Page 56 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
“You are welcome to join us for breakfast,” Cecile offered.
Lucien fidgeted, peering up uncomfortably at the children’s curious faces.
“Thank you, but no. I simply need to speak with Emma.”
He felt like a curiosity at best, and an interloper at worst, for he realized now how very inappropriate it was to have dropped in upon their family during such a reverent occasion. Simply because they had no cause to celebrate in his own home did not mean others did not find the occasion to do so.
Hell, he ought to turn and go. Ought to walk right out the door, which stood taunting him a mere ten feet to his rear. Why he didn’t just use it, he couldn’t fathom, but he stood like an imbecile, waiting, while three pair of eyes peeped from above.
What by God was taking her so long?
His eyes were drawn upward suddenly, to the top of the stairwell, where Emma stood looking down upon him. And as he stood there gazing up at her, he knew at once why he’d remained.
God help him... much as he loathed it, he was drawn to her in a way he could never have conceived possible.
She stole his breath away.
Dressed in a bottle-green, high-necked, challis gown, she wafted down the steps like a glorious angel, while her abigail watched behind her, hands clasped with ill-suppressed glee. He’d asked that she dress warmly, and she held in her hand a matching mantle, richly trimmed with white ermine. She looked stunning, with her strawberry-blond hair parted to fall in gentle ringlets on either side of her face—a vision to be certain.
He swore beneath his breath, for in all his days he’d never been so profoundly affected by the sight of a woman and with the memory of yesterday’s kiss, he burned.
He hadn’t been able to erase the taste of her from his lips, or the sound of her soft moans from his head.
He cleared his throat, shifting uneasily under everyone’s scrutiny. “Miss Peters,” he said a little hoarsely, and then cast an awkward glance at his unwelcome audience. “I thought... perhaps… you might join me for a bit of air this morning?”
Emma’s brows furrowed at his request. “A bit of air?”
She felt a bit like a ninny dressed as she was. Likely, he simply wished to say good-bye, she berated herself, and yet… there was something about his demeanor this morning that seemed wholly different. Against her better judgment, she dared to hope.
“Yes… I wish to speak with you,” he entreated.
As gracefully as she was able with unsteady limbs, Emma made her way down the steps, grasping the guardrail for support. She was fully prepared to wish him adieu with as much grace as she could summon, but Lord a-mercy, he’d never appeared more handsome than he did at the moment. It was all she could do to remind herself to breathe.
Dressed in buff-colored breeches that fit much too snugly, and a navy blue morning coat that was elegantly trimmed with gilt buttons, the sight of him made her heart skip beats. She wanted to tell him that this was entirely unnecessary, that she wished him Godspeed and a good life, and then flee to her bedroom before she could disgrace herself and burst into tears. But before she could speak and lose her nerve entirely, he started up the stairs, relieving her at once of her mantle and placing it about her shoulders. And then, almost impatiently, he drew her the rest of the way down the stairs and out the front door.
Turning to question her brother, Emma managed to catch Andrew’s shrug before the duke pulled her out the door and shut it fast.
Once again Emma opened her mouth to assure him that she would be fine—that they could dispense with the formalities—but he preempted her by asking, “Have I told you how lovely you are?”
Evidence of the startling question hung like frost in the air between them.
Emma blinked and then belatedly shook her head. Realizing he’d yet to release her hand. His smoky blue eyes followed the direction of her gaze, and her heart tumbled as he threaded his fingers through hers and then cradled her hand in his. “May I?” he entreated.
“Your Grace,” Emma protested, chagrined. If he meant only to comfort her, she really couldn’t bear it. “This isn’t necessary.”
His eyes danced with devilment. “Ah but it is,” he countered and then he began walking toward the cliffs, leading her away from the house.
The sun shone brightly upon a fresh blanket of snow. The wind, for once, like the breaths she held, seemed to still. Snowflakes fell upon her lashes and she blinked them away. They were walking toward the very spot where her heart had once been crushed and all her hopes had been dashed. Why would he take her there?
“Really,” Emma said, trying to keep up with his long strides, confused and horrified by the prospect of having her hopes dashed yet again—on Christmas Eve of all days! “This is quite unnecessary—” She gasped as he squeezed her hand possessively and drew her firmly forward to walk alongside him.
“Your brother returned my carriage wheels to me this morning,” he said offhandedly, without a trace of anger. In fact, he actually grinned, flashing her a dazzling white smile. “It seems your nieces and nephew were the culprits, after all.”
To her surprise he merely chuckled at that disclosure, and she couldn’t help but think it rather peculiar that he was no longer furious over the children’s pranks. For her part, she found herself mortified that he had been right all along. “I presume that now you shall be leaving Newgale?” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Is that what you presume?” he asked by way of a reply. He turned to gift her with a curious grin, and his blue eyes twinkled with mirth.
“Of course, and I do wish you well.”
