Looming over them, if you will. A multi-headed hydra, casting unwanted shadows over an evening meant to be light and happy. He set the letter aside.
Elizabeth sipped her chocolate, eyes twinkling. “I do hope you enjoy the nutritious menu I’ve selected for our supper. Take a look.”
He lifted the first lid, then the second, then the third. Every single dish contained cakes or biscuits or bonbons or candied fruit.
“It’s everything my nine-year-old heart ever dreamt of,” he answered honestly. “I cannot wait to gorge myself sick.”
“Not too sick.” She shook a finger at him. “There’s a real supper later. But before we get there, if you’re very lucky, there might be one… more… present to unwrap.”
“I will consume a respectable, but non-gluttonous number of delicious desserts,” he assured her. “Thereby, I shall be in optimal condition to unwrap anything you please at any moment you wish it.”
They sampled all the various tea cakes and sweetmeats, then settled into a comfortable snuggle before the fire. Elizabeth kicked off her slippers, so Stephen removed his shoes as well. Their legs were now gently intertwined, and her cheek lying against his chest.
“The floor isn’t as comfortable as a sofa, is it,” she murmured.
“Well,” he said. “Cushions cannot compare to a bed, but I would happily hold you like this anywhere we happen to be. Grass, sand, stone staircase, river of nails…”
“Lake of marbles from one of your machines…”
He nodded and kissed her forehead. “I’ll make a new one that spits out a carpet of goose down.”
“How long will that take to build?”
He considered. “Two hours? Well, two hours after we take deliveryof a large enough shipment of goose down. With luck, that could happen in the next few days.”
“Too long to wait,” she answered, rolling off his chest and to her feet with impressive agility.
Stephen could not help but admire her. If this was Elizabeth at seventy-five percent, Elizabeth at one hundred percent would eclipse her brother the acrobat.
She held out her hand to him.
He took it, not because he needed help up from the pillows, but because he had no intention of wasting an opportunity to pull her back into his arms for another kiss.
Without taking her lips from his, she tugged him backward toward the bed—and promptly tripped over the loose fragments of the erstwhile contraption that now littered the floor.
“Ow.” She hopped on one foot, trying to stay clear of the jumble of broken parts.
“Here.” Stephen helped forge a safe path to the bed. “May I rub your foot?”
She made a regal expression. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”
As she climbed onto the bed, he tossed some of the pillows from the floor back onto the mattress, then seated himself at the opposite side and pulled her feet into his lap.
He adored touching her. She was strong and soft and curvy, but it was more than that. He liked being helpful, and he loved bringing her pleasure. He would happily build her a foot rubbing machine that was really a wooden box with Stephen hiding inside.
“You can rub higher,” she said softly.
His eyes cut to hers. “How much higher?”
“My legs.”
“Through your gown or beneath it?”
She hesitated. “Through.”
He set about massaging her legs at once. It was not as easy, with the skirts tangling up every few moments, but any manner in which he could touch her was heaven indeed.
“You… can rub a little higher.”
