Page 72 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Jane snorted. “Says the man who sneaks through windows in the dead of night.”

Nico curved lower, so they were almost nose to nose.

“Says the woman who escaped out of a window herself and threatened a duke with memory loss.” Nico cupped the back of her neck and kissed the top of her head.

“No teasing me for window climbing anymore, love. I’ve a growing collection of ammunition to lob back at you. ”

She kissed him, and it ended all too soon. But the moon had been growing dimmer as the sky brightened. Morning was coming. The children would wake.

“What should we do with him, boss?” Cozy Kringle asked.

“I suppose,” Morington said, “you would threaten me if I have your betrothed tossed from the premises?”

Before she could answer, Cozy Kringle shook his head. “Not you.” He nodded at Sir Nicholas. “Yer the boss.”

“Excellent.” Nico straightened his vest. “Then please do remove the duke.”

The Kringles nodded and made for the duke. Two of them each grabbed a ducal arm. He didn’t even struggle, just looked at Jane. His face drooped. His shoulders drooped. If the man had not been acting like an ass since before his arrival, Nico might think sorrow weighed him down.

“Wait!” Jane stopped the Kringles. “Release him. This isn’t right. Not on Christmas Day.”

“He locked you up,” Nico reminded her.

“Dragging him away solves nothing. We have gotten everything we want, but he is still in the same predicament he was in to begin with.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Nico.” She cupped his cheek, raised a brow. The governess from the last year returned, a lecture promised on her pursing lips.

Nico sighed. “Very well. Release him. And”—he pinched the bridge of his nose—“I suppose I can help the fellow find a rich alchemist wife.”

Morington scowled, talked slowly. “I… hadn’t considered that… before.”

“Because you’re a nodcock.” Nico wrapped an arm around Jane’s waist. “Let’s check on the children.” Pink had begun to bleed across the horizon, the bright promise of a new day.

But Jane dragged him down for another kiss, so he wrapped himself around her. This woman. A pillar of warmth on a snowy morning. A heart full of courage on the darkest night.

“Good God, stop,” the duke drawled.

“No,” Nico said against Jane’s lips.

Jane stopped, though, swatting his hands away as he tried to bring her back. “I want Victor to meet the children.” She looked at her brother. “I want you to see what Sir Nicholas has done for them.”

Nico hooked his arm with Jane’s. “As the lady wishes, but”—he met Military Kringle’s gaze over the top of Jane’s head—“keep an eye on the duke, will you?”

The hospital was warm when they stepped inside. The ever-last coals were heating things up nicely. And the children’s voices could be heard coming from the dormitory. Jane lifted glowing eyes to him then ran, lifting her skirts.

When the rest of them caught up to her in the dormitory, she was surrounded, the children crowded round, lifting their little silver toys up for her to see. They were warm and smiling and spilling over with joy.

“See that?” Nico said, poking his elbow into the duke’s ribs.

“That’s what you stopped last year. You had the power to let them keep that joy, but you chose to rip it away instead.

You just think you’re useless. But you have so much power, you can’t see how it turns others’ lives for good or bad.

It’s not money, you bloody fool. Though that’s nice to have about, certainly. ”

“If it’s not money, then what is it?” Morington sneered.

“I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.”

Mr. Jameson had woken and wandered into the dormitory. He must have met Mrs. Tottle in the hallway. They were arm in arm.

The children had begun to disperse. Some were climbing the Kringles like small mountains made for their amusement. Jane wrapped the youngest child up in a blanket and held her before the stove.

Nico joined her about the time Mrs. Tottle did.

“Jane,” the older woman said, her gaze on Mr. Jameson across the room. “You didn’t happen to use that love potion, did you?”

“No.” Jane slipped the bag of potions off her shoulder and handed it to Mrs. Tottle. “Thank you for helping me. I find brewing potions fascinating business. Perhaps I will continue learning.”

“You’ve a knack for it.” Mrs. Tottle rummaged through the bag until she found what she wanted, then she made her way across the room to Mr. Jameson, brandishing the bottle. When she reached him, she whispered in his ear until his eyes went wide. They disappeared upstairs.

Morington circled the room, mouth a grim line, hands clasped behind his back.

Until he bumped into little Susan. She gestured for him to join her, and he knelt, still grim, still looking out of place.

Susan tugged his arm, uncurled his hand, and put something small and silver in his palm.

The toy Nico had given her. The duke shook his head, trying to return the gift, but the little girl insisted, stamping her foot.

Thank you. He could not hear Morington say it, but the words shaped his mouth out of contrariness, slipped it like a whisper into a smile.

Susan grinned and tugged him toward the stove where it was warm.

“Even your brother is smiling,” Nico said.

“Trying to. Seems a bit stiff.”

“Even hope must be practiced.” He stroked a thumb down her cheek and nuzzled her nose with his. He would have kissed her again, but Morington waved an arm about the room.

Which exploded into color. Garlands festooning the windows, snow falling softly from the ceiling and disappearing before it hit the floor, the stove a great, crackling wood fire everyone leapt away from.

The children cheered, and Jane laughed, spinning in a slow circle. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s nothing,” Morington said, sidling up to them, little Susan trailing after him. Heat brushed the tops of his cheeks. “Just an illusion. I can offer nothing of substance.”

“Beauty is substantial,” Nico grumbled, pulling Jane to his side. He didn’t trust Morington. But he could call a truce for Christmas morning. He dipped to kiss her again.

“Oh God, please don’t.” Morington grimaced, cleared his throat. “I expect payment for this pile of bricks. Soon.” He stomped off to a back corner of the dormitory, his little shadow in hot pursuit.

Nico hardly noticed. Saw mostly the look in Jane’s eyes. Felt entirely the softness of her fingertips on his jaw, the warmth of her silver ring there, too. He heard the passion in her voice when she spoke.

“Merry Christmas, Saint Nicholas.”

“Saint?”

“Appears that way to me.”

“Bah.”

“Kiss her, boss!” a Kringle cried.

The children groaned.

Morington groaned louder.

And Nico kissed the woman he loved. She seemed as much a part of him as the silver coursing through him, her passion and fire and love more than he deserved. The magic of her love purer than a snowy Christmas morning.