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But he did not wish to dwell on any of that. No matter how many times it seemed to appear in his head despite his wishes.
Ago woke Christmas morning feeling...unlike himself.
He reached out for Victoria, but found her side of the bed cold. He sat up, adrenaline spiking inside him, but saw that she had only taken herself over to the seating area before the fireplace. She sat in the chair she favored with her legs drawn up, wrapped in several throws, with an expression on her face that he could not recognize as she gazed into the dancing flames.
And he could not have said why it was that he found himself rubbing his hand over his chest, as if he could rub away the sense of disquiet that moved in him.
“Is this the Christmas spirit of which I’ve heard so much?” he asked into the quiet hush of the room.
Victoria turned her head to look at him, smiling widely. Guilelessly, he thought. Ago told himself he must have been imagining that wistful look. It must have been something else he didn’t quite recognize, that only reminded him of despair.
“Come,” he said gruffly, discomfited by the train of his thoughts. “I have something to show you.”
And he found himself watching her too closely as she rose, then came to the foot of the bed, as if she was made entirely of obedience and desire. Something he should have celebrated, surely. Instead, it made him feel entirely too close to unnerved.
He studied her the way he did too often these last days, looking for signs. Looking for hints. Looking forsomething.She was wearing one of the nightgowns she favored that stretched over her belly and made her look like some kind of confection, all the sweet cream of her flesh with that rich, brown fabric stretched over her like so much chocolate.
As ever, he wanted to eat her up.
But it was Christmas and he felt...too many things. And he disliked all of them, but there seemed only one way to handle things.Christmas first, he told himself darkly.
He rolled from the bed and threw on the silk trousers he wore to keep from horrifying his staff. And also to attempt to tamp down on the endless longing he felt for this wife of his.
It never mattered how many times he took her in the night. He always wanted more. That was why he always left her in the bed when he started his day, because she was more heavily pregnant by the day and delicate, no matter what she might think. But now they were standing close together, with so little in the way of clothes between them. So close that he wasn’t sure which one of them was breathing, because it seemed as if they shared the same breath—
But thinking about tumbling her down to the bed right now wasn’t exactly what he had in mind as a Christmas gift.
That could come later. He was sure it would.
And Ago was no good at gift giving. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually...given anyone a gift, in fact. Not one that meant anything to him. Or, hopefully, to the recipient.
He stepped back, perhaps a bit abruptly. Victoria gazed back at him, looking slightly baffled, and he couldn’t blame her. He rubbed at his chest again, and then he took her arm.
Formally, as if they were entering a ballroom.
Instead, he guided her in her nightgown through the connecting door that had once separated the master’s bedroom from the mistress’s, that they might share or not share their bedchambers as it suited them. He had told Victoria it was used for storage and kept it locked.
“Am I being relegated to a separate bedroom?” she asked, and he told himself that edge in her voice was amusement, nothing more. “So soon?”
Ago said nothing. He told himself it was because there was no need to look for ghosts in everything, even the way she spoke to him.
But that persistent ache in his chest suggested otherwise.
He did not allow himself to rub at it again. Instead, he watched as Victoria took in the room. He braced himself as she let out a small noise.
She let go of his hand and moved further into the room, turning she could see what he’d had the staff working on, stealthily, for some time.
“A nursery,” Victoria breathed, as if she couldn’t quite make sense of it. Though he did not know what else a room like this could be, outfitted with a crib, a changing table, a rocking chair, and a cozy little sofa. A bright rug on the floor and happy pictures on the pale yellow walls. “You made me a nursery?”
“I think you know,mia mogliettina, that I did no such thing with my own two hands,” Ago said stiffly. “I took an advisory position in this.”
He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Why his limbs felt awkward and ungainly when he worked hard to ensure he was neither, ever. Why he could not seem to look at her directly, nor look away, when he prided himself on his directness in all things.
“It looks...” Victoria turned in a full circle, hugging herself. When she turned back to face him, her eyes were shining. “Ago. It looks exactly like my nursery. The one in my father’s house, only with Tuscany outside the windows instead of England.”
“I insisted that your father send me photographs,” Ago said, as if it hurt to get the words out. He found that, in fact, it did. “I thought you would like it.”
She looked as if she was having trouble swallowing. “I do. I really do.”
