No Groom at the Inn: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novella by Megan Frampton Page A

night?”
    Oh, right. By taking her hand and placing it on his bicep, which was hard and large and made her feel all sorts of prickly things inside.
    “You did.” No need to express her continued doubt. He would likely just hoist the tree over his shoulder to prove her wrong.
    “Bring the saw over, I’ll have the tree down in no time.”
    Sophronia handed him the saw, then watched as he started the process.
    A half hour later, he was in only his shirtsleeves, his hair was tangled and damp, and he was still sawing.
    She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a gloriously visceral sight in her life.
    “There,” he said at last, just in time for her to jump out of the way. The tree landed with a thump, sending whirls of snow flying up into the air.
    “Now all we have to do is get it back to the house.”
    “Good thing that’s all we have to do,” Sophronia commented dryly.
    But she had to admit she was wrong—gloriously, sweatily, strenuously wrong.
    He dragged the tree while she walked alongside, holding his jacket and cravat. She felt awash in his scent, a warm, strong aroma that just seemed essentially him.
    He’d rolled his sleeves up, and she couldn’t stop darting glances at his forearms—strong, of course, and sprinkled with brown hair.
    “Let’s sing, shall we?” he said, startling her out of her perusal of said arms.
    “What? But don’t you need your breath to—?”
    He shook his head in mock outrage. “You doubt me, Sophycakes. I can drag a tree and sing at the same time. I am very talented.”
    She had to laugh at that. “Fine, then. What shall we sing?”
    “A holiday carol, of course. Have you no imagination?”
    I’ve got plenty, she wanted to reply. Enough to think about what it would feel like if you wrapped me in those strong arms of yours and kissed me senseless. And did other things I know about, but am too embarrassed to discuss even in the confines of my own brain.
    “Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,” he began to sing, and of course he had a lovely voice, all resonant and rich and thrilling.
    She joined him, not nearly as shy about singing out loud because it was with him, and he just made her feel so comfortable, even though he also made her feel all prickly and odd and wanting.
    “Y es, your tree is definitely the best, Mr. Archer.” For once, Sophronia didn’t begrudge the woman’s definitive way of speaking. It was a few hours later, and Jamie had unfortunately had a bath and gotten properly dressed again. The rest of the party had returned, each team having retrieved a tree for Mrs. Green’s inspection.
    None were as large or as robust as theirs. Of course. Because none of the team members was as large or as robust as Jamie himself.
    “And you may take anyone you wish under the mistletoe,” Mrs. Green continued. Jamie glanced her way, a mischievous look in his eye. “Except for your own team member,” she added, and Sophronia wanted to laugh at how startled he looked at that, and he looked at her again, only this time it was in shock and a mild expression of horror.
    “Mrs. Archer, do come and stand just here,” Sophronia said, taking the older woman by the arm and guiding her under the mistletoe.
    Jamie met her gaze and smiled, a thankful, relieved smile that made her feel all warm and useful.
    “Oh, but what about the other young ladies?” Mrs. Archer expostulated, even though she went to the correct spot willingly enough.
    “None are as deserving of a holiday kiss as you, Mother,” Jamie replied smoothly, looking down at her fondly. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, then shot one last thankful look at Sophronia.
    “And now that is done, we will all go rest for a bit and then meet again at dinner. We will have the tree decorated, and then we can play some more games and sing carols.” Mrs. Green looked directly at Sophronia. “We all need to look our best.”
    Thus commanded, Sophronia returned to her bedroom, thinking about