He forced himself not to remember or let the past destroy the fragile peace he had constructed. Still, the very walls seemedto conspire against him, murmuring of days when light and warmth were not strangers to this place. Days he refused to acknowledge.
But the harder he tried to shut those memories out, the louder they whispered. Of Christmases past, of laughter and love and all the things he told himself he no longer needed. He clenched his jaw against the insidious noise, willing himself to maintain control. Yet somewhere within, beneath the hardened shell of his resolve, something flickered—a small, unwelcome reminder that he had once been someone else.
He passed door after door, all closed. He hadn’t entered half of the rooms in years. Coldharbor Manor was his fortress, but it was also his prison. And he knew there was no escaping the sentence he had pronounced on himself. He ran his empire through letters sent to estate agents, never had visitors?other than his nephew?and rarely went out. It was better that way.
In the oppressive silence, he became very aware of his heart's slow and steady beat, as if the effort to keep it going was a challenge. He was not accustomed to such awareness, but Benedict’s visit, the promise he claimed he’d made to Elyse, had unsettled him in some soul-deep way. He quickened his pace, determined to outrun the strange sensation that had begun to take root within him.
He finally reached his bedchamber but hesitated at the door, strangely reluctant to enter. Unfortunately, the rest of the manor lay silent and dark behind him, offering no comfort, no reprieve. There was only one path, and he had chosen it long ago.
With a swift motion, he opened the door, stepping inside. The fire was already low, the air chilling fast. He closed the door with a soft thud, sealing away even the memory of Benedict’s visit, his nephew’s concern, and the unwelcome emotion it had stirred.
He allowed himself a small, grim smile at the triumph of having once again shut out the world.
He didn’t care about his nephew. He couldn’t, for he knew all too well that love brought nothing but heartache. Crossing the room, he poured himself a glass of brandy, drinking deeply to quiet the anxiety racing within him. When he started to feel the numbness he preferred, he threw a few more logs on the fire and sat in his comfortable chair, reaching for the book he’d been reading.
He'd spend this Christmas the way he preferred.
Alone.
