Page 258 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

“A kiss, you say?” His eyes glimmered as he shifted his hands, cold fingers digging in just above her waist. “It is in the offing, and not a yelp afterward?”

Her spirit soared, her cheeks spread in a smile, and even the soreness on one side couldn’t stop her saucy words. “That depends on the quality of said kiss.” She placed her hands over his, wishing she could feel his flesh past the bandages, gaining courage from the growing heat in his eyes. “A pitiful one might earn you a yelp—if one is warranted, that is.”

“Whoa-ho! A minx I have before me now.”

Her lashes fluttered downward. Her smile gentled even as her blood roared and heart thundered. “Never before have I been called such, thought of even. Nay”—she opened her gaze and sought his—“a sober miss of advanced years who associates with elderly pinchpennies does not necessarily a minx make.”

He slid one hand from beneath hers to stroke his fingertips over her bruised cheek. “Ah, but a fearsome wench who braves beastly chases and strokes unworthy felines can seduce old widowers with ease.”

“You are most assuredly not old.”

“Tell that to my knees after stocking merchandise.”

“What happened to your nose?”

“That unworthy feline.”

Her throat made a noise of sympathy as her entire body began to shake.You are really going to ask him? Now?“Your deceased wife,” she braved. “You have mentioned her several times.” The clock in the shop began to chime midnight, slow ringing beats that echoed her quaking heart. “I take it the two of you loved well?”

His arms drifted away from her and he took a step back. Leaned his back against the wall. Still appearing fatigued, perhaps even more so.

Drat her tongue. “Forgive me, I should not have broached so personal a topic.” Especially on Christmas, which it was, the chimes having ended.

“It is good you did. For I would not have secrets or questions between us. Not now that…”

“Now that?” she prompted when he remained silent.

He caught her gaze with his, then closed his eyes and banged the back of his head into the wall with a slightthump. Then again. “Not now that I find myself thinking of you far more than any other female of my acquaintance.”

His eyelids flew open, head straightened from its assault. “As to my wife.” His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “Alice and I loved hard and well.” He brought one fist up to his chest and his dark eyes gleamed with remnants of grief. “Twice, she lost babes early in pregnancy. But after several years when we thought children were not in our future, she carried one to term, only to die along with our daughter at the birthing.”

Luce reached toward his arm, only to yank hers back at the last second. Surprised when he snatched her wrist and held her hand between both of his as he finished. “Those were the darkest days I have ever endured, the months following her death, and that of our unnamed babe, who never even had a chance to draw breath.”

His quiet, solemn voice rumbled its way between them. “As the years went by, I thought I was content to remain a bachelor. Had no use for women, other than as patrons with funds to buy my wares.” His tired lips turned upward in a soft smile and he threaded his fingers through hers, brought the back of one hand up to his mouth, moved beyond the bandage until granting her wrist a brief yet devastating kiss, the quick swipe of his tongue reaching much farther than her arm.

“Until a venturous female with a penchant for stating her mind—even when she sounds the loon—somehow snared my interest without even trying.” He gave her fingers a squeeze. “Though I loved Alice with everything in me, I have not loved—nor touched—another since. And I find myself now craving that very thing. Fervently.”

Blood rushed in her ears, her thoughts echoing all he said. All he had admitted. Had there ever been another man, so strong and so fine—and so very forthright?

“Yet you would like to…touch…” She pulled their joint hands toherlips, placing a soft kiss upon the back of his hand. “Touchmenow?”

His gaze turned sultry. “More than anything,” he rasped, stealing her breath. And if she were honest with herself, as the hitch in her chest confirmed, much more than that.

* * *

They were going to keep her! Merry, mewy Christmas!

Sheer delight rippled the fur down Barnabas’s spine every bit as much as if he’d been treated to a luxuriant finger rub.

He jumped onto the wooden crate—after it passed his olfactory investigation, nose and whiskers working heartily around the base and up the sides, paying particular attention to the ropes. Mrs. Dorothea Hurwell, he could sniff out her scent—along with his man’s—easily. The lovely neighbor gave good tail rubs, but more importantly she bestowed bits and bites of chicken and pork—when her skinflint of a sour man wasn’t around.

Barnabas sunk his claws into the ropes with glee while giving the embracing couple surreptitious glances—no sense staring outright and making them uncomfortable or anything, not when he was getting exactly what he’d wished for.

A CURIOUS EVENING CALL

Would she notice his trembling?

Brier straightened from the wall and gripped her upper arms. Had his belly ever fluttered at the idea of a simple kiss? Nay, for when he’d been younger, his untried prick stiffened anytime Alice came near, too impatient to know the bounty to be found in waiting, anticipating.

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