“It’s onlya week,” she reiterated. “Surely you can spare a single week.”
“That’s seven days,” he said. “I’ll give you one.”
Phoebe thrust out her lower lip in a pout. “Five.”
Chris squinted. “Three.”
“Deal.” She grabbed his hand, squeezed it in hers…and proceeded to slide her leg further up his.
“I’m not going to budge on this,” he said as she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to manipulate me up to the full seven with sex.” They were both exhausted, but at least they’d sleep particularly well afterward. “Phoebe,” he said as she cast her leg over his hips and wriggled until she’d managed to climb astride him. “Tell me you understand.”
Instead she gave a devastating little wiggle.
Ah, hell.
∞∞∞
Emma’s hand trembled as she poured herself a fresh cup of tea, scattering a few stray drops upon the pristine tablecloth. “Are you certain that’s wise?”
“It’s only Christmas,” Phoebe said. “How bad could it be?”
“And he’s agreed to a full week? In the company of the Toogoods?Allof the Toogoods?” Diana inquired, her mouth dropping open in utter shock.
“All of the Toogoods?” Charity asked, canting her head to the right curiously. “Just how many are there?”
“Oh, a few shy of fifty,” Lydia said as she passed a plate toward Charity. “Another biscuit?”
“Thank you, I—” Charity paused, her fingers hovering over the plate, her dark eyes wide. “I must have misheard you. You couldn’t possibly have saidfifty.”
“She did. Phoebe has got seven siblings,” Diana confided. “Between them, she has got twenty-seven nieces and nephews.”
“Twenty-eight next year,” Phoebe said. “Cynthia’s expecting again.”
“Do give her my felicitations,” Emma said. “And I don’t intend to be rude by repeating myself, but—Phoebe, are you really, truly certain that’s wise?”
“I can assure you, it is not,” Charity said. “I’ve seen Chris cross the street to avoid a single child. Hell, I’ve seen him crosshimself, and I’m fairly certain he’s not Catholic.”
“But he’s kind to Hannah,” Diana said. “My stepdaughter,” she clarified for the benefit of Charity, who was not well enough acquainted with any of them to know. “And he sent a lovely gift for Jacob at his birth. Isn’t he good with Danny and Kitty?” sheasked of Emma.
“Well, yes, of course,” Emma said. “For as long as he can bear it, which is generally no more than an hour at a time. But there is a distinct difference between two and twenty-seven.”
“It’s twenty-five,” Charity said. “That’s the difference. Twenty-five children.” She gave a delicate shudder.
“It’s tradition,” Phoebe insisted. “And really, it’s only a week. Papa’s country estate is vast—”
“Not with twenty-seven children within it, it isn’t,” Diana said.
“You’ll have to do all the shopping,” Emma said. “If you leave it to Kit to select his own gifts for the children, they’ll likely end up with something highly inappropriate. I don’t believe he’s got even the slightest idea of what might constitute a child’s toy.”
“That’s not true,” Diana said. “He sent a silver rattle for Jacob.”
Phoebe hadn’t the heart to tell her that the gift had most likely been selected by Brooks. “He’ll learn,” she said. Eventually. But Emma was probably right. Christmas shopping—at least for this year—should be left to her.
But it wouldn’t matter, truly, just how many people were in attendance. How many children were underfoot. Because it would be their first Christmas together, and that would make it wonderful.
∞∞∞
“Christmas with the family?” Rafe said, sipping his glass of brandy from his position upon the couch within Chris’ library. “Whoareyou?”
