Page 42 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
‘Don’t they?’ His voice close behind her stirred the hairs at the back of her neck. ‘I suppose looks can be deceiving…or so I’ve always thought.’
Chapter Four
Christmas Day began early for Duncan. It was still dark when he heard muffled giggling and shuffling on the other side of his bedroom door, which would certainly have roused him if he hadn’t already been awake. As it was, the sounds of his nieces preparing to ambush him were welcome indeed, providing a distraction from the other thoughts that swirled relentlessly inside his head.
What did it mean that Jane had let him kiss her? Surely he’d made a colossal mistake, forcing open a window that for the wellbeing of his own heart he should have left firmly barred?
He had no idea of any answers. Ever since their adventure in the snow Jane had been shyer than before, blushing every time he sat opposite her at the dining table or held open a door for her to walk through, and he couldn’t tell whether it signified anything. All he knew for sure was that he loved watching her cheeks glow that fresh rosy pink, and it was growing harder and harder to curb the urge to kiss her again just to see her colour rise.
The whispering on the landing grew louder. It seemed he was to be burst in on at any moment and he quietly pushed back the blankets and got out of bed, noiselessly pulling on his dressing gown as he crept towards the door.
Without warning, he yanked it open, prompting a chorus of startled squeaks from the other side.
‘Why are you lurking about outside my bedroom? Is something happening?’
All three girls were still in their nightgowns, their hair in disarray, but there was nothing sleepy in their barely lit faces as they bounced up and down.
‘It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas Day!’
‘Oh, yes. Of course it is. Thank you for reminding me.’
He smiled at his nieces’ excitement. Maria and Eliza were hopping from one foot to the other, swept up in their older sister’s enthusiasm, and Charlotte herself seized his hand. Some lunatic had trusted her with a lantern and the flame bobbed alarmingly as she moved, throwing wild shadows on the wall behind her head.
‘Grandmama said we had to wait for you and Miss Stockwell to come down before we could open our gifts from Mama and Papa,’ she told him urgently. ‘Will you come now?’
‘If I must. There seems little chance of me being allowed to go back to sleep.’
The eager prancing intensified. ‘Thank you, Uncle Duncan! I’ll tell Miss Stockwell too.’
Quickly, Duncan shook his head. ‘No. Don’t disturb her. Let Miss Stockwell come down when—’
He was too late.
Charlotte had dropped his hand and slipped across the landing faster than an eel. Jane’s bedroom door was just a few steps away and he could only watch as the little girl knocked on it smartly, the lantern swinging precariously from her free hand.
‘Charlotte,’ he hissed, trying to convey authority in a whisper. ‘Wait…’
He was cut off by a creaking of hinges. The door opened a crack, and then his heart skipped as Jane’s tousled head appeared round the jamb.
‘Goodness. Is it time to get up already?’
She opened the door a little wider. Maria and Eliza rushed to her, jostling Charlotte out of the way, and if he’d been less distracted he would have worried the lantern might be overturned.
Instead, however, he barely noticed the peril. The girls were babbling to Jane but suddenly he couldn’t make out what they were saying, his attention snatched up by something else entirely.
The light from the lantern wasn’t strong but it illuminated her in the doorway as though she were a painting in a frame. The intimacy of it made Duncan’s mouth run dry: her face was soft with sleepiness, unguarded and still warm from her bed, some of her hair come free from its plait to surround her in a mass of untidy waves. Her feet were bare and he saw her shiver as the cool air touched her skin, her nightgown surely too thin to provide much protection from the cold…
She might as well be wearing nothing at all.
He tried to dismiss the thought but it was too accurate to deny. Jane’s sheath of ivory linen didn’t leave much to the imagination and he had to battle not to let his eye linger on the ribbons at her throat, just one careful pull away from falling open to reveal the dip between her collarbones. He’d kissed her there before—heatedly, never wanting to stop—and the desire to do so again almost brought him to his knees.
She glanced up. He was afraid she’d see the longing in his eyes despite the gloom and, sure enough, she seemed to hesitate as she caught sight of him at his door, the nod she gave him not quite fully at ease.
‘Good morning. Or should I say, Merry Christmas.’
‘The same to you.’
He sketched a bow, glad of an excuse to avert his gaze. Her nightgown was not only thin but clinging too, giving an excellent idea of what might lie beneath, and every second he spent looking at her was a second of extreme discomfort.
