Page 32 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

Too much of a reminder of all she’d lost.

Michael strolled across the room to her and refilled his cup with chocolate from the pot, giving the molinet a quick stir before pouring. “So the next plan we need to make is…” He popped a bite of gingerbread into his mouth and mumbled, “What are we putting on the tree?”

“Toys!” Benjamin shouted.

“Wooden animals,” Aaron specified, then added, “balls, hoops, games—”

“Doll clothes!” Susannah shouted, lifting Princess Charlotte high into the air over her head to make her point.

“Mittens, scarves, hats…” Margaret ticked off each more practical item on her fingers.

Michael smiled against the brim of his cup and slid Clara a mischievous glance. “Four unruly children the villagers might want to take home with them?”

“Uncle Michael!” The children were used to his teasing and simply rolled their eyes.

But Clara couldn’t make eye contact with him. She was still too embarrassed and aching with longing over yesterday’s unexpected kisses. To experience again the full force of his charms might simply undo her.

As the last of the bows were hung, the children became sleepy. Being happily stuffed with chocolate and gingerbread after the activities of the past few days lulled them toward a good night’s sleep, and they now yawned one after the other as fatigue made their limbs and eyelids grow heavy. Susannah went so far as to crawl onto Clara’s lap and lay her head on Clara’s shoulder, her doll securely wrapped in her arm and her thumb in her mouth.

Clara’s arms tightened around her with a bittersweet happiness, and she hummed softly as she rocked the little girl on her lap.

“Time for bed,” Michael announced.

Despite being so sleepy that they could barely stand, all four children let out awwws of protest. But Michael called for Miss Pritchard, who stood at the ready just outside the conservatory doors, and instructed the governess to take them upstairs.

“We’ll do more planning in the morning,” he said to soften the blow of ending the day’s fun.

He ruffled both boys’ hair to wish them goodnight, placed a kiss to the top of Margaret’s head, and lifted Susannah into his arms. With a kiss to her cheek and another for the doll, he handed her off to Miss Pritchard, who expertly herded the children from the room.

When they left, silence and stillness descended upon the room. But Clara’s ears roared from the wild thumping of her heart.

She and Michael were alone.

Forcing a far too bright smile, she set down her cup of chocolate. “It’s my bedtime, too. If you would please call for the foot—”

“You’re getting old,” Michael interrupted.

Well.Thatwas unkind. She arched a brow. “Pardon?”

He extinguished the lamp at the front of the room. “I remember when we didn’t arrive at parties until nearly midnight, then stayed until dawn. Now eight o’clock in the evening seems late.”

Her expression softened into a smile. “But we also slept in well past noon to make up for it,” she reminded him ruefully. “Breakfasts never started until midday.”

He chuckled lightly and slowly crossed the room to extinguish another lamp. The faint scent of oil and smoke rose on the air. “Do you miss it, the season and all it’s parties and soirees?”

Always.So much that the loss of it ached like a lost limb when she remembered all the fun and laughter, the exquisite gowns, the glow of chandeliers, the music and dancing…alwaysshe missed the dancing. Yet she lied, “Sometimes.”

“Well,” he drawled as he began to extinguish the candles glowing from the sconces on each of the brick pillars between the large windows, “come January when all the MPs return to London and the season begins, you’ll be able to enjoy it again.”

No, she wouldn’t, and she didn’t want to discuss it. So she turned the conversation onto him. “And you—do you miss it?”

“Hell no.” He snuffed out the last of the candles, leaving a single dim lamp by the door to provide all the light. In the shadows, he flashed her a crooked grin. “I only went so I could dance with you.”

“And all the other women,” she corrected and then counted on her fingers. “Along with the drink, the cards, the male gossip…”

“At first.” He crossed to the door and the last lamp. “But then, there was only you.”

A bittersweet ache warmed inside her at that compliment. When he reached to extinguish the lamp, she stopped him by asking, “What are you doing?”