House of Trent 01.5 - His for Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

was no choice but to think.
    He watched her carefully, hoping to hell he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.
    Because he already wanted her again. He wanted her tonight, tomorrow, for Christmas and beyond. He had the feeling he’d never stop wanting her.
    He sensed her withdrawal in the closed language of her body, in her clasped hands and the tight line of her lips.
    No. He couldn’t let her slip through his fingers. He’d allowed it before, because they’d both been young and he didn’t know better. But now he was home, he was in England to stay, and Amelia was here, too. He’d known her all her life, but she was a woman now, and more than the girl he’d once admired. She was beautiful, intelligent, passionate—everything he’d ever wanted in a woman.
    They were trapped in this tiny room for at least one night. He’d make the most of it.
    He lowered himself beside her on the bed and took her hand in his own, turning it over and tracing the lines on her palm. Her hand was small and delicate, with short, clean nails, and no calluses or any other marks upon it.
    She was a lady, the daughter of an earl. Privileged from birth.
    “When we were children, I always thought you to be so far above me,” he murmured.
    She jerked in surprise, but he continued, closing his hand over hers. “When I was ten years old, I informed my mother that I would marry you.”
    Amelia went stiff and still beside him, and he continued, “She laughed and told me that you were the eldest daughter of an earl; that your father would surely want to marry you to a man with a title, not a mere gentleman, which was all I was destined to be.”
    Amelia huffed out a breath. “I did end up marrying a gentleman.”
    “Yes.” Part of the reason the news had hurt him so much. He’d felt betrayed to learn that the man she’d ultimately married was no higher on the social ladder than he was. He turned to her, studying her as he asked, “Why?”
    “Why didn’t I marry someone with a title?”
    “Yes.”
    She shrugged. “I was Pudge.”
    “Amelia—”
    She stared at his hands covering hers in her lap as if they held the mysteries of the world, and gave a humorless laugh. “It’s true. I was Pudge, and everyone knew Pudge was unworthy. No titled gentlemen spared me a second glance during my London Season, and I didn’t want to be forced to endure another. So I married Edmund Witherspoon, who was far past his prime and lame and who had a bad heart.” She gave him a pained smile. “But Edmund was kind, which was much more than I could say for so many others. And Papa agreed to the marriage because he is a good father, and he wanted me to be happy.”
    No titled gentlemen had spared her a second glance? How was that even possible? But a part of him knew. She’d always been shy and unassuming, always had the ability to melt into a crowd if she wanted to.
    It was those men’s loss if they hadn’t noticed her. Idiots.
    “Pudge wasn’t unworthy,” he said softly, hearing the conviction in his own voice.
    She angled her face to gaze up at him, her sky-blue eyes shining. “It was more than that, though. Don’t you remember?”
    He shook his head, confused.
    “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”
    “Of course. It was the night before I was to leave for Cambridge.” His mother and father had thrown him a grand farewell party that night, inviting friends and neighbors from miles around. Amelia had come with her parents. She’d been a sweet, shy sixteen, and he remembered how his heart had stuttered when she’d walked into the party, how pretty and pink-cheeked she’d been that night. How he’d wanted, that whole summer, to find a way to get her alone so he could kiss her.
    It had never happened.
    She looked back down at her hands, now twisting them in her lap. He gazed at her profile, seeing the color high on her cheeks. The same color flooded her cheeks tonight as it had that night so long ago.
    Arousal