Page 5 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

He did. But if the storm kept its strength, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for days.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and Eads appeared with an apologetic bow for Michael. “Your Grace, pardon the interruption.” Then the turned toward Anthony. “Lord Camden?”

“Yes?”

“The grooms have questions regarding your carriage, sir.”

Anthony winked mischievously at Clara. “Sell the whole lot to the local merchant in exchange for his finest cask of whiskey.”

Eads stared, aghast.

But Clara was used to her brother’s teasing and added with an irritated twist of her lips, “Make certain he throws in a bolt of muslin. After all, if I have to chaperone a brother who’s foxed to the gills, I should at least be well-dressed when I collect him from the gutter.”

“She’s right,” Anthony conceded sardonically. “Better make it two bolts of muslin.”

Eads’s mouth fell open.

“They’re bamming you, Eads,” Michael interjected as if to save the beleaguered butler. Only to add at the man’s expense, “It’s going to take at least three bolts to counteract a carriage worth of whiskey.”

The butler’s mouth slammed shut.

“Apologies,” Anthony offered with a good-natured smile as he rose to his feet at their antics, the kind they’d engaged in together since he and Michael were school chums and which Anthony and Clara had done all their lives. He straightened his shoulders with a regal seriousness that accompanied the earldom. “Just a little bit of fun after a trying day of travel. If you’ll show me to the head groom, we’ll get everything settled.”

That did little to ease Eads’s pique, but the man was ever impeccable at his position and deferentially led Anthony from the room.

Michael was left alone with Clara.Almost.

The nurse blended into the wallpaper at the side of the room, yet she was also ready to dash forward to help Clara at a second’s notice. At that moment, though, she also stood between Michael and a private conversation with the woman he’d almost married.

He smiled at the nurse. “Perhaps now would be a good time to check with Mrs. Hansen, our housekeeper, regarding the guest rooms and menus?”

His question was an obvious request to leave, but the woman cast a questioning look at Clara, uncertain of what to do. “My lady?”

“Mrs. Bailey always stays at my side in case I need anything,” Clara explained.

“I’m certain she’s quite competent at her job.” Knowing Clara better than anyone else in the world, he teased, “But talking to Mrs. Hansen is the only way to save you from Brussels sprouts, creamed spinach, and the floral wallpaper in the blue guestroom that’s certain to make you as seasick as the afternoon we spent boating on the Thames.”

Her mouth fell open at his audacity.

Seizing on her momentary silence, Michael added, “Ask Mrs. Hansen to put Lady Clara in the yellow bedroom, will you? And give Cook a list of her favorite foods. I want all of you to feel welcome here.”

Knowing she was beaten, Clara lifted her chin almost imperceptibly, but the flash in her eyes was undeniable. There, finally, was the fiery woman he once knew.

Clara slid a look at Mrs. Bailey to dismiss her.

The woman apprehensively came forward, one slow step at a time, as if still expecting Clara to change her mind and keep her tightly at her side like a guard dog. But when Clara didn’t, Mrs. Bailey as inconspicuously as possible put a cane that she’d been hiding from sight in the folds of her skirt against the arm of the settee and within Clara’s reach.

Mrs. Bailey left. Immediately tension filled the room as thick as the falling snow beyond the windows. And just as icy cold.

“You had no right to send her away like that,” Clara chastised.

“I wanted a moment alone with you.” No, he wanted answers. “I think I’ve more than earned that right.”

He shoved himself out of his chair and strode across the room to the Chippendale sideboard with its assortment of crystal glasses and decanters of liquors arranged on silver trays. It was too early for a drink, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed something stronger than tea.

She muttered beneath her breath, “I told Anthony that coming here would be a bad idea.”

“I know you did.” He reached for the decanter of cognac and pulled out the crystal stopper. “But I also know that your brother will do whatever it takes to protect you, including walking over hot coals for you—or bringing you to Northbourne against your will.” With a grimace, he splashed out a generous pour. “It’s good to know that when deciding between sleeping in a freezing carriage or in the luxury of a house designed by Robert Adam that you’d rather have frozen.” He replaced the stopper, set the decanter down, and took a bracing swallow of the brandy as he turned to face her. “A man always like to hear that he’s a woman’s last resort.”