Page 47 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

His lips closed around the small nub buried in her folds and sucked. A startling jolt sparked through her, and she gasped.

He sucked again, and this time, the spark he shot through her set her on fire, from the tips of her fingers and toes, straight out the top of her head. Intense pleasure poured through her as all the tiny muscles inside her clenched fiercely, then released with a glorious spasm that tore a soft cry from her. Her fists pounded against the keys, and she tossed back her head as bliss overwhelmed her.

His mouth once more turned soft and gentle as he placed lingering kisses against her sensitized flesh in an attempt to draw out the moment as long as possible for her.

As her panting breath slowed and her hands unclenched to brush through his hair, he rested his cheek against her thigh and gazed up at her.

“Are you all right?” he murmured.

More than all right.She was certain she’d flown to heaven! Yet it took all her strength to simply nod.

“I can do that to you again, if you’d like,” he told her softly. He added in a wicked murmur, “God knows how muchI’dlike that.”

A happy laugh bubbled up inside her, and she brushed her fingertips across his cheek.

Then he smiled a bit impishly as he turned his head to kiss her fingertips. “Perhaps I can make it even better…if you let me make love to you.”

Her heart stopped. When it lurched back to life, the pain was excruciating.

“You know I can’t,” she somehow managed to force out. Slowly, she rubbed her hands over her lap, gently moved him away, and pushed her skirt back into place to cover her legs.

He sat back on one hip and rested his forearm across his bended knee. “Why not?”

Because then I would never be able to leave you…“You know why.” She rubbed at her right thigh and whispered, “My leg.”

“A bad leg won’t interfere with making love.” He raked a gaze over her so heatedly that she feared it might melt her stockings. “I’d be happy to prove it to you. Tonight and every night.”

A longing to have exactly that flared inside her. But behind that soft challenge lay the implication of marriage. Her eyes burned at the thought. For God’s sake, he might as well have proposed! Part of her wished he had, if only so she could have refused him and put both of them out of their misery.

But this… He was only making everything worse!

Today had been wonderful. Everything about it had been perfect, simply because of Michael. His words of love and encouragement, his kindness, his kisses that made her feel alive and beautiful, even all of his teasing and baiting that reminded her so much of old times— She’d wanted nothing more than to let this fairytale night continue, to go to his bed and let him make love to her. It would be the most exquisite moment of her life.

But that was all it could ever be.One moment.

Nothing would change. Her leg wouldn’t miraculously heal beneath his caresses, and in the morning she would still be unable to walk. She would never be able to give him the family he wanted or be the supportive duchess he needed. She would only be a burden to him and bring him ridicule.

She loved him, and the best act of love she could ever give him was to let him go to another woman.

She choked out the single word, her heart shattering irreparably, “No.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Christmas Eve

Michael stepped onto the stool to tie the little drum to the yew bough hanging from the picture rail in the blue drawing room. Even from across the room he could hear the children in the hall as they pressed their eyes and ears to the crack between the two closed doors. They were too excited to wait patiently. Or quietly.

“You’re pushing me!” Benjamin complained loudly enough that Clara heard from her nearby chair and placed her fingers over her lips to stifle a laugh at their antics.

“Then move aside,” Margaret replied. “I can’t see with your big head in the way.”

“Let me see!” Susannah pleaded.

Michael’s lips twisted. None of the children were concerned enough about being overheard to speak in whispers. He sent Clara a raised brow over his shoulder. “Should we tell them that Christmas has been canceled, just to see their reaction?”

“Only if you want to be known as Uncle Cromwell for the rest of your life.” She finished tying a length of ribbon around the last of the toy soldiers and held it toward him. “Besides, they’d never believe you anyway. We’ve done too much to stop it now.”

He muttered, “Don’t I know.”