Max clapped him on the shoulder, addressing his mother. “Nothing to fear, my lady. We’re still the best of friends.”
She nodded, a wobbly smile gracing her lips.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Will motioned to his mussed clothing as though it was something he cared about and must attend to.
Striding from the room, he took the stairs two at a time, intent on one goal. One female. As long as she was still here, there was a chance—and that’s all he needed to fight.
Once inside her bedchamber, Violet turned in a small circling, feeling suddenly as if she were suffocating. She told herself that she would be gone from this place in a few more days. And yet a few days seemed much too far away. She needed space. Distance. Air to breathe. Tired of being cooped up, she marched toward her armoire and began riffling for her warmest clothes. Garbed appropriately for the elements, she slipped from the room and took the servants’ stairs out of the house. She tromped through the snow to the stables.
The stable lad tried to stop her, but she ignored him as she saddled her own mount, a gentle mare named Daisy. The only thing she could see was Merlton’s face in her mind, watching raptly as Miss Little shared her goat-riding anecdote. If Violet had told such a vapid story would he listen with even a fraction of such interest? Blast the man! Why must she care one way or another?
She was tempted to take Devil for no other reason than irking the earl—assuming he ever peeled himself from Miss Little’s side to notice she had left the room—but she knew that might be pushing the stable lad beyond his limit.
“I won’t go far,” she assured him. “And it’s not yet full dark.”
He gestured helplessly. “Miss, the snow. . . .”
“It has stopped.”
“Aye, but it could begin again. I feel it in my bones. My bones always know.” He bobbed his head insistently. “And you could lose your way out there in all that. The landmarks are—”
“I’ve spent a good amount of time over the last week walking the estate. I am quite familiar with the lay of the land.” She had to leave. She had to get away. She didn’t care if it was bitter cold. She couldn’t stand another minute in that house whilst Merlton courted another heiress. Would he use the same words? Would he tell her just how good they could be together? Blast! Fire scraped the back of her neck and crept over her ears.
“Allow me to saddle up my mount and accompany you.”
Using the block, she mounted Daisy with sure movements, relishing the feel of a horse beneath her. She missed this. This was familiar. Safe. An earl with silvery blue eyes and a devil’s tongue was not. She looked down at the stable lad. “That’s not necessary. I’m an accomplished rider. I will be back shortly.” She just needed a little air. Space and distance. Another moment beneath that roof walls while the earl courted his new heiress and she might go mad.
He twisted his cap in his hands, still looking uncertain and she smiled down at him with the same smile she bestowed on Papa when she wanted to win her way. It rarely failed her.
He relented, although still looking unhappy. “Please don’t be long, Miss.”
“I promise. I’ll be back soon.” Nodding, she lifted her scarf high against her throat and dug in her heels.
She rode out from the stables, determined that a brisk ride would help her forget. At least for a little while she could forget herself. And the earl who filled too much of her thoughts.
“What do you mean she left?” Will waved a hand toward the partially open doors through which he had just passed. It had begun to snow again, and a screen of white fell at a sharp angle outside the stables.
After searching the house for Violet and finding no sign of her, he had decided to check the stables, recalling the first night he met her. He knew how much she enjoyed the horses. She was bold enough to brave the cold and visit Devil again. It would be like her not to shy away from the bitter weather. Or a stallion that bites. The girl was fearless. Or at least she put up a brave front. It’s what drew him to her—her flashing eyes and bold words. And made him want to wring her neck.
“I tried to tell her. . . .”
Will did not stand around to listen further. He made short work of mounting Devil, a dark fury brewing inside him. The reckless fool. What did she think she was doing?
“Inform His Grace and Lord Camden I’ve gone after Miss Howard,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Not a word to my mother. She will only worry. Banbury will do what he deems best.”
He guided Devil from his stall. Tom hastened to pull the door wider for him.
“Careful, my lord. Visibility is right poor in this weather.”
Precisely why Violet had no business riding out into it. He nodded curtly. He wasn’t worried for himself. Blinded by snow or not, he could find his way home.
“Let no one set out after me, Tom. I know this countryside better than anyone else.”
Tom nodded.
He only knew one thing. He would not return empty handed. He’d find Violet or die trying.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
Contrary to what she promised the stable lad, Violet wasn’t finding her way back home any time soon. She accepted this grim fact not half an hour after she departed the stables. It had started to snow again, and by the time she turned back, it was already too late. The sky opened up and unleashed itself.
Everything was doused in white, the snow falling in an opaque curtain, obscuring her vision.
She forced herself to breathe in the bitter, frozen-wet wind, pushing down the panic that threatened to smother her as she scanned the horizon.
Everything looked the same. The snow-draped landscape. The fir trees shrouded in white. The path was gone, eaten up in swirls of wind and writhing snow flurries.
Burrowing into her thick garments, she told herself that she would be well. That this situation was not as desperate as her mind screamed.
Trusting Daisy to have a better sense of where shelter could be, she loosened her grip on the reins and gave the mare its lead, telling herself to have faith in the animal’s instincts since hers had so clearly failed her.
Trust in Daisy . . . in God’s plan. She blinked, trying to shake off the clumps of white clinging to her lashes as she squinted ahead.
Keep moving. Don’t stop.
As long as she kept moving, Daisy would find the house, they would reach civilization eventually. She convinced herself of this, filling her mind with encouraging words, telling herself she had not sentenced herself to death. She would not die. She still had so much to live for. So much to experience.
The earl’s face—Will—flashed across her mind and for the first time, she did not push the image away. She let him fill her thoughts. She let the rush of his memory give her strength and fill her with a longing ache.
Out of the swirl of wind and snow, a dark blur appeared on the landscape, coming into sharper focus the closer she advanced. Her heart jumped alive, thumping hard against her ribcage. It wasn’t Merlton Hall, but it was shelter.
It was life.
Will scoured the countryside, his shouts gobbled up in the wind and snow, but there was no sight of Violet. He fed the weak hope that she had returned home. That even now she was warming herself by the fire in his drawing room with his mother and sister and Rosalie fussing over her. Still, he pushed on, unwilling to put his faith in that slim shred of hope. There was more countryside he had yet to cover. Until he did, until he’d satisfied himself that he had looked everywhere, he would not return.
The familiar crofter’s cottage loomed ahead. The Jacobsons had vacated the cottage last spring, hoping to find work in the city. Another failure, he had deemed, on his part to properly care for all his tenants.
It occurred to him that if he had happened upon the cottage, Violet might have done so, too. She might have taken shelter within. It was the sensible thing to do. Riding out on the brink of a snowstorm hadn’t been sensible at all, but he wouldn’t put it past her to have a moment of good sens
e. Perhaps her need for self-preservation had kicked in at last.
He quickly led Devil to the barn to investigate, falling back against the wall in relief and scrubbing both hands over his face at finding the familiar mare there, unsaddled in one of the stalls, munching serenely on coarse, long-forgotten hay.
He dismounted and quickly tended to Devil, securing the stallion in another stall while the wind howled outside, knocking at the structure’s walls.
Pulling the collar of his coat high around his ears again, he jogged across the yard, sinking to the middle of his boots. He closed a hand around the latch and pushed the thick door in, entering the cottage, his heart rising up in his throat in that moment, the irrational, remote fears still there, clinging to his clammy-cold skin.
What if he stepped inside an empty room? What if she was still out there? Still lost to him?
Wind and snow swirled inside with him, the door clanging against the interior wall.
She was there. Lips blue-tinged, teeth chattering loudly enough for him to hear where he stood . . . but alive.
He took a long blink, relief rushing over him. His eyes opened, watching her push up with one hand from where she had been kneeling, stoking the fire to life, her eyes wide and luminous in her pale face. The elegant arrangement of hair his mother had complimented her upon at dinner was a thing of the past. Only the remnants of it remained, tumbling in disarray down her shoulders. He preferred it this way. The firelight licked over the thick mass, gilding the damp waves.
He reached for the latch and closed the door, shutting out the moan of wind, reducing it to a mere whispering drone in the world beyond their shelter. The fire was already at work, creating a toasty haven from the winter raging just outside.
He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, feeling its tremble and knowing it was a release of his anxiety. Another emotion took its place, snaking over him, eating its way into muscle and bone, heating his blood to a steady simmer.
Anxiety faded, and fury replaced it.
“M-My lord? How did you find me?” Her gaze jumped from him, flicking to the single bed in the modest dwelling, a reminder that she had likely never stood near a bed and a man simultaneously. Flags of color marred her cheeks and she suddenly became fascinated with the toes of her boots.
“Will,” he said, the growl of his voice unrecognizable to his ears. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this angry with another human being. Not even upon his father’s death, when he learned the extent of damage his sire had wrought upon the family’s finances, had he felt this level of fury.
“I told you to call me Will.” Of all the things he could have said, this was the only thing that stuck, the only words he could manage. It struck him as ridiculous . . . annoying and insulting that she would still address him by his title. Especially considering they would marry. More than ever now he was determined that this would happen. Someone had to keep her from killing herself. Clearly, she needed him. Now it was time to make her realize that.
He glanced around the cottage. It would be their accommodation for the night. Perhaps longer, depending on the storm. She must realize that this would require they marry.
He faced her again. Those wide, unblinking eyes of hers looked him over. He glanced down, following her gaze. The dark of his cloak was hidden beneath the powder of white covering him. Even now he could feel the snow seeping into his pores from his soaked garments. She could be no better. She’d hung her cloak on a peg near the door, but he could see her dress hung heavy with damp upon her shivering body. The fabric molded perfectly to her breasts and his gut stirred with an emotion other than fury.
He removed his cloak, unbuttoning it and flinging it from his shoulders. He hung it on the peg near the door and then started on the buttons of his waistcoat, his movements brisk and efficient.
“W-What are you doing?”
“Removing my wet garments. You need to do the same.” He draped his waistcoat over the back of a chair and then pulled his shirt over his head in one motion.
Her eyes widened, and she held out a hand, palm face out. “Please! Stop!”
“Don’t be foolish. Undress.”
Her chin shot up, the familiar fire back in her eyes. “I will not!”
He inhaled swiftly and advanced two steps before forcing himself to stop, curling and uncurling his hands at his sides. “You realize you could have died out there tonight. And for what?”
“It wasn’t that bad when I left—”
“Are you seriously trying to suggest that you used good judgment? That you weren’t foolish?” He waved at her. “You will undress yourself, Violet . . . or I will do it for you.”
Equal parts terror and excitement raced down her spine as Will squared off in front of her, his chest bare, smooth skin stretched tight over firm-looking muscles that beckoned her questing fingers.
She’d never been alone with a near-naked man and in such proximity to a bed before. It was scandalous, but she was certain the circumstances would forgive the breach in impropriety. As long as nothing improper occurred between them. As long as they maintained a respectable distance—and she remained clothed at all times.
She moistened her lips. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He sank down into a chair and tugged off his boots. “Have you noticed that we’re both wet and freezing with naught but that fire and these walls to keep us from freezing to death?” His boots thunked to the floor. He looked back at her. “And each other. So, yes. I do dare.”
She shook her head. “It’s highly improper—”
“We’re past propriety.” He rose and advanced on her with long strides.
She yelped and ran. Not that there was anywhere to go. At the wall, she stopped and turned, her back digging into the rough-hewn wood.
He halted in front of her, looking mildly bored. His bare chest lifted on a deep breath. “You’re being foolish.”
“Oh, foolish again, am I?” She flung the words out, still stinging over his earlier accusation.
“Yes,” he countered.
“I was doing just fine on my own. I found shelter. Started a fire. You didn’t need to come after me. I don’t know why you did! Shouldn’t you be proposing to Miss Little by now?”
He propped his hands on his waist. “I don’t usually propose to one female once I have already decided to marry another.”
She inhaled, fighting back the small thrill his words gave her. For whatever reason he was fixated on her, he still only wanted her for her dowry. It was tempting to forget that. She couldn’t permit herself to do so. “You cannot mean—”
“You. I mean you. I haven’t changed my mind.”
“I haven’t said yes.” She wouldn’t say yes. “In fact, I’ve said no.”
He folded his arms across his chest. Her eyes roamed the cut of his biceps before snapping back to fasten on his face.
“You think you have much choice now?”
His knowing expression infuriated her. She stamped one foot. “You planned this! You followed me and—”
“Oh, I planned that you would be daft enough to ride out tonight? I planned this snowstorm? I planned for you to find this cottage?”
She shook her head, too angry to admit that she was being unreasonable. “I won’t be forced into marrying anyone. So you can find yourself another heiress! Your Miss Little should do well enough. She appears fond of you.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’re fond of me.”
Oh, the maddening man! “Keep telling yourself that and you’re going to lose out on not one but two heiresses. Your precious Miss Little is going to slip between your fingers if you don’t—”
“You sound jealous.” His smile turned smug. “You don’t need to be.”
“Jealous?” She laughed, but something shaky jumped inside her chest and her face burned hotter. “That’s absurd.”
His hand shot out to circle the back of her neck. Her laughter died at the sensation of his fingers on her neck, pulling her har
d to him, trapping her between him and the wall.
All levity fled his expression. His deep voice roughened as he uttered, “I couldn’t give a bloody damn about Miss Little.”
She shook her head, but his hand tightened on her neck, stopping the movement. His eyes drilled into her, relentless blue. “It’s time we had an understanding, you and I.”
His head descended and the treacherous thought drifted through her head. Finally.
She didn’t have time to examine that sentiment as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was nothing like the one she’d experienced before. There was nothing tentative or gentle or safe about it.
For a moment, she could hardly move, too stunned at the pressure of his mouth on hers, at his chest crushing hers.
He lifted up slightly to growl at her, his eyes flashing, “Open your mouth to me.”
She wasn’t sure if she obeyed because he commanded her to or because the mere boldness of his words made her gasp. Either way, her lips parted and his mouth was back on hers again.
He brought one hand to hold her face, his thumb beneath her chin, tipping her mouth higher for him.
He kissed her bottom lip, then her top lip, briefly pulling it between his teeth. She moaned. His mouth slanted over hers, kissing her deeper. His tongue slid within. He licked along the inside of her mouth. Her hands gripped his shoulders, clinging to him as though she feared he would stop—that he would take this new and exciting thing away from her. His tongue touched hers. Stroked it once. Twice.
“Move your tongue against mine,” he breathed into her mouth.
With a partial nod, she touched her tongue to his. He made a low sound of approval. She felt it vibrate from his chest to hers as she mimicked his kiss, stroking his tongue back.
His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her off her feet, mashing her breasts into his chest—breasts that felt aching and heavy in a way she didn’t know was possible.
Then she was moving. His hard body walked her to the bed, his mouth never breaking from hers. He brought her down on the bed, never parting with her, coming over her.