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“Miss Gabrielle, Master Hunter, would you like to try some of these cookies? Our Mary makes them and it really is delightful, the way she crafts the little clothes on the men.”

Hunter threw himself onto the sofa and pulled his sister down beside him. “Yes please! I want to bite their heads off!”

“Uncle Rourke says Uncle Demon has a cat, Lady Georgia,” Gabrielle said, full of self-importance as she accepted her plate with a brisk nod of thanks. “I want to meet him. Uncle Rourke says he’s the fattest cat in the world, and very set in his ways. I’m going to be a veterinarian, you know, so I would like to examine him.”

“Well,” began Georgia softly, pouring another cup. “Rajah—who goes by many names in this household, you will find—is enormous, and is rather set in his ways. If you give it…” She glanced at the clock. “Another forty-three and a half minutes, you will get to meet him when he enters the library, jumps up on the window seat, spends nine minutes looking out the window whether the curtains are drawn or not, hops down, and leaves again.”

The twins shared a look of amazed excitement, then burst into laughter. Demon was surprised by the burst of pride he felt when he realized not only had Georgia made herself at home in his home, but she’d memorized his cat’s habits.

Thorne, being Thorne, had already helped himself to some tea and cookies, and moved beside Demon to warm his backside by the fire. As he looked around the library with curiosity, Georgia offered tea to Bull.

The lad—hands still in pockets—rocked back on his heels with a cheeky grin. “Och, nay, but thank ye, Georgia. I promised I’d keep my hands tucked away, ye see.”

When he ended with a wink, Georgia blushed and looked down, busying her hands with pouring herself a cup. Bull’s grin grew.

Beside Demon, Thorne snorted. “That one’s going to be trouble. He’s a charmer, and kens how to get what he wants.”

“Being light-fingered doesnae hurt either,” Demon agreed under his breath.

Thorne sipped at the tea. “Rourke’s sending him to London. Town will either beat some sense into the lad, or Bull will take Society by storm. I’m no’ certain which way to lay my money.”

Bull had been raised at Exingham, mostly by Rourke’s younger sister, but now that she and her husband were raising their own children, Rourke had clearly started to plan for the lad’s future. “Which school did he pick?”

But Thorne just shook his head. “Ye didnae hear? Och, either Rourke is playing his cards close, or yer no’ opening yer mail.” He kept his voice low as he turned to brush aside some of the boughs on the mantel so he could place his cup down. “Pfft, ye ken pine makes me sneeze?”

“Aye,” barked Demon almost cheerfully. “I’m thinking of bringing in more. What mail?”

“Bull’s heading for London—I’m escorting him in January—no’ for school, but to live with his mother.”

Demon raised a brow and lowered his voice to match his friend’s. “His mother?”

“Aye, she and Rourke and Honoria have been in correspondence, and she’s ready for him. I cannae get a read on the lad, though—if he’s excited or nervous.”

Demon hummed under his breath, thinking what a big change this would be for the lad.

Nodding, Thorne turned back for his cup. “London might be ready for him, but is his mother?” As Demon was doubting any mother would be prepared to parent a child she hadn’t seen in ten years, Thorne raised his voice. “I cannae believe ye have piles of branches on yer mantel, Demon. Nature, inside? These things make me itchy.”

Before Demon could agree, Sophia spoke up. “Well, I think this room is just lovely. I’ve never been inside Endymion before, but I can see why this library might be your favorite room.”

Her husband, standing beside her chair, snorted and looked around. “I have, and I’ve never seen the place decorated before. Since when do ye celebrate Christmas, Demon?”

His niece shook her head. “The pagan tradition of bringing in greenery stems from Druidic celebrations in Germany.”

Rourke’s expression was typically bland as he raised a brow. “So ye’re a practicing Druid now, Demon?”

Before Demon could speak—and aye, he was willing to take the blame—Georgia placed her cup on the table before her.

“Baron Endymion allowed me to continue one of my favorite holiday traditions, Your Grace—Rourke. This is the only room we have decorated, but I do so enjoy it.”

Sophia was admiring the tree. “It’s simple, but I love what you’ve done with the ribbon and cranberry strings. Perhaps we could make something like that with the children, darling.”

Her husband was still staring at Demon. “We decorated, hmmm? Did ye sing carols while ye hung the ornaments?”

Would it kill ye to admit that, aye, ye did, and aye, ye enjoyed it? Because ye were with Georgia?

But Demon scowled, knowing the bastard was teasing. “Leave it be, ye foo—.”

Georgia blurted, “I misspoke, and I apologize for it.” She was trying to protect him, foolish woman. “Demon, of course, barely tolerates my presence, much less my decorations. He sat there and glared at me as I did the decorating.”