Page 33 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

“Putting out the lights.”

“Why? Eads can do that after we’re upstairs.”

“Because I want you to see the moonlight on the snow. It doesn’t snow much here, contrary to the evidence of what was unleashed in the last sennight, and snow for the holidays is especially rare. I want you to enjoy it, and if you won’t go out into the night, then I have no choice but to bring the night to you.”

He extinguished the lamp and plunged the conservatory into darkness.

CHAPTER NINE

Clara’s heart leapt into her throat at the flush of blackness. But slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she was swept up into the magic of the night enveloping them.

With the window glass invisible in the darkness, she couldn’t tell where the conservatory ended and the winter night outside began. The moonlight bathed the countryside in a silver shimmer that glowed across the blanket of snow and made the trees stand in black relief. All silent, all still, the world had transformed into a fairytale dream in which nothing existed except for them and what could be seen stretching into the distant hills beneath the silver sheen of moonlight.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the view.

“Yes, it is.” He leaned his shoulder against a brick pillar and followed her gaze into the night. Then he said quietly, “It would have been a shame if you’d missed it by staying in your room.”

His gentle chastisement stung, and she lifted her chin. “I could have seen it from my window.”

“Not like this,” he murmured, still staring across the lawn and into the distant hills that were silhouetted black against the moonlit sky and snow. “Not surrounded by the scent of flowers and citrus.”

Drat him, he was right, and she had no argument for that. Sitting in the tropical warmth of the conservatory while staring at an icy winter’s night…simply magical.

He pushed himself away from the pillar and crossed the room toward her. “You’re wonderful with the children.”

“So are you.”

He smiled faintly as he reached for a last bite of gingerbread. “They’re a handful, but they bring an energy to this old place that hasn’t been here for years.” He glanced around the room to take in all the decorations and greenery, many of which would be hung outside in the morning. “Susannah has enough sweetness and charm to wrap anyone around her little finger. What Bennie lacks in intellect he more than makes up for with exuberance, and Aaron possesses all the skeptical thinking skills to teach philosophy at Oxford.”

She smiled at his perfect description of each child. “And Margaret?”

He leveled a solemn look on her. “That one’s going to take over the world.”

Heavens, she’d thought the exact same thing herself several times during the past few days. But the consternated look on his face! Clara laughed.

“That’s nice.”

“What is?” she asked.

“Your laugh. Based on our first conversation when you and Anthony arrived here, I didn’t think I’d ever hear it again.” He thoughtfully chewed the gingerbread. “I’ve missed it.”

She looked away, unable to bear the softness of his deep voice and the way the shadows played across his handsome face.

This moment reminded her of every other time they’d stolen away into the dark recesses of gardens for a few moments alone amid hectic, crowded parties and balls. They didn’t want anyone to know they’d developed an affection, with his friendship with Anthony complicating everything, and so they could never dance together for more than a single waltz and had to find other clever ways to be alone. No one noticed. Yet if people had been paying attention, they would have realized she and Michael both went missing from the party when the clock struck one.

Being with him during the past few days made her grieve for those old times, and seeing him with the children only made that pain worse. She’d lost not just the happiness of her future but also of her past.

“Anthony told me that you don’t go out anymore,” he added quietly, “that you never leave the house and seldom come down from you room. Why not?”

“You know why,” she whispered.

“Truly, I don’t.”

She scoffed, despite the emotion choking her throat. “Why attend a ball when I can’t even walk? Why go to the theatre or concerts when everyone will be staring at me instead of the stage?” She shook her head and blinked rapidly, yet she refused to look at him. “Is Anthony supposed to carry me halfway across Vauxhall to a supper box, or is the coachman?” Distraught, she waved a hand aimlessly in the air. “Or why not simply put me on a child’s wagon and wheel me along the footpath?”

He wisely ignored that last complaint and said quietly, “Maybe you can’t do everything you used to, but there’s so much you once loved that you can still do.” His voice grew closer, followed by the shifting creak of the wooden bench beneath his weight as he sat beside her. “Riding through the park, hosting dinners and garden teas, attending lectures, resuming your charity work, attending the theatre—yes, youcanattend the theatre,” he repeated before she could challenge him. “How can you deny yourself those things which used to make you so happy?”

I’ve had practice. I denied myself of you…The answer she gave was barely louder than a whisper. “People will stare.”