The snow didn’t melt for a whole week, or rather it melted just enough to freeze into a sheet of ice at night, which still made the roads impassable. The day of Christmas Eve was the first time they saw any real thawing.
Heywood had never liked being cooped up inside for most of the day, but he hated it when it meant spending time with the one woman he couldn’t have. Especially when Cass—and Kitty—had charmed his family so thoroughly, though in different ways. Kitty’s sweet nature had won their hearts, while Cass’s sensible ways and witty retorts had won their minds. Meanwhile, he’d spent the last week avoiding mistletoe, avoiding sleigh rides, and avoidingher.
But with the snow thawing, he’d come to the drawing room late in the day in search of her. He’d put it off as long as he could, but now they had to consult about how to handle Malet so as to do the least damage to the ladies’ reputations. Still, he took a moment to stand in the doorway and watch as Gwyn, his mother, Cass, and Kitty debated the merits of various schemes for constructing a gingerbread house.
Cass looked like a bachelor’s dream this morning. She wore another of Gwyn’s gowns—some frothy chocolate-brown confection-looking thing—that was a bit tight on her, which meant it showed off her figure to great advantage. He imagined he could even see her cleavage beneath her lacy fichu. Her hair was messily put up into a loose knot he just wanted to undo, and her cheeks and lips were rosy as cherries from the fire.
He liked cherries. He liked to lick the juice as it ran down his fingers. He’d be happy to lick anything off of Cass, off her bosom or her plump lips or her—
Devil take it! How much longer must he endure this torture? That interlude at Hawkcrest had damned near killed him—her coyly encouraging him to describe what he wanted to do to her while he struggled to keep from letting her see how aroused he was. Many more encounters like that and he’d be begging her to marry him and to hell with the consequences.
Thank God that at that moment Gwyn spotted him, jumped up, and hurried over to pull him to the table. “You have to break the tie. Kitty and Mama want to make our gingerbread creation look like Armitage Hall. Cass and I think it should be a fairy-tale castle.”
“I can easily resolve your problem.” He picked up a slab of gingerbread and bit off the end.
The ladies gasped, and Gwyn swatted his hand when he reached for another piece.
“What?” he asked. “Once you don’t have enough gingerbread, your dispute is settled.”
“You are such aman,Heywood,” Gwyn grumbled.
“If you’re trying to insult me, Sis, you’ll have to try harder.” He grinned at her unrepentantly. “And to be fair, you ladies are suchwomen, to be fussing over what kind of pretend gingerbread house to make.”
“His Lordship is right,” Kitty said. “We’re making mountains out of molars.”
“Molehills,” Cass gently corrected her as she stirred a bowlful of a white substance.
“Now, see? That’s what I mean.” Kitty sniffed. “What does it matter if it’s a molar or a molehill? It’s all the same.”
Stifling a laugh, Heywood picked up another piece of gingerbread, broke a piece off the edge, and popped it into his mouth while the ladies were distracted.
“Heywood Wolfe, stop that this minute!” his mother said. “So help me, if we have to get Cook to bake more gingerbread when she’s already busy preparing tomorrow’s feast I shall ban you from Christmas dinner!”
“No, you won’t,” he said. “You would never ban your favorite son from anything.”
“You’re not her favorite son,” Gwyn said. “Thorn is.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” their mother snapped. “I don’t play favorites.”
Heywood grinned. “Pretend all you like, Mother. I’ll keep your secret in front of the others.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “But you and I both know the truth.”
“I dare you to repeat that in front of Thorn and Grey,” Gwyn said. “They’ll be here any minute, and I rather fancy the prospect of watching them beat you in a battle of wits.”
“Beat me!” Heywood said. “Not a chance.”
“There will be no beating and no battles this Christmas,” his mother said firmly. “For the first time in years I’ll have all my children together for Christmas, and I mean to enjoy it.”
Though Kitty was giggling at the interplay, Cass was ignoring it.
Cass was ignoringhim, which he found annoying. He walked over to stand beside her chair. “What’s in the bowl?”
“Icing.”
“Aren’t you going to gild the gingerbread?” He remembered the gingerbread houses of his childhood, golden and shining and so enticing for a boy.
“No gilding,” Gwyn said firmly. “It’s dangerous for the children.”
“How so?”
