Page 87 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
I laughed, shivering again. “She means well.”
“Aye, she means she’s going to let me freeze to death if I don’t answer her questions.” He chuckled as the gates slowly opened, only slightly thwarted by the build-up of snow. “Ah, it looks like the driveway has been gritted. That’s something, at least.”
“It is? Why? Did it grit itself?”
“Yes. It’s a self-gritting one. You’re not really rich if your driveway doesn’t salt itself in cold weather.”
I nodded. “But of course. Your lawns have water sprinklers, and your driveways have salt sprinklers. That’s obviously why they’re always gravel.”
“Don’t tell anyone you know that. It’s a secret.”
“Between your driveway and your suits of armour, you’re practically a romance novel hero.”
“God, I hope not. Those things end in marriage.”
“Ah, the commitment-averse hero. You reallyaremade for fiction.”
He shook his head, but I could feel his body shaking with a quiet laughter. “I’m really not, and I can thank—your grandmother’s pig.”
I frowned. “You can thank my grandmother’s pig for you not being made for romance? That’s a new one.”
“No, you daft thing. Your grandma’s pig is under my tree.” He stopped us and pointed towards a rather large pine tree where Beatrix Trotter was shielding from the snow. “What on Earth is she doing here?”
“An excellent question,” I replied, stepping forwards. “Looks like she’s gone on her jollies again.”
“Will you be able to catch her?”
“I don’t know. I think she likes me. The feeling isn’t entirely mutual, though. Not since she pooped in my bed.”
He snorted. “Can you at least pretend to adore her for a few minutes?”
“I guess…” I shuffled forwards, bending over. Thank God for a long coat that wouldn’t expose my bare skin to this weather. “Hey, Beatrix. C’mere.”
She stared at me.
It was definitely the pig. I knew by the black eye patch she had.
Not an actual eye patch like a pirate—more a splodge around her eye.
“Come on,” I cooed. “Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
Her tail twirled, and I was able to snag her jumper before she made a break for it. If I’d let her go in this weather, I would never hear the end of it from my grandmother, that was for sure.
“Did you get her?” Thomas asked.
I nodded, cradling the little pig in my arms. “She’s freezing.”
“Okay, come here.” He took her from me and unzipped his coat halfway down, tucked the tiny, shivering pig against his body, and pulled the zip up as far as he could. “We’ll run,” he said, looking at me as he rested one hand against his body where Beatrix was. “Ready?”
“No,” I replied.
He grabbed my hand and pulled, and I screamed as my legs moved before my brain did. It was completely ridiculous, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what the pair of us looked light running along the seemingly never-ending driveway, hand-in-hand like a couple of kids with a pig stuffed inside his coat.
It was also a very bad time for me to be aware of how much larger his hand was compared to mine. Of how tight his grip was as his fingers clutched mine as he pulled me alone until the dreamy view that was Castleton Manor finally broke through the snow.
It was a massive Georgian manor, every inch a regal, fairytale building. If someone told you it was the home of princes and princesses, you wouldn’t think twice. Three floors, gorgeous stonework, and big windows designed to let as much light as possible in.
Those windows were currently alight and giving us some much-needed direction. At least they still had power—I had to hope that my grandparents did, too. I’d seen the power go out in lesser storms than this one many times before.
