An Affair Before Christmas Read Free

suit her better. Her frame was so small that side panniers, a long train, and a markedly large hairstyle, no matter how fashionable, made her feel like a decorated child.
    Fletch tipped a finger under her chin. “I didn’t mean to send you into a daze, Poppy. I picked up your brooch, but I’m afraid the pin is bent. I’ll have it fixed for you.”
    It was foolish to worry. Fletch was here—and he was hers. She smiled at him. “Thank you.”
    Fletch turned the brooch over in his hand. “What an odd cameo.”
    “It’s the only cameo of a bird I’ve ever seen. The Wedgwood company made it in honor of Queen Charlotte.”
    “And just how is a flying crane with a crown on its head supposed to honor the queen?”
    “Foolish, isn’t it? But look here”—she pointed it out to him—“the craftsman was marvelous. You can see each feather in the wingspan.”
    “But the crown makes it look as if the bird has horns,” he objected.
    “I know. That’s a small problem in the execution, though I still like it.” She tucked her hand under his arm. “Shall we return? It’s quite chilly, and I wouldn’t want Mama to become concerned about me.” And then, because he still looked a little distant in a way that she didn’t like, she added: “I’ll ask Jemma exactly what ladies do and don’t when it comes to kissing, Fletch. I promise.”
    A few minutes later they walked out the door of the abbey. Paris lay on either side of them, dreaming in the chilly morning air until suddenly the air came alive again with a wild ringing of bells, liquid notes falling from the tower above them, echoing off snowy brick walls and steep cathedral spires.
    “It’s Christmas,” Poppy said, feeling a sudden rush of joy. “It’s my favorite day of the year. I adore Christmas.”
    “I adore you,” Fletch said, stopping. “Do you see what I see, Poppy?”
    “What?” she breathed, looking up at him and not wherever he was pointing.
    “Mistletoe,” he said, putting his arms around her. “Mistletoe hanging in thin air.”
    Poppy closed her eyes and tipped up her face. It was just the right sort of kiss: sweet, short and loving. Then they began to walk back, Poppy picking her way over cobblestones lined in a thin gleaming sheet of ice.
    A young woman hurried toward them, head down, a long loaf of bread tucked under her arm. Fletch felt as if he could smell the warm, fresh bread, and then before he knew it, he was imagining the luxurious curve of her breast pressed against the warm crust. He would—
    He wrenched his thoughts away. When he and Poppy were married, he would have fresh-baked bread delivered to their chambers, and he would break it apart and eat it from her body, as though she were a platter for the gods.
    “You have such a curious smile on your face,” Poppy said. “What are you thinking about?”
    “You. Only you.”
    Poppy smiled to herself, and an old Parisian who passed reflected that he, one of the world’s connoisseurs of beauty, had never seen a lady quite so exquisite. In her face and figure were years of English and French ancestry, and having been raised mostly in France, every aspect of her figure and costume was à la mode . But it was her eyes, and the way she looked only at the tall Englishman striding beside her, that made her shine with that particular joy that makes even the plainest person beautiful.
    “Ah,” he sighed. “L’amour!”



Chapter 1
    Four years later
    AN EXCERPT FROM THE MORNING POST,
APRIL 22, 1783
    The buzz of the past few days amongst the ton has been the challenge that the Earl of Gryffyn offered the Duke of Villiers. It seems that the earl has stolen away the duke’s fiancée. We cannot comment on the veracity of this report, but we would note that dueling has been strictly prohibited by our gracious sovereign…
    Town house of the Duke and Duchess of Beaumont
A morning party in celebration
    of the Earl of Gryffyn’s victory in a duel
    “T he Duchess of Fletcher,” the