“They did a grand job today,” he remarked after a moment, as Miss Rothwell entered the space. She had worked alongside them all, supervising the proceedings and relaying messages, where necessary, between the duke, the stable-hands and the team who were already working to restore the stable roof. He stared at her. She stood in her brown pelisse, slightly open at the neck to show a pale gown below. Her hair had escaped its style and curls hung around her face. Her cheeks were flushed, but otherwise, she was calm, her eyes bright and glowing in the lamplight. He sucked in a breath. She looked so beautiful. He cleared his throat. Words would not come. He felt too shy.
“Those young fellows were pleased with your offer,” she said softly. “I have never seen two young men run to the kitchen so fast.”
Callum grinned. “They needed it. They did a great job.” He paused. “As did you.” He shook his head. “None of this would have been possible without you. It was your idea.” He gazed around the space. Twenty horses grazed in peace, where, so easily, all twenty could have been shivering in their stalls, catching pneumonia—or worse, succumbing to the cold.
She gazed into his eyes and smiled, shyly, then looked away. “I am simply so grateful that the plan succeeded,” she said softly.“And that I could be of help. The horses are happy here.” She looked up, staring at the small, calm herd of horses.
“They are. I am so glad. And so grateful,” Callum said gently. “Without you, I had no idea. I do not know what I would have done.” He swallowed hard.
Miss Rothwell blushed. “I am glad I could help,” she repeated softly.
He stared into her eyes. She was so close, just a few steps away, and he stepped forward, and slowly took her hand in his. Her palms were warm, the tips of her fingers cold. She gazed into his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he folded her fingers into his grip. His eyes held hers, her skin soft against his fingertips.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I owe you so much; at the very least, a heartfelt thank you.” His lips lifted at the corners in a smile.
She gazed into his eyes. “You are in no way indebted to me, Your Grace. I am glad I could assist.”
His heart ached. He stared into her eyes. The skin of her cheeks was petal-soft in the lamplight, her gaze gentle. He longed to press his lips to her own. He moved fractionally forward, then stopped.
“You must be tired,” he murmured. “We should go in. They will fare well without us, I think. They have all they need. We can go inside.”
“Yes,” Miss Rothwell murmured.
Callum loosened his grip on her fingers, heart aching as she drew them away. She looked towards the door.
“We should take ourselves inside,” she said softly. “It is quite cold outside.”
“It is,” Callum agreed and stepped out into the cold. He had taken off his greatcoat during the work and it hung by the door at the front of the coach-house. He lifted it down and shrugged it on. They stepped out into the garden.
The garden was cold. It had stopped snowing, the breeze ruffling the snow on the bushes and blowing soft, powdery drifts of it across the ground. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of white. The path beneath their feet was trampled by dozens of footprints, both of humans and horses. It was slippery, the compacted snow already freezing in the icy cold. Callum reached for Miss Rothwell’s hand.
“It’s slippery. You might fall,” he murmured.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Her fingers were warm in his own. They walked down the path silently. They reached the front terrace. The steps led up to it, bathed in light from the long windows of the house. Callum gazed at her.
“Thank you,” he said again. “We are probably late for supper.” He chuckled.
“We need to put on some other clothes,” she answered. “We are both soaked through.”
“Go in. It’s cold,” he insisted.
“Yes.”
He paused where he was on the step, letting her go ahead of him. She walked to the door and opened it. He stood where he was, reluctant to move. The space of the garden, and of the stable, was magical—there, connection was possible that was not possible in the crowded, public space of the manor. There, it was possible for him to be himself, and for her to be herself. He swallowed hard.
“Good evening,” he murmured as she went inside. “Until dinnertime.”
She laughed. “Until dinnertime, Your Grace,” she replied. She turned in the doorway, dazzling him with a grin.
He stood on the step, unable to move for a second or two. Then he walked up the stairs. His legs ached, his feet seeming heavy as balls of lead. He marched wearily into the entrancewayand leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The horses were safe, the roof was being fixed. And he had just spent the afternoon with the most beautiful woman he could imagine.
He was smiling as he walked up the stairs to his room to dress for dinner.
Chapter 19
By the fire in the breakfast room, it was cosy and quiet. Callum listened to the companionable rustle and crackle of the flames in the grate and gazed out of the window at the grey sky. Though the sun had risen already, nobody else had yet come to have breakfast, and Callum enjoyed the peaceful calm of the space. As he poured himself another cup of tea, his thoughts strayed to the moment in the snow when he had gazed into Miss Rothwell’s eyes and held her hand.
