Dawn with a Duke: 12 Dukes of Christmas #9 by Erica Ridley

Author:Erica Ridley [Ridley, Erica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Calvin’s heart skipped when the knock sounded against his door. He leapt to his feet and bolted across the room to answer without delay.

Was it less than a fortnight ago when he had hated even the slightest interruption to his work? It felt like a different life. Belle was no interruption. She was the reason for the excited flutter in his stomach. Besides, Calvin had not been working. Could he remember a time when he had ever not been working?

He flung open the door and smiled as though it had been two years since last he’d seen her, rather than two interminable hours.

Her hazel eyes sparkled up at him. “Your room smells like chestnuts.”

“That’s because I’m roasting chestnuts.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Would you like some?”

“Hmm.” She touched a finger to the edge of his lapel. “You might have something I’d like.”

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, swinging her into his guest chamber so he could kick the door closed with the heel of his leather shoe. The room smelt of chestnuts, but she smelt of soap and freshly washed hair, a combination that now haunted his dreams.

When he rang for his baths, he thought only of her. Whenever he unbuttoned her gown so she could slip back to her chamber before her bath arrived, he would sink back onto his sofa with his eyes closed tight and his face toward their shared wall, imagining he could feel the heat of the steamy water and the slippery softness of her soapy skin.

Just kisses, she had said, and of course she was right. Or maybe wrong. Her kisses were the reason he woke up every morning, and her kisses were also what would destroy him when they departed their separate ways.

He could not think of that, could not allow himself to imagine how the future would feel. If a simple wall the width of a man’s hand was an untenable barrier, how then was he meant to withstand miles between them, years dividing them, a lifetime of never meeting again?

Just kisses. Just kisses. He would repeat it to himself until it was true, until it was the only thing he wanted and the only thing that mattered.

Once the snow stopped, so too would this interlude. He would not be sad, but rather sated. He would have gorged himself on so many kisses that he would be positively drunk with them when he stumbled from the posting house and into the sunlight.

Like a drunkard’s thoughts, those wonderful memories would blur and fade, and before long, he wouldn’t even notice the miles and years between them. It would be a dream they had once shared together. A fine memory of a certain time and place. A bit of lace, sewn into his soul. Just a few kisses, nothing more.

He pulled his mouth away and pretended he had no difficulty breathing at all when he asked, “Chestnut?” as though there had been no interruption in their conversation. There hadn’t been.

Kisses could never interrupt.

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