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She was starting to wonder whether she had done something wrong. Had Alaric wanted her to show him affection in some way beyond holding his hand the other day? Was she supposed to initiate a kiss or an embrace? She didn’t know, but she was afraid to cross that boundary. The only thing she could do was place mistletoe in strategic places, in the hope that her husband would make the first move.

Charlotte walked towards the doorway and pulled over a chair. She climbed atop it and plucked a sprig of mistletoe from the large bough before stepping down again.

Even as she took it, she wondered what she was doing. Was she trying to trap her husband into a kiss? Perhaps.

She rather hoped Alaric would kiss her. Their wedding kiss had been barely there, not at all memorable.

She wasn’t afraid of being kissed—only of what came afterwards. But maybe a kiss on the lips was the right way to begin. It might be a gentle prelude for…whatever happened next. She tried not to think about being naked in front of Alaric. The thought of being so vulnerable, utterly at his mercy, made her want to shut down the thought immediately.

Her nerves were stretched tight, even as she told herself that he’d promised he would never hurt her. It was supposed to hurt the first time, regardless.

Maybe it was better to just get it over with?

Charlotte sat back on the settee, holding the mistletoe between her fingers. She closed her eyes and drew up her knees, tucking her feet beneath her nightgown. Despite the coals glowing in the hearth, she was still cold.

The sound of footsteps caught her attention, and she dropped the mistletoe beside her on the settee. Quickly, she tightened the ties of her dressing gown.

In the darkness she saw a shadowed figure, but a moment later, she realised it was the duke. Her shoulders lowered as the tension dissipated.

‘I didn’t expect to find you here so early,’ he said quietly. He set down a few packages beside the others.

The faint glow of coals was the only light in the room, and she couldn’t tell what he was doing—there was only the rustle of movement.

‘I couldn’t sleep any longer,’ she confessed. ‘I suppose I was too excited for Christmas morning.’

He stood across the room by the hearth, though she rather wished he would come and sit beside her.

‘Happy Christmas, Your—’ Her words cut off, and she amended, ‘Alaric.’

‘And to you, Charlotte.’ He paused a moment and said, ‘I suppose I’ll leave you to enjoy your…holiday anticipation, then.’

He started to walk away, and she blurted out, ‘Wait. You…you needn’t leave just yet.’

Why had she said that? Now he would believe she wanted something from him. She shouldn’t have spoken at all, and she struggled to find something to talk about.

‘You could join me and watch the snowfall,’ she suggested. ‘If you want.’

Alaric hesitated, and when he remained silent, she added, ‘Or it’s fine if you don’t want to stay. You can return to your bedchamber if you’d rather go back to sleep.’

In answer, he sat on the opposite side of the settee. She noticed then that he was also wearing his night clothing. She’d never known what he wore to sleep.

‘You should return to your own bedchamber,’ he said softly. ‘It’s still far too early.’

‘I—I know. But I wanted to stay a little longer.’ She stretched her feet out halfway, but then he reached for her ankles and brought them up to his lap.

‘Your feet are cold,’ he said. He covered them with his hands, as if to warm them. The touch upon her skin was gentle, yet firm. She’d never imagined what it would be like for a man to warm her feet like this. It was intimate, but there was also something tender about it.

His hands moved over her heels, gently offering heat. Then he slid them to her toes, holding them a moment. The touch was the faintest caress, but it seemed to move through her blood in a way she’d never expected.

She…liked his touch. It made her feel almost beloved. The need to get closer to Alaric was rising higher, and it made her want to lower the barriers between them. Perhaps experience her first kiss on the lips from her husband.

Charlotte moved her feet away, reaching for the fallen sprig of mistletoe. It was an excuse, nothing more.

‘Sorry,’ he murmured.

But she wasn’t sorry. Not at all. Instead, she wanted to continue exploring…whatever this was. And if mistletoe would help, so be it.

She stood and walked closer to him, resting her hands on his shoulders. ‘May I sit down?’