Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,7

thick, dark hair in perfect harmony with his dark eyes fringed with more thick, dark hair.

Like his father, he was the kind of man meant to be a patriarch or a leader. She could easily see him at the helm of a huge ship or wisely addressing hundreds of men in Parliament, both things his father had done before him. Though she’d not spent much time with the son, she’d seen enough of him to know he was accustomed to making decisions that affected others, that he was experienced in caring for others. Exactly like his father.

Whether he knew it or not.

What she did not understand was why he went from hot to cold so readily. One moment he would be all that was amiable; the next, he treated her as if she were a leper.

Throughout dinner she studied him and was determined that after she put Stevie to bed she would try to lubricate things between this man and herself with a quiet tête-à-tête.

“Your son has exceptionally good table manners for one of his tender years,” Lord Paxton said, glancing at Stevie, then returning his gaze to her.

“Thank you. Since there have mostly just been the two of us, I’ve always permitted him to eat with me.”

“Did he dine also with my father?”

She smiled. “Like you, your father kindly permitted it. I do thank you for allowing Stevie to sit at the big table tonight. It must have seemed an odd request.”

He shrugged. “Things have always been rather informal at Darnley.” He chuckled. “I remember one time Papa allowed my friends to come to the table without dressing for dinner.”

Her eyes widened.

“It was a rainy day, and we’d not been able to go out shooting, so it wasn’t as if we were actually dirty or anything like that, though I will own it seemed odd to come to the table in one’s boots.” He eyed the second chair near hers where she’d propped up her foot. “How does your ankle feel?”

“Remarkably good as long as I keep it elevated.”

“Good. I hope you won’t object if, in your stead, I take Stevie to gather more Christmas greenery at mid-day tomorrow.”

She offered him a smile. “So he told you about his lungs.”

He nodded.

“If the sun shines as it did today, and if it’s not too cold, he can go outdoors.” She hated having to be so protective, but she’d almost lost her child to lung fever more than once. If she lost Stevie, she would just as soon bury herself with him.

She settled her hand on her boy’s. “I’m very proud of you for telling Lord Paxton about your limitations.”

“What are limitations?”

“Things you cannot do.”

His fair lashes lowered. “I wish I didn’t have so many lim-tations.”

She patted his hand. “I do, too, love, but I know you’re going to get well now that we’re back at Darnley.”

“He was better at Darnley?” Lord Paxton asked.

A broad smile upon his face, Stevie nodded. “After we were here for a few months, I was permitted to stay outdoors all day long, and I didn’t even cough at all.”

Mary frowned. “Then we returned to London, and he got sick again. You know what the skies are there.”

“Indeed I do,” Lord Paxton said. “Nasty.”

At the completion of dinner, she turned to Lord Paxton. “After I put Stevie to bed and read his Bible verse to him, I hope you and I could sit for a spell before the fire.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Her cheeks grew hot as their eyes met. She felt as vulnerable as one standing before him completely naked.

He finally said, “I’ll wait for you in the drawing room.”

“What a good mother you are to tuck Stevie in every night.” David stood as Mrs. Milne hobbled into the drawing room a half hour later, putting her weight on the cane. He’d taken a seat on a comfortable sofa in front of the blazing fire. Bless Mrs. Ballard for always seeing to it that fires were built and stoked in every chamber throughout the winter.

To him, there was no more comfortable room than this, though when he tried to look at the chamber as others might see it, he realized it was a bit shabby. The sofa that had once been the colour of ferns had faded so much he doubted anyone else would be able to determine it had ever been green.

He had to own that to others, there was nothing special about this modest house. He’d often wondered why he had always prized