Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas) by Cheryl Bolen Read Free Book Online Page A

remember what the woman looked like. There had to be a portrait of her, but he had never noticed.
    Then his thoughts came back to this marriage. He would be expected to share a bed with Belle, but blast it all, he could not contemplate such a thing!
    Once again, he recalled her asking him to think of her breasts whenever he doubted she could be his wife. He visualized her as she had appeared strolling up to take her place beside him for the marriage ceremony. How lovely she had looked! The bodice of her gown dipped low enough in front to reveal the plump tops of her breasts. The vision had erased his conception that she was an eleven-year-old child. She was a grown woman. A woman with womanly breasts.
    “I must say, Belle, this is the longest you've gone in a great while without finding something to criticize about me. Why is that?”
    “I take vows seriously. This morning we pledged to become one flesh; therefore, I will try to never hurt you again. You are now part of me, and I shall be part of you.”
    Good Lord! The prospect was nearly terrifying. Nevertheless, he found himself patting her hand.
    “Since you're to be my other half,” she said, peering up at him, “I suppose I need to learn more about you. I don't mean those things men like to know about like how well you ride or stand your own with Gentleman Jackson or how fine a cricket player you are. I assure you, my knowledge of cricket is so lacking that I would not be able to determine who was good or who was bad at the sport.”
    He shrugged. “What else is there to know?”
    “I shall endeavor to tell you what I do know about you. I know you're more bookish than others of your set.”
    He nodded. Was that something he should deny? Would women find such a trait less manly?
    “I know that you value truth.”
    “That I am proud of.”
    “As you should be. I find truthfulness a most noble quality. Let me see, what else do I know about you? You're affectionate to your sisters.”
    He nodded. “It occurs to me I don't know a great deal about you.”
    “I share your love of books. What a grand marriage we'll have, sitting before the fire reading our respective books in complete silence!”
    They both laughed.
    “Let me guess as to your favorite authors.” He made a great display of pinching at his clefted chin. “Shakespeare.”
    She nodded. “Of course. I adore him.”
    “I should think the tragedies.”
    She shook her head.
    “The histories?”
    She shook her head again.
    A slow smile eased across his face. “The comedies! I confess I, too, prefer the comedies.”
    “I don't like any kind of tragedy.”
    She always had been soft hearted. “Then I suppose you like poetry.”
    “Of course. Can you guess which poets I admire?”
    “Lord Byron. All the women adore him.”
    She shook her head. “He's lived his life so wickedly, I can't divorce the man from the poet. I refuse to read him anymore.”
    “Then I imagine you like the Lake Poets. Women like to worship nature.”
    “You'll find I'm not very modern in my poetic tastes. Though there is much to admire in Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey, I look to the last century for my favorites.”
    It was the same with him. “Pope?”
    She shook her head.
    Dare he hope she felt the same affinity for Cowper as he did? It would be far too extraordinary. “Who, then?”
    “Cowper.”
    He could not believe it! “How did you know he was my favorite?”
    Her eyes widened. “I did not know it. What an extraordinary coincidence!”
    Yes, it was. “Now, my lady, allow me to ask what you think about children.”
    “I adore them. I've always adored them. I love babies, and toddlers, and six-year-olds who've lost their front teeth, and nine-year-olds whose teeth are too big for their little faces. I suppose because I had no siblings, I always craved being around children who were younger than me.”
    “And do you prefer girls or boys?”
    She grew solemn. “I had always hoped . . . my father would live to