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Chapter Four
Clouds had tornaway their blanket, opening the sky and bringing bitter clarity. The air Andrew breathed felt crystalline. Sharp. The darkness felt absolute.
It wasn’t, of course. The moon hazed just below the horizon. Stars littered the black like diamond dust. Snow was a sea of reflective blue. He hadn’t walked far, so light from the windows offered a faint, gilded glow. Halting just beyond the stable, he braced a shoulder against worn wood.
She didn’t want this. Didn’t want him.
He should have known. For more than two years, he’d waited, making subtle overtures here and there. Sometimes, he’d fancy she felt the same. But then, she’d shift the discussion back to work or tea or some neutral topic, seemingly oblivious. He hadn’t pushed, hesitant to risk losing what they had for a chance at something more. He’d always feared losing her. But perhaps it was inevitable.
In the stillness, the click and whine of the door opening reached him easily. The crunch of half-boots on snow. The dainty breaths from his favorite person.Crunch, crunch, crunch. Huff, huff, huff.
He almost smiled. “It’s too cold for you to be out here, Euphemia,” he said. God, his chest ached. He rubbed it absently. “Go back inside, now.”
“I brought your coat.” Little crunching steps. Hesitation. “Andrew. I—I need you to know something.”
He waited.
“I’m thankful you came to fetch me. So very thankful.” Huffing breaths grew jagged. A sweet voice contorted. “I was lost without you here. I couldn’t admit it to myself. But I missed you dreadfully.”
He closed his eyes, gathering his strength to face her. Finally, he did. She was a silvery silhouette, here in the dark. Her hair shone blue-white. Her soft lips were a trembling curve. He could just make out the gleam of her spectacles, the wetness on her cheeks. Aching, he brushed away a tear with his thumb. “I missed you, too.” So much it had torn his heart out.
More tears spilled.
He sighed and cupped her jaw. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
“I can’t help it. I won’t lose you. I categorically refuse.”
“Lose me? What are you on about?”
“You’re angry because you think me ungrateful. But the truth is quite the opposite.” She clasped his wrist. Nuzzled his palm. Hitched breaths huffed against his skin. “The past three years have been the happiest of my life.”
He wanted to draw her in, to kiss her breathless. The ache consumed his body, wrenched tighter and tighter until every pulsebeat hurt. To distance himself from temptation, he tugged away. He plucked his coat from her fingers and shrugged it on. “Yet, you don’t wish to be my wife.”
She sniffed. Paused. Wiped her chin with her wrist. “That’s not true.”
“That’s what you said.”
“No, I—I don’t want you to feel trapped.”
“It was my bloody idea. A man doesn’t set a marriage trap for himself.”
She gave an exasperated grunt. “For whom does he set it, then?”
He let his silence answer for him.
“No. If you’d wanted to marry me, you had ample opportunities to convey such affections.”
“Many of which I took, though you ignored every one. The dinner in Milan. The dance in Paris. The beach stroll in Northumberland. For pity’s sake, I carried your mother’s ring in my pocket all the way from London.”
“Those were… you didn’t mean…” She raised her stubborn chin. “I’m not your sort, Andrew. One cannot rewrite history simply because one doesn’t like the ending.”
“That’s another thing. Whatever gave you the idea that you’re ‘not my sort’?”
“It’s patently obvious.”
“Not to me.”
She released a shuddering sigh. “You fancy raven-haired beauties. Graceful, ethereal sorts. I have blonde hair and an unfortunate habit of knocking into things.”
