“Very good, Your Grace,” Grimes said, and left to carry out his instructions.
Once alone, Jonas went to his desk and wrote out two bank drafts for one hundred pounds each, representing kisses four and five, which he was determined to give Ailis before he took her home.
These needed to be soft and wholesome kisses, a necessity to erase the surprising ardor of that third kiss. Numbers four and five were to be without heat. Just sweet and tender.
He grumbled in frustration, for he did not have a sweet and tender nature.
As a duke’s heir, he had been raised to take charge, fight for what was his, and hold on to it fiercely. That he took care of all those in his demesne arose from an ingrained sense of duty and not from a soft heart.
Ailis was the one with those gentle traits of kindness and compassion.
Therein lay the problem, for she could be so easily hurt. So deeply hurt by him, if he weren’t careful.
The simple solution was to lower the heat for Ailis’s sake. Under no circumstances could he allow their hearts to become involved. He would apply the same rule to fending off the debutantes brought along by his mother—not that he expected those young ladies half his age to feel anything for him, even if he wooed them in earnest.
Those young ladies would quickly get over the disappointment of not winning his heart, and move on to make more suitable matches for themselves.
But Ailis… The two of them had already established a rapport over the years, a lively, bantering friendship that could easily turn into something more with little effort.
She lived in Broadmoor. He would constantly run into her while on his errands, and there was no avoiding her when he attended church every Sunday.
If she lost her heart to him, there would be no moving on for her.
She was that sort of dangerous temptation, the sort to give her heart fully and love faithfully for all the days of her life.
There was nothing for it but to assure this game of ten kisses remained only a game.
After preparing the drafts, he set them in the top drawer of his desk and marched down the hall to grab his cloak and gloves.
A blast of cold air struck his face the moment he stepped outdoors, making him glad he’d thought to wrap a scarf around his neck before heading out. The wind was surprisingly strong and chilling as it swooped down from the north.
Not even the brightly shining sun could warm the earth today, which meant this deep freeze that settled in one’s bones would not melt the roadways, and they would remain dangerously icy.
A trail of vapor spilled from his mouth as he let out a breath.
For medical reasons and weather conditions, the decision was easy. Ailis would have to stay at least one more day.
“Morning, Your Grace,” Silas said as Jonas met him and his grooms walking Avalon, Sheba, and several other horses—including Ailis’s little mare—out of the stable for their morning run in the paddock.
“Good morning.” Jonas took Avalon’s reins and led the beast himself. “How were the horses overnight?”
“No problem,” the leathery-faced head groom said, giving Sheba a pat on the nose. “Snug as bugs, they were.”
“How about you and your grooms?”
“No complaints, Your Grace. Those braziers do the trick to keep us warm. But it is cold as a witch’s heart out here, isn’t it? We dare not keep the horses outside too long.”
Jonas nodded, for he was already feeling the chill despite being fully wrapped in a cloak, scarf, hat, and gloves. This unpleasant cold could not be good for the horses either.
Since Silas and his grooms appeared to have all well in hand, he left after fifteen minutes and returned to the house to wash and dress. He had taken several sets of clothes from his bedchamber the night before and did not need to disturb Ailis by rummaging through his wardrobe this morning.
But once he had readied himself for the day, he was eager for her company. Since his staff was up and stirring, he expected Ailis might be awake, too.
He knocked at her door. Martha opened it, and then stepped aside to let him in. “Morning, Martha. How is our patient today?”
She bobbed a curtsy. “See for yourself, Your Grace.”
Ailis, still wearing his black robe and those seriously garish red stockings, stood at the window amid a circle of light. Her hair, once again that beautiful, burnished gold in the sunlight, was drawn back in a loose braid that fell below her hips. Clearly, her hair had not been brushed yet, for stray wisps fell on her brow and curled at her ears, the result of a night’s sleep.
