One Wild Winter's Eve by Anne Barton

Author:Anne Barton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2015-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Rose didn’t sleep, and she doubted Charles had either. They lingered in the loft longer than they should have, and yet not nearly long enough.

When the sun’s first rays reflected off the snow and penetrated the cottage’s threadbare curtains, they descended the ladder and dressed. Charles gathered up all the pins he could find on the floor and handed them to her. He had neither a hairbrush nor looking glass in the cottage, so she twisted the heavy length of her hair into a bun at her nape and secured it as best she could. Frowning, she asked, “How is this?”

“Beautiful.” His soft, sincere expression almost made her believe it—in spite of her matted hair, wrinkled gown, and puffy eyes.

It didn’t matter anyway.

The flakes had stopped falling and the wind had ceased blowing, but a foot of fluffy snow covered the ground. Frigid air seeped beneath the door and around the windows, and last night’s crackling fire had turned to cold, gray ash.

Even after Rose slipped on her cloak, she couldn’t help shivering. Charles shrugged into his greatcoat, looked into her eyes, and held her hands in his as though he meant to say something sweet and tender.

So she cut him off. She had to. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather not say good-bye.” If she started crying, she wasn’t likely to stop, and she didn’t want to make this harder than it already was.

He nodded. She’d known he’d understand. He always had.

He left his two bags just inside the door. “I’ll return for these after I see you safely back to the manor house. Ready?”

No, she wanted to scream. And I never will be. But instead of shouting, she summoned all the courage she possessed and gave him a small smile. “Yes.”

She took the hand he offered as he opened the door and followed him across the vast frozen lawn. He packed down the snow, making a path for her, and she tried valiantly not to think of him walking all the way to town in the bitter cold. She tried not to think about Mama’s horrid illness. She tried not to think about anything except putting one foot in front of the other.

Too soon, they reached the servants’ entrance. He stepped aside so that she could walk past him to the door. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but when she would have released his hand, he refused to let go. “Wait.”

She knew gazing into his amber eyes was a bad idea, that it would only prolong the inevitable, and that it would increase the pain for both of them. But she was powerless to deny him.

He grasped her arms and pulled her forward, touching his nose to hers. “Rose, there’s something I must say. I—”

“I need to go.”

“Please. This is no way to—”

Dear God, he was killing her. “Don’t you see? There’s no point in saying anything.”

“Fine.” He clenched his jaw. “No words. But hear this.”

He pressed his lips to hers, lifting her off her feet, and robbing her of breath.

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