'Twas the Night After Christmas by Sabrina Jeffries Read Free Book Online

affair, no matter what she thought. He didn’t have to explain himself to some paid companion, damn it!
    Besides, as meddlesome as Mrs. Stuart had proven to be, she clearly had Mother’s best interests at heart. He didn’t want to dismiss the woman, and he saw no reason to poison her against his mother. He just wanted her to stop making trouble.
    He forced some calmness into his tone. “By now you’ve probably gathered that matters between me and my mother aren’t as clear as you think. So I will forget how far you’ve overstepped your bounds, if you’ll agree to keep your opinions to yourself and stay out of my relationship with her in future.”
    Though she swallowed hard, she continued to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I can do that, my lord.”
    “Oh, for God’s sake . . . ” He dragged his hand over his face. He was tired and hungry and annoyed. The bloody woman was a plague! “What do you want from me, damn it, short of attaching my mother to my side with a tether?”
    The image made her start, then give a little smile. It took him by surprise. Until that moment, she’d lived up to his impression of a self-righteous bluestocking, but a sense of humor lurked inside the indomitable Mrs. Stuart. And somehow he’d tickled it.
    “You needn’t go to such an extreme,” she said, her eyes twinkling beneath the spectacles. Then she turned earnest again. “But if you could stay here with your mother until Christmas—”
    “No.” He remembered only too well his last Christmas at home. The one that he hadn’t realized was to be his last Christmas at home. “That’s impossible.”
    He turned away. Perhaps he should dismiss the woman.
    But she followed him as he headed for the brandy. “You wouldn’t have to spend much time with her, just have the occasional meal with her. The slightest attention from you would make her happy.”
    “You think so, do you?” Pouring himself a healthy portion of brandy, he downed it in one swallow. If ever a woman could drive a man to drink, it was Mrs. Stuart.
    “I am sure of it. You could stay at Montcliff Manor as you always do, but even if you merely came to dinner with us every night—”
    “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He set down theglass and faced her with a scowl. “You’ll keep plaguing me until I do as you ask or you force me to send you packing.”
    That seemed to give her pause, but only for a moment. “I would of course prefer that you not send me packing. But I must speak what I know to be true, sir.” Her voice softened. “And now that I’ve met you, I believe that you have more of a heart than you let on.”
    He snorted. “Do you, indeed?”
    Then perhaps it was time he dispelled that ridiculous notion. And in doing so, perhaps he could dissuade her from meddling and tormenting him to death, without his having to dismiss her and go to the trouble of hiring another, who might not be as reliable.
    He stalked forward, deliberately crowding her space, forcing her to either back up or stand her ground. Not surprisingly, she did the latter, which put him toe to toe with her, looming over her.
    “I tell you what, Mrs. Stuart,” he drawled. “I’m already staying here at the dower house until tomorrow. So I’ll attend dinner tonight with you and my mother and try to be civil. But in exchange, I’ll expect some compensation after she retires.”
    Her gaze turned wary. “What sort of compensation?”
    “Entertainment. The kind I would normally receive in London.” He let his gaze trail leisurely down her body in a way that should illustrate exactly what he was pretending to demand of her. “And I will expect you to provide it.”

4

    C amilla’s cheeks heated as she gaped at the earl. What a despicable, wicked—
    Then her brain caught up with her moral outrage. The earl wore a calculating expression, as if he knew exactly what her reaction would be.
    That devil was making this up as he went along. He wanted her so