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But Tilly didn’t want him. She’d only wanted one night. He’d had the tables turned on him. He pushed the uncomfortable thought aside. There were far more important things to worry about—like getting back to London and away from Tilly.
The gates he’d driven through two days ago still stood open, snow banked up against the wrought-iron bars. The lane that wound through the trees they’d just walked under was hidden from view beneath a blanket of fluffy white snow several inches deep. Only two sets of footprints disturbed the untouched surface of whiteness. He strode past the gate and out to the road, which was equally unrecognisable. They would not be going anywhere soon, that much was evident.
He turned to look at Tilly as she stopped next to him, the look of utter devastation on her face spiking his already guilt-ridden conscience. Dio mio, as if he didn’t already have enough guilt to carry around.
‘So much for leaving today.’ Her delicate brows rose sharply in a gesture of haughtiness he hadn’t seen in her before.
‘Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Natalie.’ He turned his back on the snow-covered road and looked down at her. As she glared up at him, her lips pressed into a firm and angry line, he had to fight the urge to kiss them just once more, until they became as soft and kissable as they’d been last night.
‘Tilly,’ she snapped at him. ‘Nobody calls me Natalie now.’
‘Is that what your fiancé called you?’ he goaded her, and could almost see the snow melting beneath her feet as her anger simmered over and towards the boiling point.
She shook her head and sadness crept into her eyes, spiking him with another layer of guilt.
‘Nonna.’ Her blue eyes were glacially sharp as she looked at him and he knew he’d unexpectedly touched a raw nerve, that she was thinking about the grandmother she must have adored as a child.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, moving towards her, remembering their brief conversation about her family. ‘Maybe one day you will see her again.’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘She passed away a few years ago. My mother and I didn’t have contact with any other family in Italy. It’s in the past and the past can’t be changed.’
Just as last night can’t be changed. The words drifted casually through his mind. Would he change it? He wouldn’t change a thing since the moment she’d arrived at Wimble Manor—except her cold rejection this morning.
‘I, more than most, know that is true.’ He thought of all the times he’d wished he could have gone back and changed things, but no amount of wishing would bring Paulo back. Nothing could change that day, erase it from his memory, where it was branded for evermore. ‘But sometimes, cara, you can shape the future to mend the past.’
His philosophical words taunted him cruelly. He hadn’t achieved that miracle yet.
‘If that is true, then we need to use last night’s mistake. You and I both know it would never have happened under normal circumstances, but it did. If I believed in fate, I’d say we were meant to be here like this to heal our pain.’ She looked from him to the snow-covered lane, desolation clear on her face. When she looked back at him everything about her was cool and collected, as cold as the snowy landscape.
‘Is that what you really think?’ He’d asked the question before he’d been able to halt the words. What had happened last night, those desire-filled hours together in front of the fire, had been so wildly passionate, so intense and new. Deep down he didn’t want to turn his back on it. He’d sampled something he might never know again and a part of him couldn’t let that go.
Despite her strong, almost flippant attitude this morning, her sharp words and obvious disappointment at not being able to leave, she too wanted more. She might be hiding behind the taunting admission of wanting a fling, but she couldn’t ignore what drew them together—just as he couldn’t.
‘No.’ She looked at him then began the long walk back to the manor house, forcing him to follow. ‘We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
CHAPTER NINE
TILLY STAMPED THE snow from her boots as she opened the back door of the manor house, grateful to be out of the cold wind. Xavier hadn’t spoken since they’d turned back from the gates, but his presence next to her had been dark and brooding. He hadn’t denied last night had been a mistake, or that it would never have happened if his plans hadn’t been changed.
