An Affair Before Christmas Read Online Free PDF

of self-hatred. Beaumont looked up and welcomed him with a smile. “Do you know Lord Holland?”
    “I was a great supporter of your father’s on the debating floor,” Holland said. “It’s a plea sure to meet you. Your dear wife and mine, Your Grace, serve on the Board of Directors of Queen Charlotte’s Lying-In Hospital.”
    “Really,” Fletch murmured. “My wife is remarkably devoted to her causes.”
    “So’s my wife,” Holland said with a twinkle. “Keeps ’em busy, what? Wish we could say the same about Beaumont’s duchess here, but she dances to her own piper!”
    Beaumont’s face instantly became frigid. “Her Grace’s charitable activities may not be well known, but they are no less bountiful. Not long ago I found my wife closeted with a young woman collecting for Chelsea pensioners, for example.”
    “I meant to imply nothing less,” Holland said.
    But it was obvious in his tone that he felt the Duchess of Beaumont was a liability. That was one good thing about Poppy, Fletch thought. She would never cuckold him.
    Holland turned to Fletch. “Though I hate to say it in front of Beaumont here, since he’s of the de vil’s party, we’d like to see you take your father’s place in the House of Lords. He was a fine debater, never missed a point.”
    “A son needn’t follow his father into the same party,” Beaumont pointed out.
    “Ah, but the smart ones do,” Holland said, beaming at Fletch. “May I enquire whether you will take up your seat with us, Your Grace?”
    “Naturally,” Fletch said. He had no real idea what either party stood for, and at the moment he didn’t give a rat’s ass. His priorities were rapidly becoming clear: he was going to rut his brains out (to use the coarse country phrase) and then he would go to Lords and start being the sort of man his father was. He could figure out the actual politics of the thing later. “If you’ll forgive me, gentlemen?” He swept a bow and wandered on.
    Two rooms later, he found exactly what he was looking for.
    Lady Nevill.
    She was slightly older than he, with precisely the sort of French elegance that he remembered. And he’d heard about her. Her husband had been incapacitated in a carriage accident; who could deny her the plea sure of an affaire now and then? The ton ’s pity was such that she was never denied an invitation to any event, although everyone knew perfectly well that she had thrown away her reputation long ago.
    She was luscious, deeper-breasted than Poppy, with long er legs, and a loose-limbed air about her that suggested she would throw her legs around a man’s neck and ride him for all he was worth.
    The lady was talking to Lord Kendrick, who had to be old enough to be her father. He paused to watch and instantly knew that she was aware of him. He could see it in every lineament of her body, all those invisible, sweet ways that women had of registering interest in a man. He was probably one of the most observant men in the world when it came to that sort of thing, since he kept looking for signs of desire in Poppy—and not seeing any.
    It was different with Lady Nevill. She turned her head and met his eyes straight on. No subterfuge, no silliness, no flirtation.
    He didn’t smile. He let his eyes smile instead.
    She said something to Lord Kendrick, moved toward him. He walked a step or two, bowed before her.
    “Do we know each other?” she said, laughing a little.
    “I think not,” he answered.
    “It is much nicer this way,” she said. “One can hardly ever endure the conversation of old friends, whereas that of new friends can be irresistible.”
    Her eyes were a strange dark golden color; she was as sensuous as a purring cat in the dark. “I shall do my best to be irresistible,” he said, feeling as if he were grasping at sophisticated conversation. He and Poppy never had conversations laden with double entendres.
    She tapped him on the arm with her fan. “There is nothing a woman desires more