“I’m aware.”
Felix roused from slumber. He sniffed the air a few times and then, recognizing Miss Dean’s scent, trotted over to her. She knelt, her skirts bunching around her knees, and held her hand out to him. Some of her stunned hesitance melted away as Felix butted his head against her hand.
“Charming fox,” she whispered.
Nico was the one charmed. Had been since the day he’d met her, and every day around her drove him deeper under her spell. She had no idea. No idea that he dreamt of giving her pleasure.No idea he dreamt of giving her joy. No idea he cursed himself for not having the means to do either.
Rising, she said, “Where do you go for Christmas? Do you stay here?”
“Sometimes. Most years I go to Manchester, where the Grants live. Lived. They’ve recently moved to Hampstead Heath.” Manchester was an alchemist town. They were no longer welcome there.
“You’re quite close with them.”
“I lived with them after my father died. I apprenticed under Mr. Grant, Temple’s father. Temple is a brother to me. His sisters like my own.”
Her smile a small, wistful thing. “How lovely. When will you leave?”
“Ah…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Closer to Christmas.” Not a lie.
She ventured closer, glancing over his shoulder. “What are those? Can you show me what you were working on when I interrupted.”
Bloody hell. He’d entirely forgotten. The toys were just behind him. If she saw, she’d know who it was she’d kissed last Christmas. He made himself as broad as he could, hands on hips, elbows flinging out wide.
She took another step closer, craning her neck. “They look like”—she darted around him, half of her body brushing against half of his—“toys.” She reached, she swiped, then she darted out of reach once more before he could do more than process how she’d felt against him—perfection. Soft curves and active muscles, winter and Jane with a deep inhalation. She wrapped him up in an instant without even trying.
Gone too soon, vaulting across the room, wide eyes as she held the rose up to the light. “I know this.” She scurried toward fireplace. “I’ve seen this before.” Under the heat of her hands,the rosebud bloomed. Her eyes met his. “It was you. I knew it. Iknewit!”
His control snapped like silver spread too thin. His hands, her waist, lifting, carrying. Her little yelp, her skirts tangling with his legs. Her arms clenching around his neck.
“Put me down!” she demanded.
He did. Right on top of his worktable.
Her hands still wrapped around his neck, the rose pressed between her palm and his nape, she said, breathless, “What are you doing?”
“Being a little naughty. Now… There is something I’ve been dying to know.” He slipped his hand beneath the hem of her skirts and cupped her calf. Her breath hitched, her eyes blazed, and he dropped his gaze slowly, savoring the moment when he would finally,finallysee those stockings she kept so well hidden.
There they were.
The barest sliver visible.
“Red. I have always wondered if you kept them.”
5
STOCKINGS. FINALLY.
Jane had given away a soft, red secret. Only fair, since she’d discovered his, but that did not necessitate a… a plundering!
And plundering seemed to be just what Sir Nicholas had in mind. If he had anything in mind at all. He was growling, stepping between her legs, spreading them as his hand climbed toward her hip. Acquainting himself with parts of her body no man had seen before was the Christmas Eve intruder. Here was her shadow made flesh,
Jane had spent seven days questioning herself. Sir Nicholas and the intruder could not be the same person. Simply couldnotbe. Who ever heard of a kiss and an arse revealing a man’s identity? Not Jane! No one, likely! But if it was true, then the man who would find himself up against a line of hardened soldiers come Christmas Eve was… her friend. The man she’d thought she might marry. And even if he’d killed that notion before it had fully bloomed, she refused to see him hurt.
So she’d tucked the children in and made her way down the lonely night path to Bowen Hall.
She’d let herself in through the unlocked front door when a knock produced no results.
She’d wandered the house when a call for its inhabitant produced no man.
