Eventually, either her common sense took over or his did since they mutually parted. Bethany stared until the ache at the small of her back recalled her attention to the awkward position she held on the edge of the rocker. She stood on shaky legs and stumbled a few feet away, not trusting herself to remain so close.
"Is there some difficulty, Bethany?" A self-satisfied smile curved his lips as he rose as well.
"Uh, no." She forced moisture into her dry throat. She could still taste him on her mouth. Sweet butter cookies. That is what his flavor was like. The ones shaped like stars and trees with crystal sugar sprinkled on top. "I need to see to the children and tell them of your plans for the day." Hitching up her navy wool skirt, she ran up the stairs. It was only after she'd gained the privacy of her room that she'd neglected to ascertain exactly what those plans were.
Somehow, in the confusion of being settled into a new routine, she'd become aware of Blake in a new way. A benefactor to be sure, his ability to be a rake was evident in the way he flirted, but the glimmer of softness that touched his eyes and the gentleness he displayed in his interaction with the children made her heart skip a few beats.
Under no circumstance could she develop feelings for him. He'd propositioned her, which meant he was not looking for a lifetime commitment with a woman. How many times before had he done the same thing with other females of his acquaintance? She wiped away an errant tear while opening the drapes.
As the children made sounds of protest upon awakening, she watched a squirrel dart through the scant covering of snow. A future with Blake would not be possible. The closest she'd find herself would be a night in his bed in order to keep her side of the bargain. After that, she would leave with the kids. The where was the only problem.
Not being able to forget how he made her feel.
Special. Wanted. A sense of belonging that defied their circumstances.
She pulled a shawl around her shoulders. It was merely a physical reaction to him, nothing more. The ache for fulfillment would eventually pass and she could resume her everyday life without him in it.
The finality of the thought brought a cloud of depression, but oh, for one brief, sparkling moment, she could dream.
"Aunt Bethany?" John's voice was muffled under the quilt. "What are we doing today?"
How would the children feel when she pulled them away from this man they had easily befriended?
Not having an answer, she sat on the side of the bed and uncovered her nephew. "Mr. Wenchal has decided he would like to spend the day with you and Sarah. You will have lunch, and then I would imagine he has planned plenty of festive activities and perhaps shopping. Is this something you think will be fun?"
"Yes." John contorted his face into a frown. "Did Mr. Wenchal tell you his secret?"
"I do not recall. Maybe if you gave me a hint, I would know for certain."
He shook his head. "I'm not 'posed to tell it. Maybe he will today."
"Maybe so." What secret did they share and why was it a secret?
Above all, she wanted the children to experience the kind of Christmases she had enjoyed as a child. If Blake was instrumental in letting that happen, how could she protest?
How could she recover if, when she stopped giving him piece after piece of her heart, he owned the whole thing?
"Is there a big snow, too?" John bounded out of the bed, jostling his sister in the process, and raced to the window.
"Not yet, little one. Have faith."
She needed to heed her own advice.
* * * *
Blake cautioned the children to keep their chatter quiet. They'd arrived at the house during sunset, cold, happy and hungry. For him, the sweetest surprise of the day was coming home to find his house filled with the appetizing fragrance of a hearty beef stew, second only to seeing Bethany asleep on the sofa.
Not wishing to disturb her, he'd dished out bowls of stew for the children from the pot bubbling merrily on the stove and gave them large hunks of crusty bread, much to John's delight. He sat with them at the table, eating his own dinner, while wracking his brain for ideas of how to keep them busy. The piles of greenery they'd gathered in the park seemed the best course of action.
"John, if you are finished, I have a very important job for you." Instantly, he was rewarded by the cherub's grin. So much innocence in that one smile and so much cunning and mischief.
"Will it be dangerous?" Bread crumbs showered the floor around him as the boy squirmed.
Blake nodded. "Oh, most definitely. You may need to defend the household against Indian attack." Throughout the bulk of the afternoon, John had chattered non-stop about cowboys and Indians, which was a happy change from the questions regarding magic or what type of food elves liked to eat best. He seemed to be gripped by the idea of the Sovereign visiting the western part of the country even though the residents were well armed.
"Will Santa be pleased?" John's eyes went wide.
"I would imagine so, but even more, your Aunt Bethany will be happy." Blake pushed his empty bowl away and dabbed at his lips with a linen napkin. "We left our greenery at the back door. Run and select a few of the best boughs and bring them in. I think there might be ribbon somewhere in the house for decorations."
For years, he ignored the passing of the season and thus hadn't littered the house with the spruce branches. He also had no idea where the old-timey accessories of the season went.
"Mr. Wenchal?" Sarah's timid voice broke through his reflections.
"Yes?" Blake frowned. Although she appeared to have enjoyed herself during their outing, nothing he suggested could keep a smile on the girl's face or encourage her to talk about anything that fell beyond polite manners.
She lifted her gaze to his. Fringed by long lashes, her blue eyes strongly resembled her aunt's. "I do not have a gift for Aunt Bethany." She crumbled a piece of bread into her bowl until it resembled snow. "Do you think she will be disappointed?"
When tears sparkled in her eyes, Blake lost his heart. "Oh, Sarah, come here." As she did what he asked, he wrapped her in a hug and thrilled as she twined her slender arms about his neck. "Why do you worry so, angel? I know something you do not. Mrs. Abermarle can help with a gift. She's very crafty and knows exactly what a woman like your aunt needs. Tomorrow, you can visit with her and talk."
Very crafty indeed, bless her crotchety soul. If he didn't know better, he'd say she had all the makings of an elf. Interesting theory, that. Good thing he knew better.
"Can I go, too? I want to give Aunt Bethany something." John patted Blake's arm. "Do you think she would like me to draw a picture, Mr. Wenchal?"
With one arm around Sarah, Blake slid the other around John. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined a life filled with children. Now that these two had landed on his doorstep, he refused to contemplate what his life would be like when they left.
If the Royal Court could see him now, they'd fall right out of their velvet robes from shock. He, Blake Wenchal, was experiencing the first pangs of love for the season and it didn't hurt as much as he thought it would.
"John, I think that would be the perfect gift. We should all endeavor to make her smile at every opportunity. I will help you with the greenery. Sarah, go wake your aunt. She would never forgive us if we left her out." When they left the kitchen, he sighed.
The responsibility of their welfare weighed on his mind. No wonder Bethany consented to his stupid offer. To her, it was the only way of saving her family—and he continued to pressure her with kisses.
No longer.
Yes, the thought of her in his bed warmed his insides and tormented his dreams, but he refused to take advantage of the situation further. If she did not feel the same for him, he wouldn't force her. Christmas was a time for forgiveness. He hoped she'd grant him that as well as a chance to see the children happy.
If the penance for such a feat was to stay away from the woman, so be it.
Nothing mattered except for making the holiday
unforgettable. Making his holiday tolerable for the first time in many years. John's words from the day before chased about his mind. It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out his secret, but he held back from fear.
What if he lost her before he could tell her how he felt?
How did he feel, exactly? It was a puzzle worthy of the design team in the Northern Realm.
"Blake, is something wrong? That scowl could scare off a host of criminals."
His head snapped up at the sound of Bethany's voice as silly tingles danced down his spine. "It would seem this most miraculous of seasons is also the most thought provoking." He scrambled to his feet. "Thank you for the stew. Both children enjoyed it as did I." He felt awkward, as if he were seventeen and in the presence of a young woman for the first time.
A flush stained her cheeks at the compliment. "I am glad." Her highly kissable lips curled and he immediately regretted the decision he'd made. "Where did John rush off to? He was quite mysterious."
Blake caught the curiosity in her expression and it spurred him into action. "Ah, merely part of the festivities, my dear." He offered her his arm. "If you would accompany me into the front room, we will start our decorations—or we will once I locate ribbons and other fripperies to adorn the pine boughs."
Where in the hell was he to find such things? His fingers tingled. Magic was needed, but he couldn't use it. Just once—
"I may have some things in my sewing basket." She squeezed his arm, effectively interrupting his musings. "For the rest, take Sarah, go next door and ask Mrs. Abermarle. Be quick or else John will have hauled a whole forest into the house."
He followed her gaze. Sure enough, John burst through the back door with his little arms filled with pine branches, pinecones and every other manner of outdoor detritus that had been lying on the ground.
"Good heavens, lad. I fear we will not have room for all of this bounty." He relieved the boy of his burden and deposited it near the foot of the stairs. "You children come with me. We need to beg decorations from Mrs. Abermarle and maybe a cookie or two."
John hopped up and down while a tiny smile lit Sarah's face.
Blake's heart melted a little more. God, these kids needed happiness poured over them to make up for the wealth of sadness they'd seen in their short lifetimes.
They needed compassion—all of them did.
Twenty minutes later saw them returned home with plenty of red silk ribbons and sparkling balls to tie onto the greenery. Bethany gave them a few scraps of lace and a handful of small, tinkling silver bells.
Silence reigned as they twisted and tied the ribbons into bows, or in Blake's and John's case, tried hard not to create lumpy knots with the fabric. Even though Bethany maintained patient decorum, a fat bough sported three wads of red ribbon that more resembled berries than bows.
"Mr. Wenchal?" Sarah tugged at his hand. "Your branch looks like a mistletoe. Will you hang it over the fireplace?"
He looked. "You are a very smart little girl. It does have that feel." After handing the child his bough, Blake went into the kitchen then brought out one of the wooden chairs. "No one climb on this until I return." With a sense of Christmas on his mind, he sprinted down the hall. Fumbling with the key ring, he found the correct key, unlocked the door and pushed it open. No one followed, for which he was grateful as his ears had lengthened in his enthusiasm enough to show their points.
Taking a few deep breaths, Blake willed his rampaging emotions to settle and his ears to resume their former shape. Once that feat was accomplished, he snagged a couple of nails and a hammer from his workbench then, pulling the door closed behind him, he rejoined his makeshift family.
"I need a volunteer to hold this chair so I don't topple over." He grinned when both children rushed forward. "Very well then." Climbing atop the chair, he took the bough from Sarah's upraised hands. "Shall we put it here?" He barely rested it atop the mantle.
"No, no! That's too low, Mr. Wenchal!" John vibrated with excitement as he wrapped his arms around one of Blake's legs. "You are not a very good elf."
"All right." Blake moved the bow higher and ignored the boy's slip. "What about here?" He repositioned the branch.
"Yes, that is exactly the spot, Mr. Wenchal." Sarah patted the back of his calf.
"Splendid." With a few blows of the hammer, Blake drove a single nail into the wall. "We now have mistletoe over our hearth." He deposited the extra nails into a pocket of his suit coat and laid the hammer on the mantle. "It is officially time to welcome the holiday season into our home."
When both of the children let out whoops of joy and danced about the room, Blake jumped from the chair, grinning. This was what he'd been missing. Laughter. Gaiety. Merriment.
Family.
"You picked just the right place for the decoration." Bethany smiled. "Thank you for the extra effort."
Oh, God.
Blake swallowed in an attempt to assuage his suddenly dry throat.
In the plain wool skirt and conservative white blouse trimmed with lace, with her eyes shining from gratitude and her lips parted with a smile, not only was she beautiful, but she was also tempting beyond reason.
He had to remember his promise. No more hardship for her. No more guilt that would compromise her enjoyment of the holiday.
But, oh, how hard it would be to remain a good and proper gentleman, especially when his arousal wanted to be very wicked throughout the night.
"Mr. Wenchal." Little hands tugged on the hem of his coat.
"Yes, John?" He tore his gaze away from the vision that Bethany made and looked down into the upturned face framed by flyaway curls. He had a smudge of sap on his chin. He leaned closer to the boy.
"You are 'posed to kiss a girl under the mistletoe."
A flush warmed the back of Blake's neck. "What about you, lad? You are standing under it the same as me."
John scoffed. "I am not kissing anyone." He crossed his arms over his small chest. "You have to kiss Aunt Bethany on the cheek."
"Why your aunt? Why not Sarah?"
The look John shot him spoke volumes. "You are a grown up. Sarah is not."
"Ah, I see." Clear as mud. "I think perhaps it is your bedtime. We shall save the kissing for another time."
A much later time—and one where no children lingered under foot to complicate an embrace he knew would not end with a chaste peck on the cheek.
He sacrificed another piece of his heart. When they left after Christmas, he would be the one who suffered the most.
Chapter Seven
Two days had passed since they decorated the house with pine. Blake had been nothing but charming and helpful with the children, and would scarcely allow her to lift a finger in their care. Skeptical at first, Bethany relaxed by increments as she watched how genuinely he acted with them, as if he truly cared what became of them past the Christmas holiday.
Glad for the respite, she had used her time wisely and finished the embroidery for Sarah's gift as well as re-sewed the seams of John's favorite stuffed bear. She'd even embroidered a brand new nose on the fellow as well as repaired a rip in a foot. Such would be their Christmas gifts this year, but at least the children were warm, dry and properly fed.
For a little while.
A lump of sadness closed her throat. She swallowed and kept her focus on the pot of vegetable soup on the stove. At any moment Blake would bring the children home from their outing to the bank and other amusements. A thin thread of jealousy warred with thankfulness.
What gave him the right to usurp her place with the children? Then she wavered. He took time off from his job to see that they were entertained and happy. How many men would do this?
Not many. That fact settled in her heart and warmed her from within. Blake was different from anyone she'd ever known, but her reserve due to their arrangement kept her emotions in check.
He did not want this life. It could very well be an act to coax her into his bed.
And that hurt the most.
/> When their little pretend family collapsed after the holiday, none of them would walk away unscathed. Hearts were attached, hers included. As much as she wanted to know the secret he kept carefully hidden, her interest in Blake didn't hinge on the knowing. He was simply the man who brought life back to her days.
Why couldn't he want her, not because he was paying for her services, but her as a woman? Not for the first time did she wish for her own Christmas miracle.
Refusing to dwell on things beyond her control, Bethany clapped a lid on the soup pot, draped a clean towel over the freshly baked bread and had no sooner began icing John's long-yearned for chocolate cake when a heavy knock sounded on the front door.
By the time she reached it, the knocks had become insistent blows. Moving into the front room, she yanked it open and frowned upon seeing an unfamiliar man on the porch. "May I help you?"
"I would like to speak with Blake. Is he available?"
"No, I am sorry. I expect his return soon." She cocked her head to one side. The man was taller than Blake, probably more than six feet. Large shoulders and a barrel-like chest tricked the mind into believing he would move slowly, but when he shoved his way past her into the house, she revised her opinion.
A glimmer of recognition niggled her brain. She'd seen him before at the restaurant. He was the man dining with Blake the first night she met him. Andrew. She never did quite catch his surname. "Perhaps you did not hear me correctly. Blake is not here."
"Oh, I heard you." He swung around to face her. A lecherous grin curled his thick lips and gave him the air of a villain from one of the scandalous novels she loved. "You're that bird Blake paid for." He removed his hat and tossed it onto the sofa.
"I beg your pardon?" Despite the cold air that poured in through the half-open doorway, she refused to close it while the intruder remained. In the event that she needed to call for help since she couldn't remove the man by force, she needed the security that Mrs. Abermarle could hear her cries for help.
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