A Very Selwick Christmas by Lauren Willig Read Free Book Online Page B

Before Richard could allow himself to think better of it, he took a very deep breath, and rattled off, all at once, “Would-you-like-to-go-back-to-France?”
    Amy dropped her train in her surprise. The heavy fabric slid to the ground with a swish like falling snow. “What?”
    “When Jane goes back, you could, too. It would be tricky”—Richard paused, fighting the impulse to enumerate and multiply the trickiness until it moved from tricky into impossible—
    “but it could be done,” he finished nobly. “You can still do what you always wanted to do.”

    Without him.
    That part appeared to have occurred to Amy, too. “And what about you?”
    Richard shrugged. “Miles seems to think that there"s work to be done on this end.”
    The idea didn"t hold much savor at the moment. Going back to an empty house to code dispatches at the end of the day struck him as immeasurably lonely. He"d got used to being part of a pair. Being by himself would feel like being—well, holly without the ivy. Mince without the pie. Something less than the sum of its parts.
    Amy slowly gathered up the fabric of her train, pleating it up bit by little bit, with slow movements entirely unlike her usual self. “So I would go back to France and you would stay here.”
    No, he wanted to say. Out of the question. But having broached the possibility, he couldn"t snatch it away again. There were nasty names for people who offered gifts and then took them back.
    “It is a possibility,” he said, as neutrally as he could. “Think about it. Decide what you want.”
    Amy looked at him sideways, her brows drawing together over her nose. “What do you want?”
    That was easy enough. For both of them to be in France again, swinging through windows on ropes, leaving mocking notes on pillows, and spiriting men out of prison, together.
    Oh, hell. He didn"t even need France. It was the together bit that counted. He would settle for being back at Selwick Hall, pre-Christmas, pre-Deirdre, setting up their spy school and arguing over the best route from Calais to Paris.
    He took refuge in banalities. “For you to be happy.”
    “On the opposite side of the Channel?”
    I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more…. It had always been one of his favorite verses. Why should it be only the woman who waited, while the man went adventuring? The sentiment applied both ways.
    “If that"s what it takes,” he said grimly. That hadn"t come out quite right, had it? This whole waving from the castle portcullis thing might be harder than he had thought. Pinning his face into a great, big, fake smile, Richard said with exaggerated heartiness, “Think about it.
    Consider it… a Christmas gift.”
    “Thank you.” Amy"s voice was curiously subdued, her face shadowed by that absurd sprig of greenery. Shouldn"t she be… happier? Excited? Relieved? Richard frowned, trying to see around the spiky leaves. “I will.”
    Richard"s eyes followed his wife"s progress as she strode out of the room. He was trying to read the set of her back. It told him nothing more than that her dress appeared to have even more than the usual number of buttons and that if the set of her shoulders was anything to go by, he wasn"t going to be the one undoing them. He had blundered and he wasn"t quite sure how.
    Wasn"t that what she wanted? To have the chance to go back to France?
    Bloody snow. Bloody Deirdre. Bloody, bloody, bloody Christmas. He knew he should have just given her a kitten.
    Richard realized, belatedly and unhelpfully, just how much he had counted on an immediate denial. She was supposed to elated, tearful, thankful—and then say no. “No, dearest,” said a ridiculous falsetto in his head. “Never mind the espionage. My place is here with you.” Cue embracing. And so forth. He got to be all noble, she said no, and they all lived happily ever after.
    Instead… Richard buried his head in his hands. What the devil was he to do when she actually took him up on