Page 106 of Depraved Boys

Sebastian lay at my side and pressed a kiss on my lips. “How are you feeling?”

“Fantastic.” I kissed him back. “But that wasn’t a bed bath.”

Leopold crawled up my body and peppered kisses at the juncture of my neck and shoulders. “You’ve clearly missed the moral of the story.”

“Which is?” I asked.

He kissed a trail up my neck and along my jawline. “One way or another, Little Red Riding Hood always gets eaten.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The daily bed baths continued, growing in intensity each day as my health improved. Sebastian and Leopold also took time to escort me around the grounds, helping me regain lost strength, and they brought my books from the academy, so I could catch up on the week of work I had missed.

A few days after we had installed ourselves in the treehouse, a middle-aged couple arrived at the door with bags of shopping. Sebastian walked down to their Land Rover and helped them carry the rest of the supplies back to the treehouse.

I sat on the sofa, enjoying a somewhat ticklish reflexology massage from Leopold. “What’s this?” I whispered.

“Christmas dinner,” said Leopold.

“Aren’t you going to spend it with your family?”

“I avoid them when I can.”

“Oh.” My brows drew together. On the surface, it sounded callous, considering Sebastian had lost all but one family member to a plane crash, and I’d lost Mom and Dad to a car accident and Ashley to betrayal.

Leopold kept his gaze on my feet, seeming to focus on his task. When he glanced up and met my eyes, a frustrated breath huffed out of his nostrils. “You probably think I should be grateful to have parents, but my family situation isn’twhat anyone would call loving or traditional.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The door opened, bringing in a gust of cold air, and Sebastian walked in with the middle-aged man. Both held huge boxes. I cringed at the thought of them walking up icy tree trunks with heavy items.

Leopold raised my feet off his lap and stood. “Do we have the right kind of spirit this year to set the Christmas pudding alight?”

A feminine giggle made me glance at the doorway. The middle-aged woman clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Mr. Brunswick! What you need to do is get the spirit good and hot, then you set it alight.”

“So you pour flaming spirits on the pudding, then?”

“Yes, sir. Remember that this year, or you’ll have to do with mince pies and custard again.”

“That’s where you went wrong,” muttered Sebastian.

“I’ve brought whiskey and brandy from the cellar along with a selection of red and white wines. Is there anything else you need?”

Shaking his head, Leopold pulled an envelope from the back of his pocket and handed it to the woman. “Thank you, Matilda. Merry Christmas.”

A flush colored her cheeks, and she slipped the envelope in the pocket of her coat. “Thank you, sir.”

After they left, Leopold explained that Hessington House was one of the Brunswick Bank’s corporate homes, which served as a base when the Board of Directors held meetings in the north of England. When I asked why he preferred the hideout to a palatial house, he just smiled and muttered something about enjoying his freedom while he could.

On Christmas Eve, we awoke to dense snow surrounding the treehouse. Leopold finally showed me the staircase at the back of the verandah, and we all went out to build a snowman.

As we packed the snow into large balls and rolled them around the ground to increase their size, it struck me that this was the happiest I’d been since Mom and Dad had died. A lump formed in my throat. This was probably my happiest moment since Mom had told us about her breast cancer diagnosis.

I glanced across the clearing at Leopold and Sebastian, my chest tightening with guilt. Did I deserve to laugh and smile my way through my first Christmas without my family? In all my time at the hideout, I’d only given Uncle Trevor, Aunt Hortense, and my little cousins fleeting thoughts. And I hadn’t spared a single consideration for Ashley.

“What’s wrong?” Leopold placed his arms around my back.

Sebastian turned from his giant snowman and frowned. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, but he didn’t speak. Perhaps he already knew what I was thinking after having experienced many Christmases without his family.