Page 34 of Snowbound Surrender

“And he was a good deal older, too,” the Colonel went on, oblivious to Antoinette’s fixed interest. “With quite a substantial fortune, which of course must have been the reason she broke off her previous attachment.” He sent a knowing look at Antoinette before inquiring, “You did know that she was betrothed to someone else? Not that I recall who it was, but word was, she was quite happy to put fortune above affection.” The Colonel rubbed vigorously at his luxuriant grey moustache. “Reckon I might fancy my chances, eh, Lady Quamby?” With a raucous laugh, he brought his hand down on Antoinette’s thigh and squeezed it.

“Handsome and eligible though you are,” Antoinette said with a sweet smile as she deftly removed the Colonel’s hand, “I believe her heart is already engaged elsewhere.”

The last thing Antoinette needed was the Colonel complicating matters by pressing his, no doubt unwelcome, suit.

No, dear Nicholas would re-engage the young lady’s heart before the night was over.

A glance at his stony face near the end of the table indicated that he was doing his best to remain visibly unmoved by Arabella’s presence. He sat rigid in his chair, cutting his roast with distracted precision while studiously avoiding looking in her direction. He didn’t know that Antoinette was a master at interpreting hidden emotions and reading faces.

Oh yes, it was quite clear that Nicholas Morley was entirely knotted up with love and could not wait to declare himself oncethe pudding had been cleared away and he and the former Miss Arabella Beecham could be alone.

“In fact, Colonel,” whispered Antoinette, “I believe there will be quite a romantic reunion before this snow melts.” She flicked a meaningful look between Arabella and Mr Morley, then gave a theatrical shiver. “Why, I can practically feel the passion crackling between them like lightning in a thunderstorm.”

The Colonel, after glancing at the stony-faced pair, snorted. “If you say so, my lady. Though from where I sit, they look more like two people who’d rather be anywhere else on earth.”

“Precisely!” Antoinette exclaimed softly, her eyes sparkling with triumph. “That is exactly how one behaves when consumed by overwhelming emotion. The poor young things are both fighting their feelings so desperately.”

As the Colonel shook his head in bemusement and returned to his dinner, Antoinette finally turned to her other side, where Fanny had concluded her conversation with Quamby.

“Fanny!” she whispered urgently, leaning close to her sister’s ear. “Have you observed the effect our new houseguest has had on Mr Morley. Do you see? The romance is positively blooming before our very eyes!”

“You really believe that?” Fanny murmured dryly, glancing across the table where Nicholas was staring fixedly at his plate while Arabella appeared to be fighting back tears. “And what evidence of this blooming romance am I meant to be observing?”

“Look at the exquisite tension! The way they’re both trembling with suppressed desire! Nicholas can barely keep his hands steady! See how he grips his fork? And poor Arabella is so overcome she can scarcely eat a morsel.”

Fanny followed her sister’s gaze with considerably more skepticism. “Antoinette, I really don’t think?—”

“No, I absolutelyknow!” Antoinette breathed, practically vibrating with excitement. “And I have the most marvellous plan. The moment we retire to the drawing room, you must insist that Arabella play the pianoforte. Then I shall contrive to have Nicholas turn her pages. The proximity will be quite delicious, and before you know it, they’ll be lost in each other’s eyes!”

Fanny opened her mouth to protest, but Antoinette was already turning back to the Colonel, her mind spinning with romantic possibilities and completely oblivious to the very real anguish playing out across her dinner table.

CHAPTER 4

“Lady Lushington,perhaps you would entertain us all with a rendition of Mozart’s Sonata in A Major. And Mr Morley, would you be so kind as to turn the pages?”

Shocked, Arabella looked up so quickly she cricked her neck. This was a piece of music she had steadfastly refused to play for the past five years—much less listen to—on account of its ability to nearly undo her. For that was the piece over which she and Nicholas had first become acquainted.

Five years ago at one of Lady Liverpool’s musical soirees, Arabella, an accomplished musician, had been requested to play the piece while Nicholas, as the closest gentleman, had been asked to turn the pages of her music.

Their eyes had locked, and after that there was nothing more to be said. Two hearts had been joined as one.

It was still the case, except Arabella could never explain, publicly, why those two hearts had been torn asunder. At least not without jeopardising her brother’s freedom.

And now Lady Quamby had asked Nicholas—of all people—to turn the pages.

Well, Arabella did not know how she was going to survive the proximity without breaking down in tears.

It was hard enough to bear Nicholas’s studied efforts at ignoring her. But to have him so close and feel the recrimination that would surely emanate from him in waves was going to be more than she could bear.

And yet what choice did she have?

With a forced smile, Arabella rose, and without looking at Nicholas, took her seat at the beautiful pianoforte. The ivory keys felt cold, her fingers trembled, and she carefully arranged her skirts, buying herself precious moments to try to compose herself before the inevitable torture began.

“Bravo!” enthused Colonel Shankshaft as she tentatively played the first chord, and although Arabella was wary of the man, she nevertheless wished he was the one who would be standing not five inches away.

For yes, here was Nicholas, in position—standing straight and unmoving and, as she had feared, with only cold recrimination in the brief look he sent her.

Not only that, his familiar scent of sandalwood and something uniquely him added another layer of difficulty. How potent was the sound of familiar music for bringing back the past? But to have that accompanied by the familiar scent of the man she loved was surely more than she could bear.