His mouth quirked as her gaze glanced off him and landed back in her lap. Oh, but this would be rather enjoyable if he could keep his body in check. He moved on to the next item on her list.
“‘Number three,’” he continued. “‘Make…’” His throat seized.
“Yes? What does she want to make? A new hat? Holiday biscuits? What?” the duchess inquired.
He stretched his neck in an effort to swallow the lump that went down like a dry piece of flaming bark from the hearth. “‘Make…’” He coughed, not certain he wouldn’t die in the suffocating heat of the roaring fire.
“Are you ill, Mr. Forrester?” the duchess asked as she started to get up, but he motioned for her to stay seated. Phoebe did the opposite of attempting to assist him. She sat down on the settee and clasped her hands together in an attempt to hide the tremor he observed traveling throughout her body.
“I’m fine,” he croaked. “I just swallowed wrong.”
“Let me pour you some tea,” the duchess suggested.
He held up his hand once more. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m quite alright,” he replied with a scratchy voice that sounded as if he had indeed swallowed the piece of wood. For Phoebe’s sake, he would make it through her list if it was the last thing he did.
Damn, what a glorious death that would be.
“‘Make a snow angel.’” Joshua gasped out her third wish as he schooled his expression before asking, “I understand some feel the need to call out to the Lord while experiencing the bliss of the moment. Can you imagine?” He most certainly was, and he was losing the battle with his trousers at the moment. They were growing quite uncomfortable.
Her response was short and to the point. “No.” Smart woman. Less was more at this point.
“‘Four, go sledding.’” His mind strayed to the manner in which she wanted to ride the sled. Holy hell. Her list was ensuring he qualified for sainthood by continuing to read it without giving anything away. Well, almost anything. He moved to stand behind the pianoforte to keep his hard cock hidden from view.
“Five, go on a sleigh ride.”
She licked her lips as if her mouth had grown as parched as his. He wanted that sleigh ride most of all. To see her in such a manner. Dear God.
He had dreamed of it so many times over the years.
“Oh, that sounds marvelous, Phoebe.”
“Marvelous,” he echoed.
“Mr. Forrester, you will have to help her complete her list. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do much with this child making me as big as a castle.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off Phoebe. “It would be my pleasure.”
“You are not that big, Iseabail,” Phoebe insisted.
You cannot hide from me anymore, Phoebe.“You have one more item on your list,” he interjected.
“You do have six!” the duchess exclaimed with so much glee—one would think it was her list of sexual endeavors.
“‘Go for a carriage ride,’” Joshua read and stopped there. To read further would display the worst of decorum. His lips, however, devoured the words as he silently absorbed the full implications of her sixth resolution—a yearning he could not stop painted the erotic fantasies in his mind. This was torture.
“What is it?” the duchess asked.
Startled, he glanced up. “What?”
“Number six on her list. Go for a carriage ride and what?”
“I…I… Nothing. It stops at a carriage ride,” he lied as he did everything in his power to keep his body from betraying just exactly what Phoebe wanted to accomplish.
“But I saw your lips moving as if you were reading it to yourself,” Her Grace pressed. She truly was learning the stubborn insistent manner of the ton. As if it were God’s decree they be dogmatic. It would drive the duke mad if he werehere, yet Joshua couldn’t deny her persistence was the perfect demeanor for a duchess.
He stared at the list, unable to think of a lie.
Phoebe grabbed it from his hand, the edge of the paper tearing slightly. He hadn’t even realized she’d risen from her seat and approached him, he’d been too lost in her list.
