Page 37 of Snowbound Surrender

By the time he reached his own chamber, Nicholas felt strangely calm. The tiny flame of hope that had flickered in his breast was thoroughly extinguished, and in its place was something harder, colder—but infinitely safer.

Let her go to her mysterious lover. Let her continue whatever sordid scheme she’d been pursuing. He was well rid of her, and with grim satisfaction, he realized that being trapped by the storm with her had served a purpose after all.

It had finally helped cauterize every feeling he’d ever had for Lady Arabella Lushington.

Tomorrow, he would be polite but distant—at least for the time it took for her carriage to be fixed or for her to find another way to leave.

He would endure whatever matchmaking schemes their hostesses had planned with cold indifference. And when she finally made her escape, he would watch her go without a single pang of regret.

After all, he’d already grieved for Arabella Beecham once. He had no intention of mourning her twice.

CHAPTER 6

After a nightof tossing and turning, Arabella certainly didn’t believe she deserved Lady Quamby’s gushing compliments when she arrived in the breakfast parlour.

“And how lovely to see you are all dressed for a lovely country ramble now that we have a brief respite from the bad weather. Mr. Morley!” she added, clapping her hands. “Did Lady Lushington not perform beautifully last night?”

“Perform?” For a moment he looked confused, then—to Arabella’s dismay—his expression hardened. “Indeed. Her performance was most...impressive.”

The word was delivered with such cutting precision that Arabella felt her cheeks burn. But their hostess, who seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, continued to chatter excitedly.

“Now, I have the most delightful plan! The weather is so lovely this morning, though I do see some rather dramatic clouds gathering on the horizon. How perfectly romantic! We shall walk to the little pavilion in the rose garden. It has the most charming sitting room, and even a small bedchamber for afternoon rests. Really, it is quite the perfect spot for intimate…conversation.”

She beamed between them, but when Arabella darted a glance at Nicholas, he appeared unmoved, his expression cold. She swallowed. Oh, why had this torture been forced upon her? To be so close to the man she loved and yet be unable to say anything that might exonerate her.

“However,” Lady Quamby continued, consulting the sky through the breakfast room windows, “I do believe we should set out in pairs, don’t you think? Fanny and I shall take the longer route through the shrubbery to examine the winter plantings, while you two might take the direct path. Do meet us there—though if the weather turns, you mustn’t feel obligated to wait for us!”

And before either Arabella or Nicholas could protest, she had swept from the room, leaving them standing in awkward silence.

Twenty minutes later, they found themselves walking the gravel path toward the pavilion, the tension between them almost palpable. True to Lady Quamby’s prediction, dark clouds were gathering overhead, and the first fat raindrops began to fall just as they reached the charming little structure.

“Quickly!” Arabella called, lifting her skirts as she ran for the covered entrance. Nicholas followed, and they tumbled inside just as the heavens opened in earnest.

Arabella stared uncertainly through the window. The rain was coming in great sheets, making it impractical even to consider running through it to the house. Not even Nicholas’s stony expression could disguise his frustration at their predicament. And that expression was certainly enough to make her want to take to her heels and escape his obvious censure.

Did he have no forgiveness in him?

“So it appears we are prisoners.” He was standing rigid against the wall, his handsome face conveying only the greatest disdain and disgust at a situation in which he clearly was a veryreluctant participant. “Though if you wish it, I will leave you and brave the elements.”

“Good heavens, why would I wish you to be gone? And certainly not in this vile weather?” She strove for a lighter tone but could only manage nervously, “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Your worst enemy, eh? I feel sorry for anyone who falls into that category, considering how you treat your so-called... friends.”

Arabella gasped. What could she say to this?

“Nicholas—” she began, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, we are on Christian name basis once more, are we?” He moved closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Or are you seeking merely to once again toy with my affections? You are obviously adept at recognizing vulnerability.”

Arabella saw that his chest was rising and falling rapidly, and for the first time wondered if this wasnotdue to the exertion of rushing to escape the rain.

Could he really...?

Dare she believe that he still harboured feelings for her despite her treatment of him? And her inexplicable cruelty?

The thought gave her a surge of hope and something else.

Yes, courage. The courage to step closer to him, to look directly into those dark eyes that had once gazed at her with such tender love.