“Tell me what you did,” he said.
“No…” She thought about it, then shook her head. Nothing good could come out of that conversation. Drystan would know soon enough. “Did you know we have a family ancestor whose name was Drystan?”
“Should I be worried you’re suddenly discussing my name?”
She shook her head.
“Good.”
“Good?” She raised her brow.
He nodded somberly. “’Cause it doesn’t matter what you did. The proposal’s accepted, the door’s closed, and I have you in my arms. Even if he wants to take back his agreement, you’re well and goodly compromised.”
“I am, aren’t I?” She couldn’t contain her smile, her joy. She got to play a prank, nothing could be done about it, and the man she loved was hers. Was it possible to be this utterly happy?
“There’s that look,” he said, his own eyes softening with wonder. “I never believed I’d see it aimed at me.”
“What look?”
“The one I fell in love with. I may love that look more than I love—”
She put her finger against his lips. “Don’t say it.”
“You.” Chuckling, he nipped her finger. “What did you think I would say?”
They knew perfectly well what he was going to say. “Something about Christmas desserts.”
“You are my Christmas dessert.” He clasped her wrist and nipped another finger. “You’ve always been my Christmas dessert.”
“Now that sounds almost—not quite—right, and yet I like it. Why do I like it?”
“Because you love pudding.” He enfolded her hand in his.
“And you.”
