‘You don’t approve of him, do you?’
‘I have my reasons.’
His elbows resting on the arms of the chair, he laced his hands together in front of him. ‘Were you and he, well ... you know, an item some time ago?’
Her smile widened. ‘No. Max loved to charm and flirt, but it was no more than a game between us.’
‘No harm in that when you’re young and the sap is rising. But you know, he seems sincere enough around Isabella. To a complete stranger, that is. And I don’t regard myself as being too gullible when it comes to these things.’
‘I agree with you, he does seem to be genuinely concerned about Isabella.’
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour; it was one o’clock.
‘It’s late,’ she said, ‘I suppose we really should go up.’
‘Suddenly I’m not in the least bit tired. Are you?’
‘Not in the slightest,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you put some more coal on the fire, and I’ll pour us some brandy?’
‘I shouldn’t have anything to drink, not given my resolve to keep a cool head around you.’
‘I’m prepared to risk the consequences if you are.’
He smiled. ‘Go on then.’
She fetched two generous measures of brandy from the cabinet where she kept a selection of drinks. They stood in front of the fire and he raised his balloon glass to hers. ‘Happy Christmas to you, MrsDevereux-Temple,’ he said softly.
‘And a Happy Christmas to you, too, Mr St Clair.’
‘I have a confession to make,’ he said, after they’d both taken a long sip of their drinks.
She eyed him warily. ‘You’re full of confessions, aren’t you?’
‘I’m afraid I’m about to break another promise I made to myself.’
She looked at his face in the soft light cast from the lamp on her desk as well as the glow of the firelight. How handsome he was, and how mesmerising his brilliantly dark eyes were. She put a hand to his cheek, something she had longed to do all evening. But with Isabella and Max around, she had kept herself in check. Now though, just the two of them, her desire for him raged through her.
‘What promise is that?’ she asked. She could see a vein pulsing in his neck and feel the sudden tautness in his body.
He turned his head into the palm of her hand and kissed it, his soft lips against her skin making her heart thud. ‘The one I made last night,’ he said slowly, now taking hold of her hand in his. ‘About not rushing things. But you see, I’d give anything to wake up in the morning with you by my side. It would be the perfect Christmas present. One I would always treasure.’
‘The thing about some promises,’ she said, transfixed by the yearning in his face, ‘is they’re just like parking meters.’
He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. ‘Whatever response I was expecting, or hoping for, it certainly wasn’t that!’
She smiled. ‘It’s really quite simple,’ she said. ‘The promise you made was the sort that wasn’t meant to last longer thantwenty-four hours.’
‘It was?’
‘Oh yes. And,’ she pointed to the carriage clock, ‘by my reckoning it ran out a few hours ago.’
He stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now she tells me!’
When he fell silent, he drank the rest of his brandy, as did Romily. They each placed their empty glasses on the mantelpiece, and then, as one, moved into each other’s arms and kissed. Her hands pressed into his shoulder blades, he moved against her, strong and sure, his right hand holding the nape of her neck. Locked together, they kissed as they had before, passionate and with the need for more from the other.
At last they pulled apart, both breathing hard and gazing deep into each other’s eyes. Without another word exchanged, Romily switched off the lamp on her desk and led Red from the room to go upstairs.
ChapterSeventy-Five
