It seemed her decision to return to London early was a good one. She’d leave the day after Christmas.

She had a gift for Gregory after all: the date of her departure. Only it wasn’t one he wanted.

Chapter 9

Since they hadn’t seen each other on Christmas Eve, Gregory was overcome with anticipation for his appointment with Evie on Christmas morning. He’d arrived at the cottage early and lit fires in the parlor and bedroom. He’d brought one of Ash’s cushions from his bedchamber at Witney Court and situated it in the parlor. Gregory had made sure to bring Ash’s favorite treat and a new rope toy that he’d got yesterday. They ought to keep him busy while Gregory and Evie were occupied.

As soon as she’d arrived, they’d fallen on each other and diverted straight to the bedchamber. Despite his plans for a slow, methodical coupling, they’d both reached their climaxes swiftly. He had no regrets, however, as it had been delightfully sensual.

Now they sat on a blanket in the parlor with Ash between them as he gnawed on his rope. Evie had donned her chemise and thrown a shawl over her shoulders. Her brown hair glimmered with gold in the firelight, a smile teasing her lips while she watched their dog.

“Are you ready for your gift?” Gregory asked.

“I suppose, but I still wish you hadn’t done it.”

“Nonsense. You’re going to thank me.” He’d put his breeches and shirt back on and now jumped up to retrieve her present.

He dashed into the kitchen where he’d set it on the table, then quickly returned to her. Sitting on the blanket, he handed her the gift wrapped in a red ribbon.

She gasped upon seeing it, lifting her hand to her open mouth. Her gaze lifted briefly to his before dropping once more to the portrait of Ash he’d drawn.

“It’s Ash.” She touched the frame. “I love it ever so much.” She looked at Ash and scratched his head. He did not stop his chewing for even a moment. “Did you draw this?” she asked, her eyes meeting Gregory’s again.

He nodded. “I’m better at buildings, but it’s passable. I’d wanted to commission a painting, but there wasn’t time.”

“It is far more than passable.” She set the portrait on the edge of the blanket. “You’ve a talent. Perhaps you should consider architecture.”

“I may, but I think a government appointment is my preference. I’d like to be of service. Sometimes I think I should have bought a commission, but my mother rather vehemently insisted I follow the church instead, and I admit I preferred that.”

“There’s service in the church,” Evie said.

“Yes, that’s why I went along with my parents’ wishes.” He picked up his tankard and sipped the ale she’d poured earlier.