'Twas the Night After Christmas by Sabrina Jeffries

“entertaining” his lordship would be no sacrifice at all, compared to that.
    “One more thing, Mrs. Stuart,” he said as she reached the door.
    She paused to look back at him.
    “You were right when you said I’m discriminating in my choice of bed partners. But you aren’t remotely mousy.” His gaze scoured her with a heat that didn’t seem the least bit feigned.
    Could he really mean it?
    Oh, she hoped not. Because the last thing she needed in her life right now was a lover—not with Jasper to take care of.
    Only when he had her thoroughly agitated did he lower his voice to a husky drawl. “Fortunately for you, I’m not in the habit of abusing the trust of those in my employ, whether chaste maidens or experienced widows. So as long as you want me to play the respectable gentleman, I will do so.”
    He fixed her with a smoldering look. “But let this be a warning to you. Give me an inch, and I will take two miles. If you offer more, I will be only too happy to take you into my bed.”
    “Then I shall have to take care not to offer more, shan’t I?” And with that, she slipped from the room.
    But as she made her way down the hall, her knees shaking and her hands clammy, she had to acknowledge that this bargain might not be quite so easy to keep. Because insane as it might be, she found the idea of being in the earl’s bed rather intriguing.
    Oh, what was wrong with her? He didn’t mean a thing he said—clearly he’d issued his dire “warning” just to vex her. Why, the man was seen every week with some fine beauty at the operaor the theater or balls where he scandalized everyone with his flirtations.
    Yes, exactly! He was an awful man with a terrible reputation. Being attracted to such a fellow was utterly unlike her. Even if he was so very handsome. And more clever than she’d expected. And full of secrets that intrigued her.
    She scowled. They did not intrigue her. They all centered around his clear lack of concern for his mother’s feelings.
    Well, perhaps not entirely clear.
    She married Father for money, and now that it’s all under my control, she suddenly “needs” me desperately.
    Camilla shook off a chill. Pausing only to tell a passing maid that his lordship’s plans had changed again, she headed for the countess’s bedchamber. He was utterly wrong about his mother. She was almost sure of it, and she knew her ladyship better than anyone. Didn’t she?
    A woman who didn’t even care that her son was alive until two years ago, when my father died and she could no longer depend on his largesse?
    Why would he say that? Though come to think of it, the countess only spoke of her son as a boy and as a grown man. She said nothing about his school years.
    Then again, he would have been away during his school years. But he would have come home for holidays. He would have gotten into scrapes and adventures; even a sickly boy would have done that .
    And why did the countess never speak of the previous earl? Camilla assumed that their marriage had been a formal one, sincethe woman rarely mentioned him, but now she had to wonder . . . Could Lady Devonmont really have married the man just for his money?
    If only some of the old servants were still employed who could say what the countess’s husband had been like and if he’d played a part in the estrangement between mother and son.
    Since Camilla had secrets of her own, she had a firm rule against prying into her employers’ private affairs. But she was sorely tempted to break her rule in this case. Dealing with the prickly earl would be much easier if she knew more about him and his mother.
    She found the countess already up from her rest. “I have some good news, my lady. His lordship has decided to join us for dinner this evening.”
    Lady Devonmont faced her warily. “I don’t understand.”
    Camilla forced a cheery smile to her lips. “He’s had a change of heart. You see? He does care.”
    As joy lit the countess’s face, she seized