“A dozen.”
They settled on three. More and Lady LeClere might grow suspicious. She could never know about Franny staying alone with the duke and getting presents from him. Franny would be shown the door, and her plan to give Ren a wonderful Christmas would be for nought if that happened. He would have to leave school. They would both be consigned to the workhouse in the parish of Little Frittenden-Green.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
It was going to be a Christmas Ren would always remember.
Just as Franny would always remember the Christmas kisses she had shared with the sweetest duke in the world.
Thirteen
Only two more days until Christmas. Franny hugged herself in the hack. Better still, only one more day until Ren came!
They had gone shopping again today, and Franny held the yards of red ribbon Kit had bought for decorating. He’d also ordered a goose and potatoes and veg and oranges and chocolate and wine and ever-so many cakes and a Christmas pudding and all the greenery she wanted from Mr. Enys’ stand. All those things would be delivered tomorrow.
But at the shops and stalls, Kit had teet-tottered on the edge of rudeness. He had been almost truculent. Something was bothering him. On the way to the next shop, he wouldn’t look at her, didn’t talk to her.
She wasn’t helping him. She wasn’t keeping her part of the bargain. And a silent, foul-tempered duke would cast a pall over Christmas.
“One step forward, five leagues backward,” Franny ventured.
“Indeed.”
Kit had clearly not heard what she had just said.
“Shall we practice kissing again?”
His head whipped around and he looked at her for the first time in the last hour. She had gotten his attention. She smiled encouragingly.
But he glared back. “No.”
Drabbit. She had hoped to use kissing lessons as an inducement for him, just as her own exasperated governess had used boiled sweets twenty years ago to get Franny to sit down and learn her letters. Franny knew next to nothing about teaching anyone anything, but she had always thought bribery was an excellent pedagogical method.
But she had really intended to reward herself, hadn’t she? She wanted to kiss him again. And despite the peril, she was longing to tell him to give her an advanced kiss. A tupping kiss. A wedding night kiss.
He still glared at her.
Oh, the poor man.
“You don’t like kissing me—”
“Absolutely untrue,” he barked and looked away. “Or bosh, as you say.”
She continued as if he had not interrupted her. “—because you’re frustrated.”
His neck went a dark red.
“I like you. You like me. You don’t want to kiss me unless it’s going to lead to more than a kiss.”
“Yes!” It was a shout.
“And you’ve been so surly today. Is that the reason? Or have you finally discovered how really silly I am?” She tittered. “Or what a lot of trouble I am? Hauling you all over London? Forcing you to have a Christmas? Making you cook for me?”
“No,” he mumbled. “I’m just an arsehole.”
“I don’t want you ever to say that about yourself again.”
“It’s true.”
