Page 48

She’d seen the top of his chest before, including last night. But this was different. This was far too intimate.

“Mr. Cole,” she said, swiftly turning around to allow him privacy. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were still abed.”

He grunted as he sat more upright. “That’s all right.”

“You’re...you’re supposed to be at church,” she said, turning her head to the side so she wasn’t fully facing him, though able to see him from the corner of her eye.

The sheet still covered his lower half as he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes with both hands.

“I must have slept in. Someone kept me up far too late last night,” he said.

Clara dared a glance back at him at his teasing tone. His hair stuck up at all angles, thick and wavy, and the whiskers she’d seen across his jawline had grown even thicker overnight. What would it feel like to kiss him now?

She shook the thought from her mind. “I’ll leave you. Please ring the bell when you’ve left.”

She scurried to the door.

“Clara?”

She paused, still not turning to face him. “Yes, Mr. Cole?”

“Would you mind closing the window before you leave so I don’t freeze to death before dressing?”

“Oh, yes.” She skittered toward the window, closed it, then walked across the room, Mr. Cole’s eyes on her the entire time, a growing smile on his lips.

“My apologies for waking you,” she said.

“It is no trouble. I should’ve been awake long ago.”

She nodded, hesitated, then left the room. “Good day, Mr. Cole.”

“Clara?”

She paused in the door, hesitating with her eyes on the floor. When he didn’t respond, she finally glanced up at him.

He leaned against the headboard, a small smile on his lips. “Merry Christmas.”

Clara could hardly breathe. Such simple words she’d heard from many others today. Such a simple wish. And yet, her heart nearly burst at his sweet words.

Softening, she nodded. “And a merry Christmas to you, Mr. Cole.”

Their eyes lingered, then Clara departed with a final curtsy.

A merry Christmas, indeed, with a start like that.

Oliver grinned to himself as Clara left him. He waited a few minutes, allowing the fire to warm the space before he pulled off his covers and dressed, not bothering to call for Smith. He was enjoying his alone time at the moment, and the opportunity it gave him to dwell more on Clara.

A few moments later, however, as he was walking toward the fire to warm further, he caught sight of a folded bit of parchment on the floor, caught midway between the cover Clara had thrown to the carpet and peeking out by just a corner.

He reached down to pick it up, seeing no words on the front for who it might be addressed to. This surely must have been dropped by Clara. Had she done so on purpose—written him a letter for Christmas?

Curiosity got the better of him, and he unfolded the paper, his eyes skimming the words before he could stop himself.

Mama,

I’m sorry it’s taken so long to write. I did not wish to risk anything happening to either of us. I’m sure you can understand why I do not provide a returning address. While this is difficult for us both to be separated, I’m certain it will be worth it in the end.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. I will think of you every minute. I thought of Papa last night and looked at the stars, thinking of our time together as a family.