Page 7 of The Mistletoe Duke

But her expression was so compelling, he had to say yes. If only to get her to stop talking about it.

After that major concession, he decided it would be wise to escape before she managed to pry any more from him. It was a skill at which she excelled. “I think I shall pop in on the girls, and then retire.”

“You do that.” She nodded. “I will see you in the morning. Have a list for me then.”

His brow wrinkled. “A list?”

His mother sighed heavily. “Were you even listening to me?”

“Of course I was listening. You didn’t mention a list.”

“I hate when people don’t listen.”

“Which list, Mother?”

“The list of suitors for Meg, of course.”

Ah. That. “I will work on it.”

“You do that. Have it for me first thing.”

He rose, bent to kiss her cheek once more, and then headed up the stairs. It took a moment at the landing to remember the way to the nursery. That was the trouble with having a house one rarely used. After a false start or two, he found the correct hallway and strolled through the dim corridor toward his daughters’ room.

The door was open, so he heard the soft strains of a Brahm’s lullaby as he approached and a grin picked up the corners of his lips. He’d always loved Meg’s singing. Because he didn’t want her to stop, he lingered at the door, taking in the serene scene. She sat in a rocking chair by the fire with her hair down, holding a bundle of his progeny. It was impossible to tell which one in the shadows, but it hardly mattered. After the day he’d had, such peace was a balm. His heart swelled.

He must have made a noise, because Meg stopped singing and turned to him. Even in the darkness, he saw her eyes widen and glow. Her lips quirked and she whispered, “You’re here.”

He wasn’t sure why, but he had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. As though he’d stood here before, a thousand times, watching her hold his sleeping child. He had no idea why it caused his chest to ping. Had no idea why he liked the feeling. None at all.

Chapter Two

Meg held Vicca closer as she stared at Jonathan. It was wrong for her heart to launch into such a mad patter at the sight of him. She’d known he was coming—eventually. This was hardly a surprise. But she couldn’t help her reaction to him. She never could.

The best she could do was feign nonchalance.

For her, it had become an art form.

When he stepped into the room and tiptoed to the hearth, she had to look away. Had there ever been a man so perfectly formed? His shoulders were broad, his hips slender, his face pure perfection. Like a Greek statue.

He knelt on the carpet beside her and twined a finger around one of Vicca’s curls, but all Meg could think of was the heat that surrounded him, the scent of his rising cologne. Her mouth watered and she swallowed. It took a moment for her to regain her senses. It took an effort to send him a casual glance.

“How was your journey?” she asked softly.

He grinned, and the sight nearly blinded her. And good heavens. The stubble of his day beard made her weak. She tightened her hold on Vicca, to keep herself from petting him, so strong was his allure. It captured her on a visceral level.

“Cold,” he said.

“Oh yes.” She nodded. “It’s quite cold this year.”

“Isn’t it?”

Weather having been dispensed with, the conversation eased into silence. For wont of a sane subject, Meg stared at the fire, but eventually, she had to speak. “Well, I should get Vicca back in bed.”

Jonathan stood. “Let me.” And then, to her horror, he bent down and took his daughter from her arms. Everywhere he touched her, it burned.

Her face burned as well. Thank heaven for the shadows.

She watched as he carried Vicca to her bed and tucked her under the covers. Then, after kissing both his daughters on their foreheads, he turned, took Meg’s arm, and guided her from the room.