Delia snuggled closer.
“And you?”
“I’ll survive.” He sighed. “I like my nieces and nephews,” he surprised her by saying but then added, “For the most part.”
“Does your sister really have ten children?” Such a number was unfathomable.
“The oldest, David, is already six and twenty. Lavinia produced a new son about every two years after that. Kyle, then Thomas. Edward, Kelton, Marshal, Adam, Grady, and the twins—who are eight—Gloria and Mary.”
“Your sister is older than you.”
“By eight years.”
What would the holidays be like surrounded by such a large family?
“My grandmother will have invited all her closest friends as well.”
“So, the Christmas celebration will be a lively one,” Delia commented. She envied him.
“My grandmother has a giant heart—too big on some occasions.” He was smiling now.
“So, there are some silver linings there.” Delia pointed out.
“I suppose,” he shifted. “Are you comfortable?”
Delia lay content, his scent in her nostrils, soothed by the rise and fall of his chest. She doubted she’d ever been so comfortable in all her life.
Or that she ever would be again.
“Yes,” she barely managed.
“Good.” He relaxed beside her. “Now, go to sleep.”
But Delia didn’t want to go to sleep. Instead, she wanted to savor this moment. She wanted to experience it for as long as possible.
“Jack?” she said.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Go to sleep.” But she could hear a smile in his voice.
Eight
Jack awoke to sounds filtering through the walls as maids and other patrons began shuffling about the inn. By his estimations, he’d gotten about six hours of sleep.
He usually got by on three or four.
And he was all too aware of the woman curled up beside him, one leg between his and a soft breast just above where his hand rested over her ribcage.
He wasn’t ready to move just yet.
He’d take his leave from her today—insist on giving her some money, enough to get her anywhere in England safely. And as it was his fault she’d lost all her earthly possessions, he’d throw in money she could use to purchase all the items a lady’s companion might need.
Gowns, demure ones—grey, lavender, muted tones—if his memory was correct. Perhaps. And she needed a new coat. And if they carried one, a new valise so she could arrive at her new employer’s looking necessarily proper and dignified.
“Mmm,” Delia hummed and slid her foot along his calf.