Lady Jenny's Christmas Portrait

His chest heaved up, then down, a sea of male emotion beneath her cheek. “You shall not.”

“Will you make love to me again?” Of all the questions she’d asked him, that one was the most difficult, and yet she wanted more of his warmth and tenderness, more of him.

“You’ve exorcised your ghosts, Genevieve, and it’s late. Go to sleep.”

He tucked her closer and closed his eyes, ending the conversation as effectively as if he’d left the room, the manor, and the shire.

As Jenny drifted off to sleep, the last thing her thinking mind registered was that though Elijah had not offered her his help and had refused her any further lovemaking, when the fire had burned down to coals and a winter wind whistled around the old house, deep in the night, he still held her close.

Eleven

Breakfast was trial by tea and toast. Elijah’s host and hostess bid him safe journey to London, then drifted off to whatever business would fill their day. Elijah took his customary place, back to the windows, and prayed Jenny would have the wisdom to remain above stairs until his departure.

Then he prayed that she’d come down early and spend every possible minute with him before he rode out of her life.

Then he prayed that a blizzard might start up and prevent them both from leaving, because the developments of the previous night had been too complicated and overwhelming to allow a man to think them through clearly.

“My lady.” He rose as Jenny paused in the doorway, a vision in holiday green. “Good morning.”

Her smile was hesitant. “My—Mr. Harrison.”

He’d told her about the title. He’d very nearly told her he loved her. “Won’t you sit with me? There’s a little sun to be had at this end of the table. May I fix you a plate?”

May I tell you that despite the fact that I thought we were to be married, and you did not, I will always treasure the hours you spent in my arms?

He’d told her that much when he’d deposited her fast asleep in her own bed not two hours past and kissed her cheek in parting. How brave of me.

Her smile became more confident. “I’d like that. The day looks encouraging.”

No, it did not. The day looked all too well suited to travel. Her smile, though, looked encouraging. “What will you have?”

He heaped up a plate for her, knowing she’d never eat that much but wanting to give her something, even if it wasn’t what she’d asked him for last night. When they were seated at the end of the room nearest the hearth, Elijah filled her teacup with strong, fragrant tea and added cream and sugar.

This was the last bit of solitude they might have. “Are you well, Genevieve?”

“Quite, thank you. These strawberries are particularly good.”

He tried again. “You know there might be consequences from last night?”

She went still, a succulent berry halfway to her equally succulent mouth. “Consequences?” The word came out care-ful-ly, as if she hadn’t realized any such thing. “But you didn’t… I thought… Heavens.”

She’d blushed nearly as red as the strawberry.

“I did not.” Thank a merciful, benign, forgiving Deity. Elijah had not spent his seed in her body. “There can still be consequences, and you will not bear them alone.” He passed her a folded piece of foolscap. “My man of business always knows where to reach me. If there’s need, you will contact me immediately. Promise me, Genevieve.”

She took the paper, stuffed it in some secret female pocket in her skirts, and nodded.

A tension in Elijah’s chest eased. “Butter?”

“Please.”

Ah, God, not that word. He buttered a slice from the toast rack in the center of the table. “What will you do with yourself today, Genevieve?”

“My parents will collect me shortly, and I’ll probably spend the morning planning the house party with Her Grace.”

He chose a toast point for himself and tried to memorize the curve of her cheek. “House party?”

“My entire family is gathering for the holidays. Morelands can hold such a crowd, but it’s quite an undertaking. When did you stop putting butter on your toast, Elijah?”

He stopped chewing and stopped trying to pretend. “I’ll miss you, Genevieve, and I’ll worry about you. Will you come see the children’s portrait when it’s complete?”

“If I’m still here, of course. I’ll miss you too. Very, very much.”

Two verys. The tension eased more, which was no help. Without anxiety to mask other emotions, Elijah felt a welling sense of loss, as if leaving Sidling was another leg in the long and ill-advised journey away from Flint Hall.

“Ah, there’s my darling girl!”

His Grace the Duke of Moreland came striding into the breakfast parlor, cheeks ruddy from the cold, smile warm, blue eyes merry. “Jenny, my dear, I have missed you this age.”

She went into her father’s arms, while Elijah got to his feet.

Her family should not have her back yet, please, not just, quite, already… yet. “Your Grace, good morning.”

The duke hugged his daughter, clearly a man who need not stand on ceremony, and a papa glad to be reunited with his offspring. And then, with an arm still around Jenny’s shoulders, His Grace turned that smile on Elijah.

“Bernward, felicitations of the season. I hope my girl hasn’t been pestering you too awfully. She does take her little pictures seriously.” He winked at Elijah and kissed Jenny’s temple, while Elijah wanted to tear her from the older man’s side.

Little pictures.

“Lady Jenny and her considerable artistic talent have been an inspiration, Your Grace. I could not have achieved what I did here, much less in so short a time, without your daughter’s assistance and insight.” Too short a time.

“Right. Jenny, are you ready to go, or can you spare your old papa time to visit the nursery?”

The relief in Jenny’s eyes was subtle, too subtle for a blustery old duke to comprehend. “You can visit upstairs for as long as you like, Papa. I’ll finish my breakfast.”

“Bernward, good day. I’m off to corrupt the youth of England.” His Grace wrapped several slices of stollen in a napkin and strode off, and not a moment too soon.

“They’re not little pictures, Genevieve. You have talent. Never doubt that.”

She sat with the air of a convict whose petition for a royal pardon had just been denied. “Papa loves me. He loves all of his children. Mama does too.”

And their love was choking her. Jenny consumed her breakfast in silence, while Elijah sensed he’d underestimated the depths to which she dreaded her return to Morelands.

“You will take Paris by storm, Genevieve.” Another nod, and Elijah felt despair wash over him, because how was she to take Paris by storm when she hadn’t yet secured decent lodgings? When she had no clue where to begin with the gallery owners and shopkeepers?

Rather than offer her more hollow assurances, he offered her relief from his company. “Will you see me to my horse?”

“Of course.”

They traveled through the house until Elijah paused with her in the entry hall. “Which cloak is yours?”

She passed him a pretty green wool cloak with cream trim, the buttonholes elaborately embroidered in a gold fleur-de-lis pattern.

“You’ve been planning your escape for a long time, haven’t you, Genevieve?”

“Years. More dreaming than planning. I’m planning now. This is your scarf.” She wrapped soft purple wool