Free All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke by Delilah Marvelle, Máire Claremont Page B

days at the opera: with lustful intent. But coming from him it was…different. “Sometimes. But I would never go back to it. I prefer the quieter life I have chosen. It’s lovely to be able to go into public and not have people crowd around you wherever you go.”
    Rising from the desk, he strode toward her and leaned in close, making her fully aware that he had intentions.
    Their eyes locked.
    She could barely breathe.
    His full lips parted and his hand slowly trailed toward her corseted waist, his fingers dragging across the material of her gown. His chest visibly rose and fell beneath his embroidered waistcoat.
    She knew, even if she hadn’t swallowed a single drop of brandy, she would have kissed him. But she also knew giving in to a kiss would only lead to more. Much more. Like…a relationship. And sex. She panicked at the thought. “We shouldn’t.”
    He paused, his hand trailing around her waist. “Why not?”
    “Because kissing leads to things.”
    “Does it?” He sounded mildly amused and leaned in closer.
    She swayed against him, her skin tingling and aware of his touch. “If I let you do this, it will change everything between us,” she whispered, trying not to look at his lips. Trying not to kiss them. Trying not to need them. “And I’m not…I’m not ready for that.” He was, after all, Martin. Her dearest, dearest Martin. How was she ever going to get past that?
    “Will you ever be ready?” he whispered back, the warmth of his breath grazing her skin.
    “I don’t know,” she admitted.
    He gently fingered her gown. “Do you want to be ready?”
    Despite herself, she nodded. For she knew she didn’t want to spend her life alone. She was tired of it.
    He hesitated, as if meaning to say something, then edged back, his hand falling away. He nodded. Stepping back farther, he gestured toward the door. “I will take you home.”
    She let out a breath, feeling like she could focus again.
    He remained silent for the rest of the night.
    Even in the carriage ride.
    Even as he assisted her out of the carriage back on Foley Street and into the snow.
    Neither of them seemed to be under the effects of brandy anymore. And she was glad for it. It meant whatever was about to be said or done would be done without the blurring of sensibilities. “When will I see you again?” she offered, breaking the silence of the night and the snow-covered street surrounding them.
    He captured her gaze. “Do you want to see me again?”
    She readjusted her cloak. “Would I have asked if I didn’t?”
    He lingered by the open door of the carriage. “Then you will.”
    She swallowed, realizing that she was actually pursuing this and him. What, oh, what was she thinking? It was obvious she had missed having him in her life. She missed his quiet passion for everything. The sort of passion she used to feel and have for everything. “When will I see you again?”
    “When you least expect it.” Slipping his hand into his inner waistcoat pocket beneath his greatcoat, he withdrew a gold locket. Taking her hand, he placed it in her palm and closed her hand firmly around it. “Tell me your answer when you see me again.” He released her hand. “Good night, Jane. And don’t forget to call on your father at Christmas.” Inclining his head, he turned, hopped into the carriage, and settled into the seat.
    The footman eyed her—as if politely refraining from pointing out that she ought to step away—then folded up the stairs, shut the door, and jumped up onto the backside of the carriage.
    Jane glanced down at the locket, stunned at realizing it was her mother’s gold locket. The one her father had given to her mother when they had gotten engaged. Where did he—
    She glanced up and opened her mouth to say something but shut it, realizing she was simply too stunned to even do so. Was this a marriage proposal?
    “If you would please step away, my lady!” the footman called down to her from his back post. He waved her off