What a Lady Needs for Christmas Read Online Free PDF

hands where only your husband’s hands ought to go. Maybe he saw treasures no other fellow has seen. If it was only you and he on that darkened balcony or in that unheated parlor, then it’s your word against his regarding what transpired. If he threatens gossip, you threaten some of your own.”
    She fingered her lacy cuff, which wasn’t torn exactly, but the drape of the lace was disturbed by the mishap with the snagged buttons. “A lady doesn’t gossip.”
    He was in the presence not only of goodness, but innocence. May his daughter grow up to be just like Lady Joan.
    “Many ladies seem to do little else but gossip,” he said, “and the gentlemen can be just as bad, because they apply spirits to their wagging tongues.”
    He retrieved his arm from around her shoulders, though that did nothing to take her delicate, feminine scent from his nose, or the warmth of her along his side from his awareness.
    “What sort of gossip would a lady bent on revenge start?”
    He liked that for all her soft, velvety elegance, she’d ask such a thing, and he liked more that she’d ask him .
    “His charming young lordship can’t kiss worth a damn. He gambles indiscriminately. His hands are clammy, his breath stinks.” Because the damned fool fellow had it coming, Dante added, “He makes odd noises.”
    Auburn brows flew up. “How ever did you guess? He makes whiny little moans, and it’s distracting, and not very manly, the same sounds his lapdog makes when in urgent need of the garden. I’d forgotten his moaning.”
    Oh, Dante liked this woman. He liked her very well.
    “If he has a lapdog, you’re well rid of him.” The blighter probably had a tiny pizzle, too. If Dante told the lady to bruit that about, she’d likely leap from the train.
    Though Dante would catch her.
    “Perhaps I am well rid of him.” The first hint of a glimmer of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Not a pleasant, social smile, such as she’d bestow on shop clerks and churchyard acquaintances, but a true, warm, merry smile, such as she’d share with a friend. “Perhaps I am well rid of him at that.”
    Dante loved that he’d made her smile, loved that she wasn’t as upset as she’d been, and all because he’d spent a few minutes talking with her—and letting her pet his knee.
    So he smiled right back.
    ***
    Mr. Hartwell was honest, friendly, and kind, which to Joan was a significant improvement over handsome and charming. He also smelled good—of heather and cedar—and he wore the most marvelous merino blends.
    Over thighs that put Joan in mind of the mahogany table under the window. Smooth, warm, hard.
    Gracious heavens.
    “What has you traveling into the mountains at this time of year, Mr. Hartwell?”
    His smiled faded but didn’t leave his eyes, suggesting he was permitting Joan to change the subject.
    “The same thing that has me getting up most mornings and ruining my eyes with a lot of reports most nights: business.”
    “You’re in textiles.” The polite version of the ballroom on dits .
    “I’m in trade ,” he said, rising. “I’m not ashamed of working for my bread, Lady Joan. I’m responsible for three mills, and they turn out fine products. They do, however, require both management and capital on a regular basis. Capital being money.”
    Tiberius was always going on about capital.
    “My mother has ensured that I have a thorough grasp of economics, Mr. Hartwell. Your mills also require land and labor, among other things.” Without his bulk beside her, the train car was not quite so cozy, though it was a good deal more proper.
    Mr. Hartwell wedged himself into the bench at the small table, looking momentarily puzzled. “Your mama educated you thus?”
    Mama was notorious for her financial skills, at least in Polite Society. Mr. Hartwell couldn’t know that.
    “She educated all five of her children regarding money, and Papa thoroughly—if quietly—approved.”
    To the extent Papa approved of