Page 15 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

“Thank you.” But it wasn’t Anthony she was worried about, especially when Michael pushed away from the doorframe and rubbed his hands together as he came toward her. He wore that same charming grin that had always melted her insides.

“Having you here will be a treat.”

No, it would be torture. Especially if he kept smiling at her like that.

“I’ll tell Eads and Mrs. Hansen that you’ll be staying on, and they’ll be able to provide anything you need or want.” He paused. “I hope you treat my home as yours.”

A knot of emotion tightened in her throat. That was part of the problem. His home should have beentheirhome.

“What plans shall we make for the day, then?”

She folded her hands in her lap, even as her fingers itched to reach for him. “I’d like go back to my room now.”

“But the children will be down soon from the nursery. If you stay, you can meet them.”

“No, thank you.”

“Then at least stay down for an hour to give the maids time to straighten your room.”

Children and servants. He was hitting her in her soft spot, and he knew it, too. Before the accident, she’d given years to children’s charities and associations that worked to ensure better conditions for servants and laborers. Except for her family—and Michael—that work had meant everything to her. Since the accident, though, she hadn’t been able to support even her most favorite charities. What good could she have done in her condition?

“If you find this room uncomfortable,” he continued, “I can take you into the library where you can select a book or two.”

The library used to be her favorite room in any house. Now, she relied upon Mrs. Bailey to bring her a stack of books from which she would choose one to read. He had no idea how difficult even selecting a book had become. “How do I stand in front of the bookcases to select them?”

“I’ll pull up a reading chair so you can sit while you peruse the shelves.” He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious suggestion in the world.

“And when I’ve finished with that three feet of shelving, will you slide me over to the next yard of books?”

Instead of taking that as the cutting reply she’d aimed for, the blasted man simply grinned. “There’s a bookcase ladder on wheels that circles the room on a brass track. I suppose we could sit you on the steps, and you could just slide yourself around the room whenever you’d like.”

She sniffed dismissively. “That suggestion is not helpful.”

His smile faded. “Or I can stay with you in the library and help you choose whichever books you’d like.”

Thatsuggestion was serious.

Her breath hitched, yet she managed to force out, “I’d rather spin myself around the room on a ladder.”

He arched a brow. “Well, you’ve always been adventurous.”

Look where that got me.She rubbed her palm against the hard thigh muscle in her right leg. “I have my own books in my room if I want to read.”

“All right then. No library.” He sat casually against the arm of the chair across from her, an indication that he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. “Do you still play the pianoforte? There’s one in the music room. I’d love to hear it.”

“I can’t work pedals or knee levers.”

“You don’t have to.”

She scoffed. “Only if you want to hear good playing.”

“I’m certain your playing will be very good even without pedals. But If you don’t want to play music—”

“I don’t.”

He paused for a beat, but his smile didn’t fade. “Then we can go into the garden room.”

Clara breathed out a long breath. The man was like a dog after a rabbit—unwilling to give up the chase.