Page 270 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

From the sound of it, the rogues were already moving merchandise and displays and shoving tables together, likely burying his long counter with Christmas pudding, goose and other treats.

“Gracious me.” Luce’s head brushed his chin as she spoke. “They arereal?”

“What? My family? Of course they are.”

“I know you didn’t go anywhere, Bri.” The first voice again. “Refused to close up shop... Travel to visit...”

“No, they aren’t,” she protested. “For you made them all up to entertain—”

Brier rolled her over, until she was on her back and he could angle his torso over hers, nudge one of his legs decadently against hers as she stared up at him, disbelief writ all over her features. He cradled her face, palms on either side as he threaded his fingers through her dark locks—now in beautiful disarray and more inviting than ever after they’d heated water for washing before retiring last eve.

“Nay, Luce. Every word I have spoken to you is truth.Everyone.”

“And they arehere?” she squeaked. “Now?”

“Regrettable timing, I know.” What was this going to doto them? Him and Luce? To his chances of convincing her—

“Brier!”

“Come on, Bri!”

His siblings were coming closer.

Desperation twisting his belly, he yelled, “Who all is there?”

“Just the returned prodigal”—that was Clay, referring to Thorne—“Eve and myself. Get your laze-about carcass down here.”

“Rose is back with the ancients”—Thorne’s voice grew louder—“wondering why your sorry arse didn’t travel home before all this hit.”

As though he could predict the weather.

“Smashing.” Was his sarcasm apparent? “At least there’s only three of them to face,” he swiftly told Luce, “not all five, seven counting our parents—the ancients.”

“Seven? D-do they do this a lot?” she quietly choked out, understandably anxious (given the interruption on the heels of the intimacies just shared between them) and huddled within his bed coverings, those enchanting, sky-blue eyes that reminded him of home—the splendor found above the stunning aspects he never tired of gazing at present only in Yorkshire where he grew up, and where most of his family still remained—downright captivating. “Arrive without warning?”

Now wasn’t the time to tell her how he tended the store during fall and winter, and every other spring and summer, trading off with Clay who traveled to the city during the hotter months to see if he could locate any new specimens recently arrived via boat or bird.

“At least once a year.” He released one cheek to kiss the flushed skin while dragging his hand down, past her collarbone, over the gentle swell of her breast, to anchor at her waist, giving what little comfort he could.

“Drowsed late!” he called out, weighing the fear lingering in her expression. “Be down post-haste!”

Was she afraid of being caught in his bed?

He had half a mind to let it happen, call forth his boisterous siblings, bid them to dash up the stairs, to catch him and Lucein flagrante.

She would have no choice but to marry him, then.

But he didn’t want her that way—without a choice.

“If I meet them quickly, they won’t come up.” He squeezed her waist and climbed from the bed to pluck a shirt off a peg, his bottom half still covered by yesterday’s pants. Drawing the shirt over his head, he glanced down at his bare feet. No help for it; the rest would take too long. Couldn’t risk Thorne hazarding the steps to drag his slow arse downstairs.

As he dressed, she pushed up to sitting, watching him with eyes gone luminous, and still very uncertain.

“Mew.”

Calf rubs meant to comfort? He picked up the cat and plopped him in her lap. “She needs you more.

“Were it my decision?” he told her quietly but as intently as he dared. “I would love to introduce you to them. But ’tis your choice. I want you to stay, with me and Barnabas. Making laughter and memories together. But I do not want you embarrassed or shamed into it by the unexpected busyheads downstairs. Remain up here if you are not yet ready to have your future decided with such haste.”

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