Under The Mistletoe by Mary Balogh Page B

asked.
    â€œNo more chimbleys?” the child asked.
    â€œNo more chimneys.”
    Nicky’s jaw dropped again.
    â€œDoes this please you?” the earl asked. “Would you like to be a part of this household?”
    â€œCor blimey, guv’nor,” the boy said.
    Which words the earl interpreted as cautious assent. He assigned his new servant to the tender care of the housekeeper, who was waiting outside the door and who considered that her position in the household was an exalted enough one that she could permit herself a cluck of the tongue and a look tossed at the ceiling before she took the little ragamuffin by the hand and marched him down the back stairs to the kitchen and the large tin bathtub that two maids had been instructed to fill with steaming water.
    Estelle smiled dazzlingly at her husband and hurried after them. Her white dress, he noticed, standing and watching her go, his hands still clasped behind his back, was smudged with dirt in several places.
    She looked more beautiful even than usual.
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    Estelle was lying in her husband’s arms, feeling relaxed and drowsy, but not wanting to give in to sleep. It had been a happy and exciting day and she was reluctant to let it go.
    The best part of it was that Allan had come to her after she had gone to bed, for the first time in two weeks. He had said nothing—healmost never did on such occasions—but he had made slow love to her, his hands and his mouth gentle and arousing, his body coaxing her response and waiting for it. They were good in bed together. They always had been, right back to that first time, when she had been nervous and quite ignorant of what she was to do. Even when there was anger between them, there was always passion too. But too often there was anger, and it always left a bitterness when the body’s cravings had been satiated.
    It was best of all when there was no anger. And when he held her afterward and did not immediately return to his own room. She liked to fall asleep in his arms, the warmth and the smell of him lulling her.
    Except that she did not want to fall asleep tonight. Not yet.
    â€œAllan,” she whispered hesitantly. They almost never talked when they were in bed. And very rarely when they were out of it, except when they were yelling at each other.
    â€œYes?” His voice sounded almost tense.
    â€œThank you,” she said. “Thank you for what you did for Nicky. I think he will be happy here, don’t you? You have taken him out of hell and brought him into heaven.”
    â€œOur home, heaven?” he said quietly, jarring her mood slightly. “But he will be safe here, Estelle, and warm and well fed. It is all we can do.”
    â€œHe has a new home in time for Christmas,” she said. “Poor little orphan child. He must be so very happy, Allan, and grateful to you.”
    â€œHe has merely exchanged one servitude for another,” he said. “But at least he will not be mistreated here.”
    â€œWhat did you say to the sweep?” she asked. “Did you threaten him with jail?”
    â€œHe was doing nothing that every other sweep in the country is not doing,” he said. “The problem does not end with the rescue of the boy, Estelle. I merely bought him for twice his apprenticeship fee. The man made a handsome profit.”
    â€œOh, Allan!” Her hand spread across his chest over the fabric of his nightshirt. “The poor little boys.”
    She felt him swallow. “Some members of the House are concerned over the matter,” he said, “and over the whole question of child labor. I shall speak with them, find out more, perhaps even speak in the House myself.”
    â€œWill you?” She burrowed her head more deeply into the warmth of his shoulder. She wanted to find his mouth in the darkness. But she only ever had the courage to do that when he had aroused passion in her.
    â€œIn the meantime,” he said,