Christmas in Duke Street by Miranda Neville Carolyn Jewel Shana Galen Grace Burrowes

Author:Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel, Shana Galen, Grace Burrowes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Anthology, Historical
ISBN: 9781937823429
Publisher: Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel, Shana Galen, Grace Burrowes
Published: 2015-10-02T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

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HE MADE THE room too small, the way he stood there, staring at her as if he were a dying man and the only thing that could save him was her. They were in the sitting room attached to her bedroom, because she’d finished the painting of his brother, and it was five days before Christmas. With two days travel at least to Marrable Gate, the portrait must be on its way immediately if it was to reach his father in time.

She had so few days left with him. Papa would be done with Wrathell’s portrait by Christmas, and then they would return to Bury St. Edmunds, as they did every year. Her departure would mark a natural end to their affair. Christmas would be a bittersweet day for her, but a day she intended to enjoy as fully as possible.

“You’ve made this more than it was.”

“It’s not too late to paint that out.” She meant the rocks, the taunt to George Marrable.

“Leave it.”

“I think Papa knew your brother would not accept this.”

From behind her, Wrathell rested his chin on her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’d say it’s likely.”

“That’s why it’s like this.” She lifted a hand. “He’s never done anything better.” She considered George Marrable. She hadn’t known she needed to tell her father he had apologized. “Yours might be as good.”

“Not because he hates me, I hope.”

She pressed her hands over his. “No. Because he loves you, and he’d never let your brother’s portrait be better than yours.”

“Flatter me. I adore it.”

“Lieutenant Lord Leoline Marrable is so handsome it would be impossible to paint him badly.”

“You don’t mind if I bring up the fire, do you?” His voice was liquid silver. Wicked and warm.

“No. Please.”

He did so, and then he sat on the chair by the table. He stretched out his legs and watched her from half-closed eyes. “The men who’ll take him to Marrable Gate will be here in an hour or two.”

“So soon?”

“Yes.” He unbuttoned his coat to reveal a gold waistcoat and starched white linens. He was her lover, her beautiful, handsome, brave lover. “With this weather? I want to be sure it gets there even if they’re delayed.”

“Wise man.”

“Sit, Honora, or I’ll have to stand when I don’t feel in the mood.”

She let her shawl slide off her shoulders, and he followed the motion with his eyes. “Kiss me?”

He stared at the ceiling. “No mistletoe.”

“Can you imagine that I have hung some? Right there.” She pointed above her head. He stood with a physicality that made her heart turn over.

“Very well. I am imagining that I must kiss you or die trying. There.”

“On the forehead?”

“Where else might I kiss you?” He put a finger under her chin. She turned her face away, but he brought it back to him and kissed her. Softly at first. His other hand found hers and their fingers intertwined. “Say yes,” he whispered.

“Yes, yes. Of course yes.” Their eyes met, and she had the right to touch him.

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