Very well, perhaps the chit had a point. As foolish—no, asuselessas Christmas wishes were, his servants did appear to want theirs, and . . . well, as much as he scorned such sentimentality, he found he couldn’t quite deprive them of it.
Not with Miss St. Claire’s accusing green eyes fixed on him.
“Very well. Have your wishes.Thenmay I have my tea?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace. I’ll bring it up at once. You see your tray is right here, all ready to go, and Miss St. Claire made some lovely tea cakes for you.”
He glanced at the tray, where a pot of tea was steeping, and beside it a plateful of what looked to be very nice tea cakes.
Very nice, indeed.
He edged closer to the tea tray, his mouth flooding with saliva, reached for one of the perfectly browned cakes, and took a cautious bite.
His eyes dropped closed, an involuntary groan escaping his lips. God, they were perfect. Fluffy, as light as air, and bursting with sweet currants, just as a tea cake was meant to be. He devoured the rest of the cake in one bite, manners be damned, savoring the treat until the last bit of the cake had melted on his tongue.
When he opened his eyes again, Miss St. Claire was watching him, her face unexpectedly soft, and a half smile curving her lips. “Do the cakes suit, Your Grace?”
He held her gaze for a long beat, then another, a strange fluttering in his chest. He couldn’t have said what expression he wore just then, but as they gazed at each other, her eyes went a dark, unfathomable green, like a forest hidden under a canopy of leaves, the warm, gold flecks in their depths like dappled sunshine.
They stared at each other, the moment going on and on, heavy with the crackling tension between them. He was dimly aware of the room falling silent, of his servants’ curious glances, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the curve of her parted lips. Heat thrummed through his veins, unfurling in his belly. He flexed his fingers, digging his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for her, and dragging the back of his knuckles across the soft, warm skin of her cheek.
What would her lips taste like?
Cinnamon and sugar, sweet, dark treacle—
“Your Grace?” She swallowed, her slender throat rippling. “The t-tea cakes?”
He stepped back and dropped his gaze. “They’ll do, I suppose.”
He didn’t wait for her reply, but turned on his heel and left the kitchen, shaken, her green-eyed gaze heavy on his back.
CHAPTER13
That night, Rose dreamed of tea cakes stuffed with currants, the rich scents of brandy and cinnamon, and dark, heavy eyelashes hiding a pair of smoky gray eyes.
Why were the best dreams always so fleeting? She would happily have lingered in the warm, scented silence of that dream for hours, but she woke with a thousand worries rushing through her mind at once, and the dream dissolved like sugar on her tongue.
Had another window cracked? Had a blizzard overtaken her bedchamber while she slept? Was Mr. Turnbull at the door, shaking his fist and demanding payment? Was the roof leaking?
But no, the customary chill was absent. She was surrounded by warmth, suspended in softness as if cradled in a cloud. She opened her eyes. Above her, the pale green silk bed hangings shimmered in the morning light pouring through the window.
Ah, yes. She was at Grantham Lodge. Grantham Lodge, which, as cheerless as it was, could at least boast roaring fires and snug beds.
She permitted herself a luxurious stretch, reaching her arms above her head and curling her toes against the fine linens before she tossed the coverlet aside and hurried to the window. A riot of snowflakes had been whirling about when she went to her bed last night, but now the sun was shining as bright as a gold sovereign, illuminating a beautiful blue sky.
It was an ideal winter morning. The sort of morning when Ambrose would have rousted them early from their beds, so they might go skating on the pond at the bottom of the hill behind Hammond Court.
She traced a fingertip over the lacy patterns of frost on the glass, the ice sparkling like diamonds in the sun. How lovely it would be to skate this morning! To twirl about on the ice, her head back and her arms raised to the sky.
A pang of loss pierced her chest, and she might have given way to the tears hovering on her eyelashes, but before they could fall, a soft knock on her bedchamber door made her turn.
“Rose?” Abby peeked around the edge of the door, her tentative smile vanishing when she caught sight of Rose’s face. “Oh, my poor lamb. Come here.”
She opened her arms, and Rose dashed across the room and threw herself into them, burying her face in Abby’s soft bosom.
“What’s this, now? I thought to find you all smiles this morning, as pretty a day as it is. What’s happened now?”
“It’s nothing, really. I was just thinking it’s the perfect day to go skating, and wishing . . .”
