The Duke Before Christmas - Bianca Blythe Page 0,34

Colin said.

“They can sleep in the servants’ quarters,” Charlotte said. “We still have beds for them, don’t we, Mrs. James?”

“We do indeed,” Mrs. James said. “I’ll take them there after their meal.”

“We’re having our dinner at seven,” Vernon said. “Though if you would like something sent up beforehand—”

Colin glanced at the grandfather clock in the room. “Seven is fine.”

“I’ll send your servants up to help you dress.”

“Splendid,” Colin said, even though there was nothing particularly splendid about any of this.

He extended his elbow to Portia, and she slipped her fingers through the crook. Energy pulsed through him at her touch, but he ignored it.

This woman desired to marry another man. She was in love with someone whom she couldn’t marry...because of him. It was a wonder she smiled at him at all. The woman must possess immeasurable strength.

The housekeeper led them to a set of sweeping, curved marble stairs. No doubt, this was also the work of Vernon’s brother. Colin had a sudden urge to see his own family.

He sighed and strode up the steps, conscious of Portia beside him. She emitted a pleasant vanilla scent that made him want to get even nearer to her.

That would only be bad though.

She’d made her feelings about a marriage between the two of them clear.

Mirrors dotted the steps, reflecting light. The housekeeper turned onto a new corridor Colin was unfamiliar with. He’d visited before with some of his friends, and evidently a male wing had been arranged for them. He strode over the carpet. Children’s voices sounded, and Colin experienced an odd pang.

Perhaps he’d been hasty when he’d said he didn’t require children. He simply hadn’t imagined any of the women the matchmaking mamas and proud papas pushed toward him would make him happier than he could make himself on his own. He hadn’t enjoyed the stilted conversations about his estate and the even more stilted conversation about current events. No one, after all, was likely to express any sorrow that Bonaparte had been defeated, and he’d been tired of people stating the same thoughts they’d read from the same newspapers. Perhaps he hadn’t given them the chance they deserved. Or perhaps...

He glanced at Portia and smiled. She was the only woman he knew who would take it upon herself to sail to Guernsey to elope, and she was certainly the only person who would propose to a practical stranger, not giving up on her happiness. He liked that quality. It was one he was not accustomed to seeing.

Mrs. James turned toward them and gave a bright smile. “Your room is right here, Your Graces.”

“Thank you so much,” Portia murmured, and stepped into a red room.

Colin followed her and did his best to avert his gaze away from her now-scarfless neck, did his best to focus on the room’s furnishings, and not the way the light played across her bare skin.

“The bell pull is there if you require anything.” Mrs. James gestured to a long piece of pink and gold braided fabric. “And of course the wardrobes are there, and I’m certain you spotted the bed.”

“Oh, yes.”

The bed was unmistakable. It sat in the center of the room. Pink damask panels dangled from its four-poster frame.

“Isn’t it pretty?” Mrs. James asked. “I think it’s the most romantic bed here. The duchess’s sister doesn’t find the rug practical—too much white, as she has three children, but I like it.”

Colin resisted the temptation to ask Mrs. James if she might switch places with him tonight. He didn’t want to lie beside so much temptation. He didn’t want to think about soft curves and a slender waist. He didn’t want to imagine whispering to her, and imagining the manner in which she would quietly laugh.

He turned to Mrs. James. “I—er—tend to get cold in the night. Do you by any chance have any extra bedding?”

Mrs. James shot him a worried look, perhaps going through her bedding supply in her head and finding no good answer. “Well, that’s a bit tricky, since the house is full. But I can be certain to put extra hot bricks in your bed.”

He gritted his teeth. “Thank you.”

“If you get cold, perhaps you would like to wear something warmer,” Mrs. James continued.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Very well, Your Grace. I’ll send your servants up here.”

“Quite nice.”

She smiled, then left the room.

Portia and he were alone.

Though they’d had conversations alone, they’d never been truly without any company. Even on the ship, there’d been sailors about them, and even Niles and Jonesie