his shoulder. “Only in bed.” He smiled. “Then I’ll try to use proper punctuation.” “And no dangling participles,” she added, making him laugh.

“Don’t be upset,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stop it from happening,” she said in a plaintive voice. “You weren’t supposed to,” he said tenderly. “I was playing with you. Teasing you.”

“I want tonight to last forever.” She felt Christopher smile against her cheek. “It doesn’t have to last. I’m personally quite optimistic about tomorrow night.”

There was something about the light in the Cotswolds, a smooth opalescence that covered the hills and farmland in a soft binding.

His need for her ran so deep that it seemed to be part of his blood, woven into his bones. He didn’t understand all the reasons for such mysterious alchemy. But did reasons really matter? One could pick apart love, examine every filament of attraction, and still it would never be fully explained. It simply was.

Beatrix knew when she was being placated. She was being offered sexual pleasure in lieu of real communication. As far as palliatives went, it was a very good substitute.

“And before I tell you about it, I want to make it clear that there is only one reasonable side of the issue. Mine.” “Oh, bother,” Amelia said sympathetically. “Husbands do make one cross at times. Tell me your side, and I will agree completely.”

would do anything to try and be the husband she needed. It would not be done in one fell swoop. But she was patient, and forgiving, and dear Lord, he loved her for it.

He was nearly overcome with relief. The panic eased. The darkness began to recede. Thank you, God. Beatrix was there, and safe. She belonged to him, she was beautiful and vibrant, and he would spend his life taking care of her. Whatever she desired of him, whatever words or memories she asked for, he would give. It almost seemed easy now—the force of his love would make anything easy.

Forgive me for not being able to survive … and forgive yourself for surviving.

“But I think you’ve changed. You don’t expect perfection now. How else could you explain your attraction to me?” Christopher gently took her face in his hands. “You are my idea of perfection, Beatrix Heloise.”

His hands swept over her, mapping the physical contours of what words had already expressed. Making love, creating it, letting sensation flow over both of them. Emotion became movement. Movement became pleasure.

They invented endearments for each other. Small marital intimacies that meant nothing and everything. They were collecting them, just as they were collecting words and memories, all of it containing special resonance for the two of them.

“You’d choose a woman over not having your arse shot off?” “Wouldn’t you?”

as Albert walked obediently beside Christopher. “There’s a good boy!” “Look smart, fellow!” “No accidents in front of the queen!” “And all that goes for you too, Albert,”

Albert waited patiently until the collar was fastened, and then licked her wrist. “Impertinent,” she scolded in a whisper, and patted his head. And she sent a brief, discreet smile to Christopher as they left to make way for the next recipient.

“It’s what you wanted, then?” she asked between kisses, already knowing the answer. Christopher looked down at her through a bright sheen of joy that made everything blurred and radiant. “More than I ever dreamed. And certainly more than I deserve.” Beatrix’s arms slid around his neck. “I’ll show you what you deserve,” she informed him, and pulled his head down to hers again.