Lady Jenny's Christmas Portrait Read Online Free

notions. “So you choose instead to break your own heart?”
    She left off staring at his hands and rose to tend the fire. His question had not been challenging, but worse—far worse—gently pitying.
    “One can love others, Mr. Harrison, or one can love one’s own ambitions. A woman who chooses the latter is not highly regarded in our society. A man who chooses the former is regarded as weak or possessed of a religious vocation.”
    He did not pop to his feet when she knelt before the hearth and arranged an oak log on top of the stack already burning. Oak was heavy, though, and the weight of the additional log collapsed the half-burnt ones beneath it, sending a shower of sparks in all directions.
    “Careful. Your skirts might catch.”
    He’d seized her under the arms and hauled her away from the hearth in one smooth, brute maneuver. When she ought to have been offended or unnerved, Jenny was impressed.
    “Thank you. While you finish your meal, I’ll check on your room.”
    She left him there by the fire for two reasons. First, she’d offered him quite enough of her confidences for one night and had failed utterly to wring any from him—professional or personal.
    The second reason Jenny fled into the cold, dark corridor was that she liked standing close to Elijah Harrison far too much.

Two
    As Elijah accompanied his hostess through the chilly, dimly lit house, fatigue hit him like a runaway freight wagon. This was what came of trying to make a winter’s journey when sane people were holed up with one another, tippling brandy and making gingerbread.
    No, not sane people. Sentimental people.
    “Your room is here,” Lady Jenny said, opening a door. She led him into a blessedly, gloriously cozy space, into a bit of heaven for a man who’d considered he might end both the day and his life shivering in a snowy ditch.
    “Lady Kesmore takes her hospitality seriously,” he said. The appointments were in a cheery blue and cream with green accents—again, not quite the green of Lady Jenny’s eyes—giving the chamber a feminine air even by candlelight. A fat, black cat kitted out as if in formal evening attire—black fur tailcoat and knee breeches; white fur cravat, boots, and gloves—rose from the bed and strolled for the door, tail held high.
    When a room was truly clean, light filled it easily. A beam of sunshine or flicker of candlelight could bounce from a sparkling mirror, to a gleaming hardwood floor, to a polished lamp chimney or sconce mirror.
    The room was very clean, and in the hearth, a wood fire crackled merrily.
    “I have never regarded the scent of wood smoke as a fragrance,” he said, “though tonight, I certainly do.”
    “You were quite cold, weren’t you?” she asked, lighting the candles by his bedside tables. “I forgot to get you a book.”
    “I would not read a single paragraph before succumbing to the charms of Morpheus.” Where, if God were merciful, Elijah would dream of Lady Jenny illuminated by candlelight.
    Another scent came to him as she moved around the room, a light, spicy perfume that started off with jasmine and ended with feminine mysteries.
    “I’ll have one of Lord Kesmore’s dressing gowns brought to you,” she said, peering into the pitcher on the hearth. “A footman remains on duty at the end of the hall until midnight, and then we rely on the porter through the night.”
    “I’m sure I won’t waken in the night, and I might have to be roused to break my fast as well.”
    Small talk. She ought not to be in this room with him, though for present purposes, she was his hostess and had left the door a few inches ajar as a nod to propriety.
    “I’ll bid you pleasant dreams, then.” She bobbed a curtsy and withdrew, leaving Elijah alone in his heaven.
    Somebody had brought his things in from the stable and set his bag on the chest at the foot of the bed. Lest his worldly goods rot by morning, Elijah took out each damp, wrinkled article of clothing and draped it