Page 288 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

She smacked him on the upper arm. Because he was impertinent. No other reason. Such as a prurient desire to run her fingertips over the muscles flexing beneath his coat.

“CressmouthisChristmas,” she said. “It’s a theatrical touch, yes, but one that will help to sell the legend. Visiting a festive village is fine, but taking a holidayinChristmas... now, there’s something to brag to one’s neighbors about.”

He raised a sardonic brow. “Is ‘bragging to one’s neighbors’ really the Christmas spirit?”

“According to Mr. Marlowe, ‘conspicuously showing off to one’s acquaintances’ is one of the primary characteristics of the sort of person who would spend a year’s rent on a single week in a castle suite.”

Aaron shook his head. “He told me it would merely be a month or two’s rent.”

“Merely?” she repeated dryly. “I suppose it depends how much money you’re used to spending on rent. Some of the villagers would be lucky to earn as much in a lifetime.”

He conceded the point. “Fortunately, they won’t have to.”

“Thanks to you,” she said softly. “All of the locals know it was your idea to provide free food and entertainments to the locals.”

“Do they?” His eyes were hot on hers. “How would they become privy to a private conversation between myself and my employer?”

“I may have let a few details slip,” she admitted. “Personally. Going door-to-door. Now that everyone knows, he cannot rescind the offer.”

“You’re right. He cannot.” Aaron gave her a conspiratorial grin. “The moment you left, I had him follow me to my office and sign a binding document.”

A sense of relief washed through her. Aaron wasn’t just ridiculously handsome, he was also incredibly thoughtful.

How was a lovesick woman supposed to guard her heart against someone who kepteveryone’sbest interests in mind?

Everyone except her.

That was how.

Estelle sighed. Even now, after all these years, after seeing her actors perform a play she’d directed, he still believed she was a helpless little flower in need of being ripped from the earth and placed into a tiny pot where the big strong man could come and water her once a day.

Or however often he remembered.

She turned from him and pointed to the other side of the street. “The last sign will be over there.”

Without a word of complaint or any hesitation, he wheeled the tools and heavy sign to the spot she’d indicated and set about driving the thick wooden post into the ground.

This time, he did loosen his cravat.

Estelle tried not to notice.

Not noticing was especially difficult when one could not bear to look away.

Aaronmeantwell, drat him. Hewantedto make her happy.

He would put up a new sign every six paces between here and Houville if she asked it of him.

He was a good sport and a wonderful kisser.

Er,solicitor. He was a wonderful solicitor. She absolutely would not be kissing him again. Or soliciting any other carnal favors.

Probably.

“There.” He stepped back to admire his handiwork.

She hoped he hadn’t noticed her admiringhim.

The bright red sign was a twin of the first, with the difference being that this one read:

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