Not like the duke,she added mentally as there was nothing indigent about the Duke of Willyngham!
“It wasle petitJésus!” Samantha explained.
“So we’re going to decorate it,” revealed Jonathon excitedly.
“With tinsel and candles!” Samantha added.
“But that doesn’t explain the tree,” Emma argued, feeling left out and not very charitable, despite the holiday and despite Andrew’s lecture.
Of course, Andrew simply had to chime in, as though they had all sat about telling Christmas tales in her absence. “Apparently, before the boy left the family, he broke off a branch from a fir tree and gifted it to them as a present to say thank you for looking after him.”
Lucien looked directly at her and smiled. “This is my way of saying thank you,” he offered. “For sharing your home.”
With the tree now secure and upright, Emma was vaguely aware that Andrew gathered the children and ushered all three out of the room, leaving her completely alone with the duke. Again.
“Indeed, thank you for sharing your home and your family with me, Emma,” he said after a moment.
Emma felt completely flustered. She couldn’t seem to find words to respond. She appreciated the sentiment, she truly did, but it was hardly enough to make up for all that he’d put herthrough already. “You didn’t give me any choice, Your Grace, but you cannot simply come here and steal my family!”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re doing,” Emma confessed. But it left her discomfited nevertheless. “It certainly seems that way.”
Lucien took a moment to simply look at her. She was exquisite this eve, he decided.
She was dressed in a lovely shade of peach, with creamy lace spilling from her sleeves and peeking out from above her bodice. Her deep brown eyes reflected the flames from the chandelier, twinkling beautifully. And her hair, swept up and pinned with perfect precision, left him aching to yank the pins out and run his hands through the lustrous strands.
“In fact… I was hoping you would allow me to join you and your familyeveryChristmas,” he suggested. “We could make it a tradition.”
Emma rocked back on her heels a bit. “Why ever would we dothat?”
Lucien moved toward her, peering down at the crèche over her shoulder, determined to make it up to her, to make her see his change of heart.
Emma took a step backward and he grinned, because she was moving precisely toward the spot he most wanted her to be… beneath the massive ball of mistletoe that he’d had the children construct for him.
“For one, because I tell a very good story,” he suggested, taking another step toward her.
She retreated once more and he saw the wariness in her eyes as he approached.
“For example, there’s a tale of a very wicked man who spied a shy and lovely girl one night and thought he would make her his bride.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “I believe I have heard this one before.”
“Oh? Was she wearing lemon yellow?”
“The color of sunshine,” she added, nodding cheekily.
He smiled. “At any rate, he was quite certain her innate goodness would rub off on him and that it would make him…”
“Less wicked?”
He arched a brow. “I was going to say… a better man.”
“I could have saved you the trouble,” she told him. “You see, it hardly works that way. Once wicked, always wicked,” she assured.
“Is that so?” He grinned. “At any rate, once the man realized the young woman was enamored with him, and how easy it would to break her heart, he was quite certain the best thing to do was to walk away and spare her any grief.”
Her shoulders straightened, unmoved by his charity. “How very kind of him.” Clearly, she had gleaned the thread of his story and wasn’t prepared to give mercy. “I can assure you that she recovered regardless.”
