For the first time, Cressmouth’s endless winter felt less charming and more simply…cold.

Noelle tried to keep her shaking fingers from gripping too hard as she looped her arm through Silkridge’s and allowed him to escort her—and the partridge—to the aviary.

The bird was cozily ensconced in a covered wicker basket hanging from the duke’s other arm. Noelle felt significantly less stable. Of the two, her fluttering heart seemed more likely to fly from her chest than the bird from the basket.

It was a quarter to twelve. Within the next half hour, Silkridge would deposit the bird in the aviary, break the bottle of champagne, and be gone.

“Are you ready?” she whispered.

She wished she hadn’t spoken. She already knew the answer.

“Yes,” he said with a quick glance to ensure the safety of the bird inside the basket.

Noelle was not ready. She doubted she would ever be. All she could think about was the incredible kiss they had just shared. It had transported her out of the greenhouse, out of the castle, into a world of fantasy where nothing could keep them apart.

She supposed she could have delayed him artificially. He did not know her bosom friend was an expert on birds. He had not asked for her help. If anything, he had seemed perturbed that his grandfather’s will had thrown them together in such a fashion. At first.

Now she was uncertain what to think.

She had no doubt that he desired her. His ardent kisses had proven that. Nor could she doubt that he liked her. He had agreed to a sleigh ride, attended a holiday play, wore her scarf about his neck. But such moments were far from enough.

His kisses made her want more. To keep Cressmouth, to keep him, to have it all.

She wanted him to want to stay. To choose her. Having him be part of her life, part of her home, a part of her heart…

For a moment, when he had captured her in his arms, she had thought it possible. That their connection was unbreakable. That perhaps she could keep him.

But of course she could not.

Her lips twisted at the irony. A debutante would rejoice if the gentleman she fancied was a duke. For a title-less orphan like Noelle, it meant she and Silkridge were more than star-crossed. Their futures were predetermined. This forbidden spark between them might lead to a bedchamber, but never to the altar.

His was a world of power and riches and political alliances. He could not marry her if he wished to. Besides, was that even a life she would want? Noelle would never be accepted amongst those of his class. Here in Cressmouth, she was more than accepted. She was part of a family.

A distant roar of voices met their ears before the source came into sight.

He slanted her a startled look. “Is there a disturbance?”

“There’s a party.” Noelle did not feel like celebrating. She forced herself to smile anyway. “I had bills posted across town, remember?”

His expression was dubious. “How many people would choose to attend the grand opening of a one-bird aviary?”

“All of them.” She pointed as the queue came into view.

A long line of laughing, wind-flushed faces snaked over every inch of the snow-covered garden and down the street.

“This crowd could fill Vauxhall,” he said with a chuckle.

The thought caused a pain in Noelle’s chest. She had never seen Vauxhall. Never wanted to before. But she suddenly could not put the thought of being there with Silkridge out of her mind. Or the thought of him being there with someone else.

He paused just before they came into full view of the crowd and turned to face her.

“Our time is almost over,” he said softly.

It always was. They were never granted more than stolen moments. She swallowed hard. “Do you remember what happened five years ago?”

“Our first kiss?” His warm gaze was intent on hers. “I’ve never forgotten.”

Neither would she. This was torture.

“Why do you hate Christmas?” she whispered.

It was not the real question she meant, but much easier to ask than why do you keep leaving me?

His expression closed. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

Her voice trembled. “Was it because we—”

He grabbed her hand and placed it to his chest.

“It has nothing to do with you,” he said roughly. “My father and I had a reason to despise Christmas time since the year I was born. Losing him just gave me another reason. My grandfather’s castle, this picturesque holiday village… You are the best thing in it.”

She drew in a shuddering breath and dared to hope.

“Could you stay?” she whispered. “If there was a reason?”

As she gazed up at him, church bells began to ring the hour. Her stomach twisted. Noon. The magic was over.

He took her hand from his chest and placed it back on his elbow. “I cannot stay, no matter how many reasons I find. I belong in London, in the House of Lords. My duty is to Parliament.”

She nodded dumbly. She could not hope to compete against a love of country.

She had just hoped there might be room for her, too.