Color rushed to her cheeks and before she could pull away, he placed her hand on his forearm, unable to take his eyes off her as he escorted her to the chair next to his. God, how he’d missed her. Her exile within the walls of Caerlaverock had been killing him. To see her again was like breathing the country air after being trapped in London for an entire year. The weight on his chest eased.
Despite being drawn to where she bit her lip, he didn’t miss the surreptitious tuck of her other hand into the folds of her skirt. She’d walked into the library with a folded piece of paper that she was currently attempting to hide from his view.
The duchess was a woman on a mission, however, and called Phoebe out. “Is that your New Year’s Resolution list?”
Phoebe reddened. “I’ll show you later.”
“Nonsense. Read it to me now.”
“Out loud?” she squeaked.
“Well, of course. That’s half the fun.” The duchess addressed him as he sat down next to Phoebe, his leg brushing the skirts of her gown. “Phoebe has never made a New Year’s Resolution List. Have you, Mr. Forrester?”
“Not a list, per se, but as a child my parents instructed us to write down one resolution each year. Then on New Year’s Day, we pledged to keep it.”
The duchesses grinned. “See, Phoebe? It’s a marvelous tradition. You have years of pledges to make up for.” She turned to him. “I told her she must have some child-like intentions and some adult resolutions to cover the years she missed.”
He nodded and found himself vastly interested as to what she would write for her childhood and adulthood pledges. Would any be scandalous?
Phoebe cleared her throat. “Yes, well, it’s not complete yet.”
“How many have you completed?”
“Six… I mean five.” Her gaze darted to him and then back to the duchess.
“Only five? I see we have some work to do. Tell us what your first five are.”
Phoebe acted as if the duchess had asked her to undress on the spot. A thought he found very appealing. Phoebe was horrified.
“They’re actually very silly. I’ll just burn it,” she said as she rose to walk over to the fireplace. Without thinking, Joshua snatched the list from her hand.
“Joshua!” she exclaimed and lunged for the piece of foolscap, but Joshua was prepared; he did have a younger sister he used tolove to torment. He grinned and rose to his feet to hold it out of her reach. Phoebe jumped and fell against his chest. He steadied her with his free hand, pulling her tightly against the length of his body, and she looked up into his eyes. He had no doubt the raw need he was experiencing was smoldering in the dark depths of his gaze. Her breath hitched and for a moment, he thought about kissing her.
Until sanity overruled his baser needs and he released her. He looked away as he dropped his hand from her waist and stepped back. The loss of her touch devastating to his senses. It was as if he lost a part of himself he’d only ever experienced with her.
Phoebe immediately turned away and the two of them looked up to find the duchess watching them in amazed silence. Her Grace was the first to recover.
“Mr. Forrester.” The duchess’s formal address brought attention to Phoebe’s slip of tongue with his Christian name, and her color deepened. “Since Lady Drake is reluctant to read her list aloud, perhaps you could read it for her.”
Joshua couldn’t stop the small grin from forming on his lips. It was the next best thing to holding her in his arms. To learn Phoebe’s secret pledges was a gift in and of itself. She’d held her emotions tight to her chest for as long as he had known her. He lifted the paper and read the first line.
“‘Number one. Build a…’” His breath escaped him. The words jumbled and he blinked several times as a lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look at her. He wanted to with every fiber in his being, but to gaze upon Phoebe now, after reading those words written in her own delicate handwriting, would be the death of him. He had to breathe. There was no way a man could read that word written in her hand and not grow instantly hard. “‘Build a snowman.’” The words came out like a moan.
“Well, that is easy enough to fulfill. There are several inches of fresh snow on the ground as we speak, with more falling by the moment. I would suggest you alter your pledge just a bit, however, and build a snow woman,” the duchess interjected. “My sisters and I refused to build a snowman when I was growing up. It started when Ailsa was five. She asked our parents how a snowman could be born without a mamma. From that day forward, we only made snow women.”
He had no doubt Phoebe would have loved that story, if she wasn’t desperately trying to think of a way to extract the list from his hands. He’d be damned if he’d give it up now after the salacious taste of her innermost desires he’d read so far.
“What’s next, Mr. Forrester?” Her Grace asked.
This was heaven and hell. His mind stumbled on every word Phoebe had written. His body wanted to act. The duchess was only making it worse, and exponentially better, by forcing Phoebe to share her desires—with him. “‘Have a snowball fight and…’ You’ve never…” His brain faltered for an appropriate way to phrase the question. “You’ve never held a snowball in your hand and licked it?” he asked.
Phoebe’s cheeks flamed in the most adorable fashion as she shook her head. Who would have thought he would enjoy reading her resolution list so much.
“Lick it?” the duchess asked.
He was definitely going to hell, but damn if the place hadn’t become appealing in the last few minutes.
“What he means iseatit. I’ve never eaten snow.”
