No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella by Megan Frampton Page B

the kiss fading as she thought about what he’d said. Of course. There was only this, this brief period of time. An interlude during the holidays. It wasn’t as though this was anything more than what it was—two people entering into a bargain to save their respective futures. Their separate respective futures.
    At least she now knew he was justified in going to such lengths to prevent an accidental betrothal—she had no doubt but that Mrs. Green, or one of the other ladies, would have him plighting his troth by the time Christmas came around.
    And after the holiday, long after the Yule log was burnt down, and the kissing bough had given up all its berries, when the mistletoe had shriveled, and the snow was just a distant memory, she would be snug in her cottage with Maria, with memories of this night, and that kiss, to warm her through the ensuing years.
    That should be enough. It would be enough. And perhaps, if she was patient, and open, she would find someone who would truly wish to be betrothed to her. To marry her, and stay in one place, and always be reliable, and have enough money to keep her in books and ale. That was all she wanted. Just someone to belong to in a place she felt she belonged.
    If she were to receive that Christmas gift one year—not this year, of course, but someday—she would rejoice and try to forget about the tall, restless man who offered her a chance at escape. As well as her first kiss.
    “You’re not regretting this, are you?” he asked in a low voice as they walked down the hall to the drawing room.
    “No, of course not, why?” She glanced up at him, noting the concern in his eyes. “Are you?” Dear God, please don’t let him regret this. That would be the worst Christmas gift, the anti-Christmas gift, and she herself would regret not making her way to her cousin and his children and the all the chicken iterations, and if she—
    “That kiss was the best thing to occur since my mother informed me we’d be attending a house party.” She couldn’t doubt the sincerity in his tone. “It is just—you sighed, just then, as though something were weighing on you.” Right. She had forgotten how observant he was.
    I was just thinking about how this would all come to an end, and Cinderella would get a cottage, not a prince, at the end of the story.
    “I think I was just dreading more of Mrs. Green’s orders. Imagine what else she might want us to do while we’re here.”
    He grinned, with such a devilish look in her eye she nearly swooned. “We’ll have to excuse ourselves to go play some of our own games.”
    Forget thinking beyond now, when she’d be off with Maria in a simple cottage paid for with his money. For once, she was going to live in the moment. She would enjoy what this time now would bring, and figure out the rest later.
    She could return to being a responsible woman who looked to the future in a week or so; for now, she was as careless and headstrong and impulsive as the next person.
    Who happened to be him.

 
    Matutinal:
    1. Of, relating to, or occurring in the morning.
    2. Feeling nauseated.
    3. An acrimonious parting.

 
    C HAPTER T WELVE
    H e didn’t know what he had done, just that he had done something. Besides being kissed by her, that is.
    He wanted to inquire more, but they had only a few moments between the library and the drawing room, and he didn’t want to get into a discussion where anybody could see them.
    It worried him; he couldn’t tell what she was thinking now. Her face looked as though someone had drawn a curtain down, her usual lively expression dimmed.
    They stepped back into the drawing room, her slightly ahead of him, his hand at the small of her back, just grazing the fabric of her gown with his knuckles. He wished they hadn’t ever left the library, that they were still there, kissing, or her teasing him about books and their laughing together.
    “Jamie, you have been an age! What could you and Sophronia have gotten up to for so