Page 60 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

She fought back tears as she whispered, “Make love to me again.”

He paused. She hadn’t answered his proposal.

But he would give her time to make up her mind…a little anyway, until her brother returned for her. In the meantime, he’d miss no opportunity to prove to her how much he loved her and convince her that they belonged together.

He slipped into bed and pulled her into his arms.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Christmas Morning

Clara’s eyes fluttered open slowly against the bright sunlight that lit her room despite the drapes being closed. Enough sunlight, too, to tell her that she’d overslept and that morning was slipping quickly toward afternoon.

She sat up and stretched her arms above her head—

Ouch!She sharply caught her breath at the twinge of soreness that pulsed from her thighs and lower back. Wincing, she rubbed her hip and leg…then realized that, for once, the ache didn’t come from her wounded leg.

A smile played at her lips. She was deliciously sore in all kinds of places where she normally wasn’t. But then, last night with Michael was anything but normal.

It was nothing short of a fairytale.

She glanced down at the bed beside her even though she knew he’d already left, yet a pang of disappointment struck her to find only the outline of his body in the mattress. But he’d gone before dawn. He couldn’t risk that one of the early rising servants might see him making his way back to his room, or that one of the maids might come into her room to stir up the fire and catch them in bed together, still naked and wrapped up together against the winter’s chill. Or worse—that Mrs. Bailey would. Clara could never have lived through the embarrassment of that!

But last night wasn’t a dream. Her stiff body proved that. So did the bed sheets that smelled of Michael, that wonderful spicy scent mixed with the faint musk of sex. And so did the note he’d folded and left on the pillow beside hers, with her name written in his masculine handwriting. She reached for it.

Merry Christmas.

A smile teased at her lips, only to fade when she finished reading the rest of it—

And marry me.

Her shoulders sagged. She should have known he was going to be difficult about her refusal, that he would continue to ask right up until the moment she left Northbourne. But the brightness of the morning and the promise of a new year soon to come could never change the fact that she couldn’t marry him. Last night had changed nothing except she knew now that she would always love him, that the only man she would ever give herself to would be him.

There had been no embarrassment at making love with him, no shame in repeatedly enjoying the pleasures he’d given her. Some of what they’d done—goodness. Even now her cheeks flushed with the memory of it. Yet if what they’d done was wicked, then it shouldn’t have been so divine.

But what was she going to say to him when she saw him again, once more fully clothed and in the bright light of day? How was she supposed to act around him going forward?

She simply had no idea.

Yet she knew one thing for certain—he was wrong about last night. She hadn’t gotten with his child.

She simply wasn’t that lucky.

A knock came softly at her door, followed by Mrs. Bailey entering with a breakfast tray.

Clara quickly hid the note beneath her pillow, then pulled the counterpane higher to cover herself. Good lord, she was still naked!

“Good morning, my lady,” Mrs. Bailey called out cheerfully as she set the tray on top the chest of drawers so she could free her hands to fling open the drapes. Bright sunlight flooded the room. “It’s a beautiful Christmas morning.” She picked up the tray and carried it to the bed to place it across Clara’s lap as she did every morning. “And Cook made a very special breakfast. I think you’ll find it especially delicious.”

Clara smiled tightly, not releasing the covers from her grip. “I’m sure I will.”

Mrs. Bailey bent over to pick up Clara’s clothes that were lying on the floor beside the bed where Michael had discarded them. She frowned at the state of them. Then she sent a puzzled look at the night rail still lying across the foot of the bed, followed by a second, closer look at Clara who huddled beneath the covers, now pulled up to her neck.

“You didn’t wear your night gown last night, my lady?” she asked.

“It was late when I returned,” Clara explained. “The house was quiet, and everyone was already in bed. I didn’t want to bother anyone.” That much was true. “So I undressed myself.” Andthatwas an unqualified lie.

The frown on Mrs. Bailey’s brow deepened, now with guilt. “You had trouble putting the night gown on yourself?” She bit her lip with regret. “My apologies, my lady. I thought one of the other maids undressed you last night. I should have been here.”