Page 103 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

“There is no such thing as ghosts or angels,” Rosalind the eldest informed Imogen, folding her arms. “You are the new governess,” she said with conviction.

Rosalind was at the age where a young girl began transitioning into womanhood. Imogen remembered it well from her life. It was a confusing yet exhilarating time but also one filled with sadness for Imogen, she could see parts of herself in Rosalind.

“Shouldn’t you be dressed for breakfast?” Penny asked, leaning on the bed. “Grandmother says that a lady should not linger abed.”

Imogen laughed, finding each of the girls delightful to be around. “Your grandmother is correct.” She swung her legs over the bed. “We all should indeed get dressed.”

She started to say more on the matter of dressing when a soft knock stilled her tongue. The door opened, and there he was.

Cornelius filled the threshold like the frame had been carved for him. His red waistcoat hugged the breadth of his chest, tapering to the strength of his lean waist. Shadows played across his features, rich brown skin, strong jaw brushed with stubble, and lips that she longed to kiss.

His dark gaze swept the room, landing on each of her intruders, before settling on her. The weight of it setting fire to her skin.

“Excuse the interruption of what I’m certain is a riveting inquisition,” he said, lingering at the threshold.

“Good morning, Corneli—my lord,” Imogen corrected herself, dipping her head in greeting.

She rose from the bed, aware of the state of her hair. Discreetly, she tried running her fingers through it but was sure she’d only made it worse.

After their night together, she yearned to be near him, to confess everything to him—what she was and why she was there. There was a part of her that wanted him to know her, the woman she was, not the angel that needed her wings.

To him, the previous evening was no more than a fevered dream, yet Imogen could still see remnants of the confusion in his dark eyes.

She remembered every detail like it was her own life.

“Your nieces were just trying decide who or what I am,” she told him, clutching her trembling fingers in front of her.

The modest dressing gown Mrs. Martin had kindly gifted her brushed her ankles, its soft cotton caressing her skin. It was demure, yet far less revealing than the chemise he’d seen clinging to her curves after their plunge in the lake.

Cornelius’s gaze lingered on her briefly, long enough to send her pulse racing through her veins. He calmly shifted his gaze to the four culprits at her bedside.

“Were they now?” His voice poured through the room like silk, smooth, decadent, and entirely too dangerous. “What was the verdict?”

“She’s an angel!” Emmy declared, her curls bouncing as she ran to him and leapt into his arms.

He caught her easily, the movement fluid and well-practiced.

Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, he smiled, the expression struck like sunlight shifting through the clouds.

It was a rare smile that was filled with love and tenderness.

It gleamed so bright that it was difficult to behold, yet Imogen could not turn away.

“An angel?” he asked, his eyes finding hers again. The corner of his mouth curved, but his gaze was unwavering. “She is indeed,” he said softly, the words a revered.

Imogen tried to pull her gaze from his, but it was impossible for her to ignore how he called to a part of her that had never blossomed in life.

Perhaps if she’d lived past her twenty-sixth year, she would’ve found love, but she did not.

A family, husband, and children of her own was never her destiny.

But saving Cornelius, giving him more time with his nieces, that was what she was meant to do, and then she would earn her wings.

She’d waited a hundred years for her wings, yet somehow it wasn’t all she wanted anymore.

“Happy birthday, Uncle,” Rosalind said, happily throwing her arms around his waist.

“It’s your birthday!” Emmy rejoiced in his arms.

Darkness shadowed his face, but he hid it well, his lips forming a grim smile that did not reach his eyes.

The curse.

Clarence had given her little detail on the Latchwood curse.

Imogen tried not to allow the truth to detour her from the mission.

There was a small part of her that longed to save him from the curse.

It was cruel to her, for him to be saved from his own choices but not from an ancient curse that was not of his own making.

“Will we have sweets to celebrate?” Penny asked, walking from the other side of the bed, where she and Clara had perched.

“Cake!” Clara jumped excitedly, before she too went to her uncle’s side, her small hand slipping in his. “Happy Birthday!”

They all stood around him, beaming as if he’d hung the moon himself. The trust and love in the girls’ eyes moved Imogen so deeply that she could not help but to think of her father.

He’d raised her after her mother died, when so many other fathers would have disposed of their daughters by giving them to a relative or another family. But not her papa. He’d raised Imogen and cared for her just as her mother would’ve wanted.

“Yes, we shall have sweets.” Cornelieus set Emmy down on her small bare feet. “Now run along girls and let Jenny get you all dressed for the day.”

“Is she the new governess?” Rosalind asked, pointing to Imogen.

“She is my guest, and I expect you all to treat her kindly,” he instructed his nieces, who all nodded their agreement.

One by one, the girls left the room, Clara running ahead of the pack and Emmy taking up the rear.

Imogen smiled, her heart full and overflowing at the sight of such happiness. “They truly love you, Cornelius.”

Leaning against the wooden door frame, he shrugged one shoulder. His long legs were crossed over each other, a sad smirk on his lips. “I went in search of my nieces,” he said cooly. “When I could not find them, I had hoped that perhaps you had kidnapped them.”

She laughed wholeheartedly, her body shaking with the weight of it, head thrown back. She could not remember the last time she’d laughed. It felt wonderful. “I’m afraid not.” She wiped her eyes.

“If you continue to laugh at my jokes, I may need to persuade you to stay,” he teased.

Imogen tried to combat the heat that was suddenly caressing her neck and cheeks, but it was impossible to escape.

Her breath caught when her gaze locked with his.

All the air in the room had disappeared.

The urge to go to him nearly had her stumbling forward, but he was her assignment, nothing more.

“I will be gone in six days,” she said, reminding herself more than him.

Spending the short time with him and the girls had felt more like she was a part of their family, than an angel sent to save them.

He cleared his throat before he stood upright, breaking their connection. “Must you leave? I’m sure the girls would love to interrogate you more.”

Her cheeks heated, a giggle escaping her lips.

What was happening to her?

“I wish I could stay, Cornelius,” she whispered, the words cemented on her heart. “But I must return to where I belong.”

The idea of staying with him and the girls was not possible for her, but there was a small part of her that longed to stay with them…with him.

“Very well. I will leave you to dress, my mother and her husband are leaving shortly. I very much would like you to meet her.”

“I’d like that, and then I’m going to make you a birthday cake.” She clapped her hands; the idea of baking again settled the chaos brewing in her mind.

Imogen and her mother often would spend hours baking and talking. She’d treasured that time they’d spent together once her mother died.

“I can’t ask you to bake me a cake,” he protested, taking a step closer to her.

“You didn’t ask me. I insist.” She tilted her head, challenging him.

“Very well.” He gave her a soft hesitant smile, staying far longer than what was required of him.

Imogen waited for him to say something. No doubt the encounter the previous evening still weighed heavily on his mind. If she were in his position, she was not sure she would believe it had been a dream.

After a long, drawn-out silence, he cleared his throat and then exited the room. She sighed, hand to her chest, where her heart was beating wildly.

Six days.

Six days and she would be free of the handsome, kind earl. She would celebrate him, show him what a wonderful life he had, and then she would leave forever.

There was no other outcome. He was human and she was an angel.