Page 37 of Christmas Magic

A woman of such wealth and beauty must have countless suitors…but only one man could claim her for his own.

She did not wear a betrothal ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Neither did she wear a wedding band. That meant she was free to be wooed.

Good, yet again.

Resolve settled in his gut, for he must find out who else sought her hand in marriage. Now that he had met her, he could not pass up such a wondrous prize.

Another woman’s image flickered in his mind: Molly’s. Even as his heart insisted she deserved his affections, a powerful longing gripped him. Like a thread plucked from a tapestry of memories, Molly’s image vanished.

Cora was the woman for him.

No other.

Only Cora.

She peered at him. “Are you all right, Lucian?”

“I most definitely am.”

“Well, I should be on my way—”

“No.” He’d spoken more harshly than intended. “I mean, please wait. I must give you your plate.”

He fetched it from where he’d left it on the counter. His palms grew damp, for he couldn’t let her leave yet. He must convey his affection for her. How to do so, though, in a manner that was unequivocal but also chivalrous?

A sparkle lit her gaze. “Did you enjoy the cookies?”

“Very much.”

“How many did you eat?”

“Seven, I think, but I lost count. There are still some left, so I will continue to enjoy your baking.”

Did he now see triumph in her eyes?

Ah, but he liked a lady with spirit.

She reached for the plate. As she did so, instinct urged him to show his honor. He dropped down on one knee. Bowing his head, he held the plate in both hands and stretched his arms up, offering it to her as though it were a gold crown.

“Goodness,” she murmured.

He did not lift his head. Staring down at the hardwood floor, he waited for her to take the plate; to accept his words and gallantry.

Her fingers brushed his. “I did not expect such ceremony.”

“You are more than deserving of it, Fair Maiden.”

Raising his head, he pushed his shoulders back, but he remained on bended knee. In a sign of utmost respect, he’d stay on his knee while he made his intentions clear. “If I may, Fair Maiden—”

“Lucian?” Galahad padded over from the window. “What are you doing?”

He scowled at the cat. “Don’t interrupt.”

Cora sniffed, a sound of annoyance. “He does meow a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Why are you down on the floor?” the squire meowed. “In front of Cora, of all people?”

Lucian ground his teeth. “As I said, Galahad—”