His Christmas Pleasure Read Online Free

roil inside you.” He said all of this with his graceful inflection. They said that since he’d come to London, many a fop, taken by his charisma, had started lisping in a poor imitation of his accent—and here he was, so very careful, and intelligent, with his English.
    The door to the library opened. Freddie stepped out into the hallway.

    For a long moment, he stood there, his gaze going from one to the other, a puzzled expression on his face. Abby’s hand still rested on the barón’s arm, and she realized they must appear very close to Freddie.
    “I thought you were going to dance?” Was it Abby’s imagination, or did Freddie sound almost jealous?
    “We are … I think,” the barón answered. “Miss Montross?” He began walking toward the ballroom, and Abby had no choice but to follow unless she wished to be rude.
    Still, what if Freddie had at last realized what he was tossing aside? What if he was having second notions about offering for Corinne?
    She looked over her shoulder to him—
    “I need the name of your valet,” Freddie called out to the barón. “How else will my man be in touch with yours?”
    Disappointment tasted like bile in her mouth. She knew Freddie cared for her. She knew it … but could she be wrong?
    “They won’t be in touch,” the barón said. He had come to a halt, his impatience clear. “I don’t have one.”
    “Have one what?” Freddie asked.
    “A valet. Come, Miss Montross.”
    This time, Abby went with him.
    They walked in silence a moment before she confessed, “That was humbling.” She blinked back tears. No crying. She mustn’t cry here.
    “What was?” the barón said, nodding at a passing acquaintance in the hall.
    The music had started for the next set. A crowd milled around the doorway ahead of them, people talking, coming and going. He slowed his step, as if he was not in a hurry.
    Abby knew he understood she spoke of Freddie. She didn’t want to say more. She might shatter.

    She changed the subject, once again pretending to carry on, clinging to her pride. “Funny that you don’t have a valet and still can be the envy of every dandy in the city.”
    Several women around the doorway sent covert glances in the barón’s direction. And then their gazes dropped on her hand resting on his arm. Lips formed into questions. Fans began fluttering up to hide what was murmured from one person to another.
    Abby suspected they wondered why he was with her. Wait until Freddie announced his betrothal. Then they could really laugh at what a silly goose she was.
    Her throat tightened. She forced herself to hold on. She’d not cry, not cry, not cry—
    “I don’t think so,” the barón said.
    She had lost track of their conversation. “Think about what?”
    He looked down at her, sympathy in his eyes. He’d noticed how fragile she was.
    “I don’t think it is funny I don’t have a valet,” he said.
    Abby grasped for context, and then remembered. She forced a smile. “Men of your station usually do. Especially those with a remarkable knot in their neck cloth.”
    “Don’t forget, Brummell has pronounced me a fine figure of a man,” he reminded her. “Why do I need a valet?”
    His dry irony helped steady her. “That was such an inane thing for Freddie to say.” She paused. “He always was a bit vain.”
    “Most of us men are,” he said. “And there is no reason to apologize for having loved. He’s the one who is a fool.”
    Shame welled inside her. “I cared so deeply.” And her heart hurt. She wanted to escape, to find a quiet place to break down. Abby started to pull away, but he moved to take her by the hand, his fingers lacing with hers.

    “You can’t run yet,” he told her, his voice low, intimate. “You promised a dance—”
    “No, you commandeered a dance.”
    Amusement lit his eyes. “I did, so you have no choice.” And he led her past the prying, curious eyes and into the ballroom, a room ablaze with candles and the glittering