Page 46 of Cruel Hearts

No dogs, no druggies, and no henchmen. Just me and Mr. Burgh—my grandfather. I didn’t know it was possible to love someone I’d met a mere three months ago, but the old man had captured my heart and wrapped it in a satin bow.

He told me stories of how he had celebrated Christmas with his family, of his childhood and his early days as the headmaster, which made me laugh out loud. And he popped open a bottle of champagne.

Later, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Campbell arrived with a bottle of whiskey. She had loosened her Professor McGonagall bun into a less severe updo with loose tendrils framing her face. Delicate ruffles lined the lapels of her usual tweed jacket.

Mr. Burgh cleared his throat. “Mrs. Campbell came to wish us a merry Christmas.”

I kept all traces of mirth off my face. Even though they addressed each other by their titles and kept a professional distance, any fool could tell she had missed him at the dining table.

“This is for you.” She handed me a book-sized package.

“Thank you.” I pulled the wrapping paper off to reveal a copy of Everything is Figureoutable, which featured a young woman striking a fierce pose. “Wow.”

“It comes highly recommended by Oprah Winfrey.”

“It’s much appreciated, Miss.” I smiled at the deputy headmistress and held up an empty champagne glass. “Will you stay for a Christmas tipple?”

Mrs. Campbell’s eyes softened. With a soft chuckle, she said, “I wouldn’t say no to a wee sip.”

I picked up the bottle and poured the older woman a large helping of champagne.

It looked like I wasn’t the only one who would get a Christmas snog.

Chapter 17

Things became even warmer at the Burgh household after Christmas. Mrs. Campbell joined us in the living room for high tea on Boxing Day, where I served pheasant sandwiches. She brought a light and fluffy Victoria sponge cake, which she had made in the morning.

As the older woman explained that she didn’t have much of an opportunity to cook since her husband had died, I wondered if I was a chaperone or a third wheel and cramping their style.

The doorbell rang, and I sprang to my feet. I hoped it was Orlando, but even if it was one or both of the twins, I’d invite them in to even up the numbers. At the front door, I smoothed down my hair and practiced looking used to having gentlemen callers.

Gideon stood at the doorstep, looking pensive in his navy blue overcoat.

With a frown, I stepped aside and let him in. “I thought you were spending Christmas with Lachlan.”

The corner of Gideon’s lips curled into a smile. “Let’s just say there was an incident where I stood under the mistletoe with both Lachlan and Francesco.”

My jaw dropped. I shouldered on my winter coat, kicked off my shoes and slipped on a pair of Uggs. “Gideon’s here,” I shouted into the hallway. “We’re going out for a walk.”

His brows rose, but he didn’t comment until I ushered him out of the house, down the stairs, and across a courtyard of shin-deep snow. Freezing wind blew the scent of pine trees down the driveway, but at least it had stopped snowing.

“Mrs. Campbell’s visiting,” I said as we walked through the gates. “I didn’t want tales of lewd conduct drifting into the ears of the headmaster and deputy headmistress.”

After turning right, we walked in the middle of the driveway, which someone had kindly cleared and salted. Waist-high mounds of snow piled against the fence on our right and to our left lay paddocks with snow gathered on the tops of the wooden fences.

Gideon adjusted his cashmere scarf. “We did more than just kiss.”

I looped my arm through his. “You were the pig in a spit roast?”

“Must you speak in such vulgar terms?” he said.

“How would you describe it, then?”

Gideon stuck his nose in the air. “Ménage à trois.”

The perfect French pronunciation made me cackle like the wicked witch of the west.

“Do I need to throw a cup of water over you?”