Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,77

the quarreling stopped.

Settling the lid on the jar, she hurried out. She would hear more about his railway. Never mind his arrogant leering. The railway might be a sound investment, once she had access to capital.

An embarrassed nursery maid appeared just as the boys finished another round of biscuits.

“Fell asleep, did you, Meg?” Mr. Lovelace teased.

“You know better, Master James and Master Edward,” the middle-aged lady scolded, “sneaking about and bringing along the little one. Why you’re as bad as…” She bit her lip and glanced at Mr. Lovelace, her eyes twinkling.

“Hah,” James said. “As bad as George. And I’m too old to be in the nursery.”

“Me too,” Edward said.

“Off you all go,” Sophie said before another argument started. “I’ll tidy up here. Mr. Lovelace, would you accompany them and make sure there are no more disputes?”

He ushered them to the door. Her relief was cut short when she saw him returning.

“Please, Mr. Lovelace. Go. You must be tired after your journey.”

He gathered up plates and mugs and she made herself shrug. “I suppose there’s no point in arguing with you.”

“None at all.” He brushed by her, sending an unexpected tingle through her. “And by the way, my compliments on your boys. They are certainly better-behaved than my brothers.”

“James and Edward have been very kind to my sons. I’m grateful.”

“You don’t find them too spirited?”

She thought of their green-gathering excursions and smiled. “Oh my, no. At home with family, children should be free to be spirited. Especially during the Yuletide.”

“Perhaps their grief is easing. Father’s death was hard on them.”

“Yes. My condolences. I do understand.”

He set down the cups and dishes. “Mother employs a scullery maid who will see to these. Come.”

Tucking her hand over his arm, he pulled her into his warmth and they climbed the dark narrow stairs, the woodsy scent of his soap muddling her mind.

“Mother confided she’s enjoying your visit. She likes a full nursery and I believe she’s scheming. Not just about you sponsoring Miss Cartwright. She mentioned the boys. What are your plans for them when you go up to London? James and Edward will return to school. Perhaps Arthur could join them, and Ben can stay in the nursery with little Mary.”

Send Arthur to school? The vicar had tutored him in Latin, and she herself was teaching both boys the other basics. But for the lack of funds, he was ready.

They climbed in silence to the second floor and paused on the landing. Dim light shone from a nearby lamp.

The thought of sending Arthur off depressed her. “At present, Arthur is being educated at home.”

“He’ll benefit from school,” Mr. Lovelace murmured. “Not just from the instruction, but also from the connections and friendships.”

She squeezed her eyes shut a moment and eased in a breath.

“I would miss him terribly, but I do agree, Mr. Lovelace. I…” Perhaps he might intervene with Fitz. “I haven’t yet had a chance to discuss schooling with your brother. As his mother, my decision-making is limited.” As well as my means to pay school fees.

He frowned. “But…Glanford died over a year ago.”

“Yes.”

As his gaze searched her face, she tried to tame the turmoil inside her, reminding herself of Fitz’s comment about Mr. Lovelace keeping her.

Warm hands enveloped her own and their grip firmed.

“Fitz hasn’t spoken to you at all?”

She shook her head.

“Hasn’t visited Arthur?”

“Not since Glanford’s funeral. And thus, I am here. And it’s late. I mean to rise early and shamelessly corner him over breakfast.”

His thumbs swept over the backs of her hands, sending unexpected heat roaring through her.

“You are cold.”

“Mr. Lovelace,” she said, feeling breathless. “It’s the middle of the night. I’m in the dark with a man, a man in his nightshirt and dressing gown, and he’s fondling my hands. I am anything but cold at this moment.”

His eyes lit, and the corners of his mouth quivered, and he bit back a grin. “My lady.” He laughed. “Come this way.” He tugged her a few steps and glanced up.

Her gaze followed his, and her heart turned cartwheels, pounding like the pistons of a steam engine. A treacherous kissing bough hung from the ceiling. This was a recent addition. She didn’t remember the girls hanging it.

Chapter Seven

“Oh drat,” she whispered. “Those girls.” She stepped back and raised one of her hands, still engulfed in his.

The grin creasing his face made her knees weak. Before she could topple, he pulled her into his arms, cupped the back of her head, and she found herself looking up into midnight