Page 70 of Snowbound Surrender

And how had it affected Eleanor? He had to find her.

Callum handed Charlotte off to a tall, harried-looking man who seemed to be helping Westhorpe with the unfolding debacle.

The snow was falling even heavier. It was too dangerous now for his mother and sister to travel home in the carriage without him. The coachman assured Callum he would see them inside and then shelter the horses in Westhorpe’s barn.

Callum retrieved his horse and made his way toward the folly. Thank goodness he had grown up running wild over these lands or he might have found himself lost and wandering. Not only was it growing dark, but all he could see was falling snow. Worry spiked. What if Eleanor was lost and wandering?

It was dangerous going even for him. Finally, out of the gloom, the stone edifice of the folly came into view. The snow appeared undisturbed, but that was more a testament to how quickly and thickly it fell than evidence of any passersby. His heart pounded uncomfortably as he swung himself out of the saddle and plowed through the mounds of snow that had already accumulated in drifts.

“Eleanor!” He took the steps two at a time.

The folly was a simple structure of six columns. A stone statue of Athena drawing a bow and aiming it across the small lake it overlooked stood on a dais in the middle.

Panic rose when he at first saw no one. He walked the perimeter, his breath coming out in a whoosh when he spotted the small cloaked figure huddled against the back of the statue.

“Eleanor,” he said with more gentleness as he knelt in front of her.

She lifted her face to his and blinked. She was pale, and her eyes were unfocused. “Is that you, James? Am I dead? Am I in hell with you then?”

A frisson of shock went through him at her questions, but there was no time to delve further. He lifted her to her feet and could feel her trembles. “Not James and not dead. I doubt hell would be this cold.”

“Oh, Callum. You came.” The warmth from her simple statement hit him with the force of a punch from a prizefighter. Even more unbalancing was the brilliance of her smile and the way her gloved hand touched his cheek.

Hehadcome for her. For the first time in a long time, he had pulled himself together and shown up for someone else. All his thoughts and worries had been focused on her instead of himself. It was like being jerked out of a dream. Or a spiraling nightmare.

“Let’s get inside and warm.” He carried her to his horse, mounted her in front of him, and wrapped his great cloak around them both.

Now he had a decision to make. Take her back to Fernlow or take her to his cabin. His cabin was considerably closer, but they would also be alone. People might talk. On the other hand, she was a widow, which meant she had more freedom. And he had the feeling the scuttlebutt and scandal emerging from the spiked punch would overshadow the fallout from whatever choice he made.

His priority should be Eleanor’s safety and well-being, which meant getting her warmed up immediately. His cabin it was.

The snow continued to fall in torrents. Luckily, his horse had a good nose on her, and he had to do little but point her in the right direction. She took the lead, sniffing out her comfortable little barn with its copious hay and oats.

There was still a wisp of smoke emerging from the cabin’s chimney when they arrived. He dismounted with Eleanor in his arms and shouldered the door open. He paused for a moment inside. His options were slim. He could either lay her on the bed or place her in the armchair in front of the fire.

He chose the armchair and built up the fire until a merry blaze suffused the room with heat. He removed her gloves and chafed her hands between his until they thawed and color bloomed in her face. Next he unlaced her boots and rolled down her woolen stockings, doing his best, and failing, not to notice her comely, well-shaped limbs.

This was a mission of mercy, not a seduction.

At least not yet, a devilish voice whispered in his head.

She stretched languidly and slumped in the chair, her eyes half-lidded and her lips curving slightly. She pushed at his chest with one of her feet. “I’m quite recovered. Shouldn’t you see to your horse?”

“I should. Are you sure you’re warm enough?” He took her foot and rubbed his thumb along the delicate arch.

A sound came from her chest that vibrated the air between them. “More than warm enough, although…”

“What?”

“My dress is quite sodden.”

“I have little to offer, but here’s something clean and dry if you’d like to change while I tend to my horse.” He retrieved a shirt and a dressing gown and laid them over the lone chair at the kitchen table, then patted them.

“Thank you.” She rose and took up the shirt, lifting it to her nose for a deep breath. “Woodsy and fresh.”

She wasn’t acting as giddy and drunk as the ladies he’d seen at the festival. It was more that she was saying whatever popped into her head, which was unlike the woman he was coming toknow. She was going to regret being so loose with her tongue, but he couldn’t resist.

“Do you like my scent?” he asked.