“You have to tell me your real name.”
“Ambrose.”
“Ambrose.” She said it as if she was savoring the word. “It’s a lovely name.”
He snorted. Then, “I prefer you call me Kit.”
“Why?”
“Makes me feel different.”
“Oh, good.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll keep calling you Kit if you like it.”
He snorted again. He was not about to tell her how much he liked it. How much he likedher. Although he had already confessed that this morning, hadn’t he? When he had still been half-asleep, his cock half-hard. Her, with her hair falling down and a crease in her cheek from the pillow.
At the Covent Garden market, Franny quickly found a stall selling greenery. Kit stood back and watched her talk to the man, asking where he came from, about his children.
His mind wandered to past Christmases. Out at Harton Grove, the Pembroke family seat. Yes, he supposed they had eaten large meals. And there must have been holly and fir branches about. He remembered some toys he had received as a child. But he couldn’t remember any excitement like Franny’s. His Christmases had no connection to hers.
“Kit?” She was touching his arm, a sprig of mistletoe in her hand.
“That’s all you’re buying?”
“You only need a bit for it to count.”
“But I thought you would want a lot. For decking the halls. I’m paying. Part of our bargain. Part of giving Ren his Christmas.”
GivingyouChristmas, Franny.
“Oh, thank you, that’ll be absolutely brilliant. But I want everything to be fresh so it will last until Twelfth Night. And it’s bad luck to have greenery in the house before Christmas Eve. You must know that.”
He had never held with superstition, but clearly Franny did.
“I made Mr. Enys,” she flashed a smile at the stallkeeper, “promise to hold back his best holly for me. Lots of red berries. I love red.” She took Kittredge’s arm and they started walking back the way they had come.
Despite worry about not getting his kissing lesson, her inconsistency nagged at him. “What about the mistletoe? Won’t it be bad luck?”
Franny only laughed.
An hour later, Kittredge was disgruntled to find himself in his cold, empty carriage house. He had imagined a kissing lesson on a sofa, inside, where it was warm. Where they could shed their coats. Where he might see and touch more of her body. But Franny wouldn’t take the mistletoe inside the house proper, so they were in the carriage house.
Shut up. Don’t complain. You’re going to get to kiss her, you lucky cove.
Franny reached up and stuck the sprig of mistletoe in a crack in one of the upright posts.
She turned to face him, standing directly under the little piece of green. Her breath puffed out of her mouth in a little white cloud.
“All right. You remember what I said?”
You’re beautiful. I cherish you. I adore you. You’re the only woman for me. I’ll be careful with you. Your heart, your spirit, your body.
And he meant it.
He stepped closer to her and held her shoulders firmly, but not too firmly.
She tilted her chin up at him, eyes big and sparkling, cheeks pink. Her perfect red cupid’s bow. Her succulent lower lip, trembling slightly. God, she was more than beautiful.
He pushed awayarseholeandclodpoleandI want to tup youand kept her words in his mind:you’re beautiful, I cherish you, I adore you.
