Making Merry: 12 Dukes of Christmas by Erica Ridley

Author:Erica Ridley [Ridley, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 4

“There.”

Estelle pointed to a curve in the road, just beyond the outskirts of Cressmouth. They’d passed the last signs of life—a horse farm on one side of the road, the blacksmiths’ shop on the other—three hundred yards past.

Despite the two-mile hike down the mountain in the falling snow, Aaron was still cheerful as he planted the wheelbarrow next to the spot she had indicated and set about installing the first sign.

Estelle stared at him in consternation.

Dratted man.

Swinging an iron pick to the cold earth was not remotely part of a solicitor’s usual duties.

Nor should he have looked so fine doing so.

Watching him lift the enormous wooden post from the wheelbarrow as though it weighed nothing, then wield the pick and the shovel and the thick iron hammer with his strong arms...

It was not cold at all today, if one asked Estelle.

Downright balmy, despite the snow.

Just looking at Aaron made her skin flush hot and her lungs struggle for breath. She had not known how attracted she would be to the sight of a lumberjack in a cravat and waistcoat.

No. She had to be stronger than this.

As strong as him.

The only way to protect her heart was not to let him know she was still hopelessly in love with him.

Yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

He tossed the iron mallet into the wheelbarrow and stepped back from the sign, wiping perspiration from his brow.

It was definitely warm out here.

Too warm.

Perhaps Aaron ought to take off his neckcloth?

“It’s a splendid idea,” he said gruffly, befuddling her anew until she remembered he was talking about the Welcome to Christmas sign, and not the idea of exposing a sliver of his naked throat and chest. “Except you misspelled ‘Cressmouth.’”

She smacked him on the upper arm. Because he was impertinent. No other reason. Such as a prurient desire to run her fingertips over the muscles flexing beneath his coat.

“Cressmouth is Christmas,” she said. “It’s a theatrical touch, yes, but one that will help to sell the legend. Visiting a festive village is fine, but taking a holiday in Christmas... now, there’s something to brag to one’s neighbors about.”

He raised a sardonic brow. “Is ‘bragging to one’s neighbors’ really the Christmas spirit?”

“According to Mr. Marlowe, ‘conspicuously showing off to one’s acquaintances’ is one of the primary characteristics of the sort of person who would spend a year’s rent on a single week in a castle suite.”

Aaron shook his head. “He told me it would merely be a month or two’s rent.”

“Merely?” she repeated dryly. “I suppose it depends how much money you’re used to spending on rent. Some of the villagers would be lucky to earn as much in a lifetime.”

He conceded the point. “Fortunately, they won’t have to.”

“Thanks to you,” she said softly. “All of the locals know it was your idea to provide free food and entertainments to the locals.”

“Do they?” His eyes were hot on hers. “How would they become privy to a private conversation between myself and my employer?”

“I may have let a few details slip,” she admitted.

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