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Chapter Eleven
After waving theestate children goodbye and bidding his own children goodnight, Devon removed his crown of antlers and holly and joined his wife beside the fireplace. Fraser’s chair had been moved closer, and Thea and Griffin sat close by, holding hands.
“Whisky?” Delilah appeared, brandishing a bottle, and pressed a glass into his hand. “I think you’ve deserved one tonight, Dev. Though I should pour your wife one first, given that she’s had to endure your poor temper for most of the vacation.”
“Delilah…” Attie began, but Devon interrupted her.
“She’s right, my love,” he said. “Forgive me. I’m sorry I’ve been an ogre these past weeks.”
She took his hand and kissed it. “What matters is that we’re here, together, celebrating Christmas as a family.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Fraser said, lifting his glass. “To us!”
Delilah filled Devon’s glass, and he raised it. “To the family I love—and that loves me in return.”
He curled his arm round his wife’s waist and drew her close, relishing the feel of her soft body in his arms, and she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Has my beloved husband come back to me?” she asked.
He nodded. “It took the kindness of children to remind me of the good in the world—and that I have much to be thankful for—and most of all, the beautiful soul that is my wife.”
“Then I have the greatest Christmas gift anyone could hope for.”
“What could I possibly give to the woman who has everything?” he asked.
“You,” she said. “All I want for Christmas—all I have ever wanted—is my heart.”
She lifted her face and offered her lips for a kiss, and he gladly obliged.
“And my heart is you.”
