The horses, it seemed, were also pleased with the idea of returning and as they neared the estate, he let them trot back down the road and up the drive. He gazed up at the manor as they neared it. Light blazed from the windows, pouring out onto the snow-laden garden. He could not recall when it had seemed to welcome him as it did. He jumped down, reaching up to help Miss Rothwell down.
“Thank you,” she murmured softly as his fingers closed around hers.
“My pleasure,” he whispered.
Miss Rothwell gazed into his eyes and for a moment he forgot all about where they were. The coachman had come out to lead the horses into the stable, and he could hear a distant coach approaching, but all he could think of was her closeness, her flushed cheeks and those bright eyes, full of wonder and excitement.
He rested his hands on her shoulders, holding her gaze. Snowflakes fluttered down to settle in her hair. She smiled at him, and in that instant, Callum lost his breath, his heart swelling with joy and longing as he looked into her eyes.
Miss Rothwell glanced towards the door, and Callum, reluctant to break the moment, reached out to take her hand. His mother and her coach party were already there, divesting themselves of soaking wet coats and bonnets, stamping snow off their boots.
“We will retire to the drawing-room,” she announced as they entered the space, though whether she was speaking to Callum or to her other guests, he was unsure. She was ignoring him, untying her bonnet to pass to the butler. “I shall order chocolate to be served.”
Callum smiled. Chocolate—with its rich warmth and velvety texture—would be most welcome after the cold snowy trip.
The other guests chattered excitedly about the prospect and the sights they had just seen. Callum gazed at Miss Rothwell as she undid her bonnet, shaking out her damp hair. It had come loose, and he drew in a breath, staring at the beauty of her. She saw him looking and looked away, shyly. He hastily transferred his gaze to the wall opposite, to save her embarrassment.
When he looked round at the others, he went suddenly cold. James was staring at him.
Callum frowned. He had caught James looking—many times—at Miss Rothwell. Never before had he intercepted the fellow studying him, though. The look he levelled at Callum was one ofsuch hatred that Callum shivered. He looked away and, when he looked back, James had turned to Philippa and was whispering something. Philippa smiled.
What in Perdition are those two gossiping about?Callum asked himself. He shivered again, thinking of the undiluted hate in James’ stare. He had never seen such a look before.
Miss Rothwell stepped into his line of sight. His heart tightened with an emotion he had never felt before. His eyes widened as she saw him and smiled. He watched her drift up the stairs towards the drawing room. His gaze did not leave her until she was out of sight, and he blinked, shaking himself.
Am I in love? Is this what this strange, wondrous feeling is?He asked himself.
Mr Rothwell barged into the entrance, greeting the other guests loudly and distracting Callum. Harriet was with him, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed as she was laughing.
Callum drifted towards the stairs. When he saw Mr Rothwell and Harriet together, he could see what he and Miss Rothwell must look like. It was obvious to him that the two of them felt more than fondness for one another. His heart skipped, shock mingling with joy as he realised that what he was beginning to feel was love. He was falling in love with Miss Rothwell.
He walked up towards the drawing room, his head spinning in confusion and wonderment. He had never imagined he would fall in love He had thought he never would. It was a wondrous, terrifying prospect, a million times more frightening than the first time he had ridden at a gallop. Like galloping, it felt uncontrolled, wild, terrifying. But galloping also felt incredibly freeing and magical.
I need to speak to someone,he thought distantly. He needed good counsel, and soon.
Chapter 17
Rosalyn blinked, opening her eyes in the dimly lit room. She had slept deeply, utterly fatigued from the cold, the long coach ride, and the conflicting yet exquisite emotions that stirred within her. She sat up, looking around.
There was a soft glow in the grate where the fire had burned low, and a slight gap in the curtains showed pale dawn light. She slipped out of bed and reached for her nightgown, shivering in the cold bedroom. Her maid had hung a dark brown velvet dress on the wardrobe for her, and Rosalyn tugged it on, reaching behind herself to fasten the buttons. Then she thrust her feet into her outdoor boots, which had been drying all night by the hearth. She felt restless and she wished to go outdoors.
“Good morning,” a male voice greeted her as she hurried down towards the entranceway. She stiffened, body tensing. It was not the duke. She did not recognise the voice and so she said nothing until she reached the foot of the stairs. Then she stopped and blinked in surprise.
“Lord Winbrook,” she greeted, addressing the man with red-brown hair, whom she had caught staring at her on more than one occasion. He seemed to be some sort of acquaintance or relative of the Duke of Stallenwood. She had never exchanged more than two words with him, yet he often glanced her way, and he smiled at her after he had performed his charade. His gaze on her was intense and he bowed low.
“Good morning, Miss Rothwell,” he greeted her again. “I see you also found it difficult to find rest last night.”
“Mm,” Rosalyn said, making as noncommittal a reply as she could think of. “I woke early.”
“As did I,” Lord Winbrook replied. “I took a stroll about the grounds. It is extremely cold out there,” he cautioned as shelifted her pelisse from its peg. A member of the household staff must have hung it before the fire to dry because it was crisply warm when she shrugged it on.
“I imagine so,” Rosalyn said a little briskly. She did not like the way he stared at her or attempted to make conversation despite her evident lack of interest.
“I would recommend that you remain indoors, miss,” he said with a worried frown.
Rosalyn lifted a shoulder. “I shall not be long,” she said as lightly as she could, opening the front door as she spoke. She stepped out into the snow.
“You might catch a fever,” Lord Winbrook said as she turned to shut the door. She raised one brow, trying to be calm, though her heart was thudding in her chest, and she ached to run off.
