Page 4

CHAPTER 4

I t snowed…

And snowed…

And snowed.

For minutes that melted into hours and hours that melted into days, snowflakes drifted from the sky, peaceful, steady and unrelenting. It frosted the world, turning dull brown trees into glittering ice sculptures and brittle ground into an expanse of silver. When nature finally finished, white blanketed the world, and it was indeed a wonderland.

Of course, Sarah would never tell Damien of her regard. She’d barely been able to avoid him these past days, despite her numerous attempts to do so. Yet he never quite stopped intruding in her space, time and mind, and in the end, she realized several truths:

1. He was as handsome, charming, enjoyable, handsome, well-spoken, intelligent, handsome, polite, muscular, masculine, handsome, tempting, witty, and handsome as she thought he was.

2. He wanted her.

3. She wasn’t so sure she didn’t want him.

She’d even imagined kissing him. It was outrageous and preposterous, these desires he’d awaked, yet it was undeniable. It also made it exceedingly hard to ignore him, or at least pretend thusly. Not that he would allow it for much longer. Already he lingered longer, spoke to her, even if she didn’t respond.

Now she lounged in an oversized chair, swathed in a thick wool dress, as she sat by the fire. The flames snapped and crackled, their golden glow warming the chill. It smelled of wood, winter and wonder.

“I’d like to spend time together.”

Her traitorous heart fluttered, as it always did whenever Rourke entered a room. He was all kinds of handsome today, his long legs encased in form-fitting black, a crisp white shirt stretched taut against his expansive chest. His boots boomed on the floor as he strode to stand before her.

“I’m afraid I’m busy.” She turned to the side. “I was counting the new birds out the window.”

“Were you, my dear?” His lips twitched. “There must be dozens.”

“Twelve thousand, four hundred fifty-two to be exact.”

“Indeed?” He chuckled. “Are you absolutely certain you counted them all?”

“Twice.” Yet in truth she’d been dreaming by the fire. Unfortunately, that dream had involved the man before her, as well as a kiss (or twelve thousand, four hundred fifty-two). Even more unfortunately, she couldn’t ask him to give her a kiss (or twelve thousand, four hundred fifty-two).

He kneeled down before her. The massive man usurped her entire vision, and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t notice every inch. “I’d hoped you would enjoy yourself while you were here,” he said softly.

Strangely, she was, despite the tangle of emotions his presence wrought. There was something comforting about sitting by the fire, next to the enigmatic man. “You trapped me.”

“Just because you’re trapped doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. Come.” He grasped her hand. “It’s frightfully boring to build a snowman alone.”

She stopped. “You wish to build a snowman?”

He gave a lopsided grin. “Is that not something ladies do?”

She opened her mouth to say no, but stopped. The thought of building a snowman was alluring, the thought of building it with Rourke even more so. “All right.”

Then… he smiled.

It was not one of those polished smiles lords brandished as they waxed poetic, or one of those greedy grins they gave when they learned of her dowry. It was wide and genuine, and encouraged the ridiculous urge to smile right back.

Yet she kept her neutral mask carefully in place as he lifted her from the seat. “Let’s fetch your pelisse. I had a new one made for you.”

The pelisse turned out to be the softest, most luxurious article of clothing she’d ever donned, made of winter white with diamond embellishments and tiny sewn-in pearls. Accompanying it were thick lace-up boots, pearl-hemmed gloves, a scarf and a thick hat. Even the maids had quality clothing, which should have been far too expensive for them to afford. Yet all the workers had such garments, which Rourke must have supplied. It was a thoughtful, rare and unexpected gesture.

And like everything else that softened her towards the powerful lord – dangerous.

“Ready?” He opened the door to reveal…

A winter wonderland.

No other term could describe the magnificence of the world before them. Ice glittered from trees, crystal masterpieces sculpted by nature’s hand. The sky was a sea of blue, the world bathed in brilliant amber. A shock of cold surrounded her, yet it was toasty under the thick pelisse, next to the man who edged just a little closer than proper, even if not as close as she hoped.

“What do you think?”

Magical. Delightful. Enchanting. It was all those and more, yet she could not betray her true feelings. “It is… lovely.”

They stepped forward, and a maid followed. Sarah insisted they use a chaperone whenever they left, even if its efficacy was doubtful, with the servants’ clear devotion to the man.

“Would you like me to warm you?”

She looked at him sharply, yet his expression remained neutral. Still, a mischievous gleam sparked, as he smiled wider. “In a gentlemanly way, of course.”

“Of course.” She breathed out a puff of misty air as images of him warming her in a very ungentlemanly way flashed. “I am fine.”

He chuckled. “You are determined to not enjoy yourself, aren’t you?” He rubbed his hands together. “I consider that a challenge.”

“You seek to force me to enjoy myself?” She stepped under a glistening trellis. “Do you believe you control everything, my lord?”

He grinned. “Naturally.”

“And is modesty another trait of yours?”

His grin widened. “To an extraordinary amount.”

She couldn’t stop the smile.

They came upon a dip. Before she could hop over it, he grasped her waist and carried her over. Warmth sizzled everywhere he touched. “We will explore all but the southwest corner of the estate, where the pond freezes over.” He stopped as a loud sneeze reverberated through the air.

They turned. “I’m so sorry.” The maid rubbed her nose, which had turned crimson. “The cold weather is a little harsh for me.” She sneezed twice more.

Poor thing. She shouldn’t be out in the cold. Sarah opened her mouth to tell her they would return, but Rourke spoke first, “Return to the manor at once.”

The maid’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so very sorry. I need this position–”

“I wasn’t dismissing you.” Rourke’s voice softened. “If I was harsh, it’s because I’m upset you didn’t tell me. Go home and rest until you are well.”

With a watery smile, the maid pivoted and hurried back to the house.

Sarah swallowed. “That was kind of you,” she said softly. The term gentleman did not often extend to treatment of the lower classes.

“She is new, which is why I didn’t know about her reaction to the cold.”

Most lords wouldn’t have known – or cared – because she was a servant, and therefore unimportant and invisible. Something shifted in her, even as she fought it. She couldn’t allow this man to affect her.

They wandered through untouched land, their footprints the only sign of human life. The birds tweeted, wild and free as they soared in the sky. “Do you think it’s wise to be out here without a maid?”

He kept her moving with a gentle yet firm hand on the small of her back. “Why? Are you planning something untoward?”

Like grasping his cravat and pulling him down for a kiss that would be a true wonderland? Then proceeding to kiss him for the next 10 seconds minutes hours days? “I would never imagine such a thing!”

He grinned wickedly.

“I must say I am a little concerned.” His hold on her never lessened. “You could even be hiding a glass of fruit punch under your pelisse.”

“Don’t be silly.” She raised a shoulder. “I have an entire pitcher.”

“No doubt.”

They took a winding path leading to a wide clearing between towering oaks. The air was fragrant with the coolness of winter and scented with wood and smoke from distant chimneys. “Do you see the robins?” Rourke pointed to a pair of small, colorful birds flitting from tree to tree. They chirped a happy greeting, as they danced among the frost-covered branches.

She shielded the sun from her eyes. “They’re lovely.”

“My goodness, that almost sounded cheerful.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Perhaps from someone who is enjoying herself?”

She looked away, lest he see the smile she couldn’t hide. “Actually, I’m quite disappointed. I heard there used to be lovely blue birds.”

“I’m afraid they have gone away.” He studied the trees. “Yet new birds have come. Can you hear their love song?”

It did sound like a love song, sweet, melodic and harmonious. Her smile faded. When she’d first learned she was to have a season, she’d imagined a love match of her own, a heart exchanged for a heart. She quickly learned that was not how the ton worked. “I doubt it’s a love match. Likely the lady bird has a substantial dowry – a stash of bird food perhaps – the male wishes to possess. Once he secures her beak in marriage, he will proceed to tell her what type of flying is appropriate and which trees are improper for a bird of her position.”

He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Is that so?”

“Indeed.”

He ran his hand along the branch of a tree, gathering a small ball of snow. “Are you ready to build a snowman?”

“Yes, my lord.” She pointed to the ground before her. “I shall make mine here, and you can make one there.”

He lifted an eyebrow. Likely he thought they’d collaborate, yet she’d seen how lords “worked” with women. They directed them to sit while they did all the actual labor. If she was going to pretend to not enjoy herself while building a snowman, she may as well actually build it.

“I have an idea.” He slowly circled her. “How about a wager?”

For a kiss? She closed her eyes at the traitorous thought, opened them to a knowing look.

“Are you all right?” He grazed her shoulder. It was entirely too familiar, wholly inappropriate and altogether delicious. And she couldn’t stop herself from leaning into it.

“I am fine.” She notched up her chin. “What would you like to wager?”

“How about a kiss?”

“Absolutely.”

What. Had. She. Just. Said?

“I meant a kiss is completely inappropriate!”

“Are you certain you know what the word ‘absolutely’ means?” He grinned. “You sounded almost eager.”

“I was shocked and dismayed.” Or satisfied and excited. “I should be chastising you for even suggesting such a thing.” Or applauding. “Of course, I plan on winning.” Although if a kiss were the consequences of losing, then perhaps…

Focus. “What do I get if I win?”

His eyes shined like the diamond frost. “What do you want?”

A kiss. Perhaps three. Why not go for an even dozen? “I’m not sure,” she hurried out. “Perhaps I could tell you after I win.”

He laughed. “I’m not sure that would be a very wise bet.”

“Why not?” She rubbed her fingers together. “Are you afraid I’ll ask for my own castle?”

“One of my estates is a castle.” He shrugged. “You will own it when we wed.”

His words instantly sobered her. “Untrue. A woman gains nothing in a marriage, yet loses everything. You retain full ownership of your possessions and gain all that belongs to your wife. Including, her.”

All amusement fled from his eyes. “My bride does not gain nothing. She will possess my title, my protection, my care. She will have everything she desires.”

“You would control all that she does,” she countered. “She would have to bend to your will, follow your dictates. She would not be allowed to make her own decisions.”

“That is not the marriage I foresee.” He shook his head. “My wife will be happy and free.”

“You may say that, but you will do as you wish.” She walked around him, sinking into the snow with every step. “If you decide your wife should do something – or shouldn’t – then she would have no choice but to obey.”

He frowned. “I am certain we would agree on such matters.”

“You plan to let your wife do whatever she likes, whenever she likes? That is optimistic, especially considering how protective you are.” He frowned, and she continued. “You’ve acted protective of me, a woman for whom you have no responsibility.”

His eyes flashed. “You are my guest.”

“Yet you have declared we will wed.” She stood as tall as she could. “You are a powerful man, Lord Rourke. In my former circumstances, I never would have caught the eye of such a man, and I do not intend to submit now. Do not mistake me for a woman who follows dictates.”

“Never.” His eyes turned serious, as he stepped closer. “Yet do not mistake me with a man who gives up. I never surrender a challenge.”

“Neither do I.” She closed the gap between them and notched up her chin. “This winter will not last forever. Soon, the snow will melt, and then I will leave.”

“We shall see.”

Their gazes locked, tension sizzling in the snow. “How about this?” he whispered. “If I win, I get a kiss, and if you win, I will stop trying to get you to enjoy yourself.”

She drew herself back. If it was what she wanted, why didn’t she feel pleased? “Agreed.”

“Shall we get started?”

She nodded. Time to build the most magnificent snowman ever.

It was the most magnificent snowman ever.

Not that he’d spent any time studying the artistry of snowmen, or judging them for that matter, yet he’d put special care into this creation. He’d smoothed the snow, carving it to perfect symmetry. With a tree branch, he’d etched intricate designs on its sides, and drew a silly face topped by a hat made of leaves. In the end, he’d crafted an extraordinary clown.

It had to be, to give Sarah a chance to see him as something other than her foe.

In truth, her estimation was not wholly incorrect. While he planned to ensure his wife’s happiness, he couldn’t quite pledge to give her complete freedom. Especially on matters of her safety, he would maintain a measure of power.

Yet clearly, she thought he was some sort of tyrant. He would show her otherwise.

Now her brows were creased in concentration as she repeatedly stuck a heavy branch into the side of her snowman. Yet the “arm” was too heavy, and it flopped down with every attempt. “How are you doing?”

“Ugh.” She tossed the branch onto the ground. “Clearly, Parson Brown does not want arms.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” he soothed. “Maybe he just wants a lighter arm.” He picked up several frosty branches from the ground, testing their weight. He selected one. “Here we are.” He trimmed off the excess twigs, shaping the end into a semblance of a hand. “It doesn’t have the correct amount of fingers, but hopefully it will do.”

She bit her lip as she grasped the branch. It slid easily into the snowman. “Parson Brown thanks you.”

“He is most welcome.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “What was that?” He cupped his hand to his ear. “He’s asking if we are married.”

She huffed out a sigh, yet her eyes twinkled. “Tell him, no man.”

He relayed the message and stood back. With its rounded body, rocky button nose and branchy limbs, it was an accomplished effort, although not quite as magnificent as his clown. Clearly, he had won.

The relief was astounding.

He stepped back until he was next to her and said quietly. “I apologize if I am a little overbearing.”

Her lips parted. “You trapped me at your estate and proclaimed we would marry.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Slightly more than a little overbearing?”

She lifted her pert little nose. He resisted the urge to tap it.

“Perhaps a lot,” he admitted, “but only because I wish for your happiness. I don’t blame you for being wary. Lords wax poetic all the time, with little substance behind extravagant words.”

“You can’t imagine the extent.” She rubbed her gloved hands together. “Last month, a lord complimented my elbows.”

He swept snow from his gloves. “I was just going to compliment your beautiful elbows.”

“Were you?” She lifted an eyebrow. “The lord compared them to a blooming rose.”

“Your elbows remind of all types of flowers,” he shared. “Gardenias, tulips, violets and more. It even reminds me of cooking flour, that powdery goodness.”

Her shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“As for your knuckles, they are as beautiful as the morning dew, the sunrise over the ocean and the stars in the sky.”

Her shaking increased. “My knuckles remind you of the morning dew?” Her eyes twinkled. “I have the strangest feeling you’re not being honest.”

“Yet you like me enough it doesn’t matter,” he guessed. “If it makes you feel better, women also exaggerate. Last week, a lady gushed over my strong hair.”

“Truly?” She shook her head. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her I exercised it on a regular basis. Weight lifts, running, that sort of thing. I’m thinking of pugilism.”

“Pugilism for hair?” Her laughter returned, sweet and soft and oh-so-tempting. “How very…”

“Innovative? Creative? Mind-bogglingly delightful?”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say.” She winked. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight. And everything about her was beautiful.

“You’re lovely when you laugh,” he said softly.

Her pinkness deepened. “Now who is waxing poetic?” She tapped him on the shoulder.

He caught her fingers. “I mean every word,” he murmured.

She cleared her throat, stepped back. “We should judge the snowmen now.” She peered at his efforts, and her eyes widened. “Wow.” She stepped towards the crystalline creation, gently touching the icy masterpiece. “Were you tutored in snowman design?”

He hid his satisfaction. “Does this mean you like my circus clown?” He stepped so close his clothes brushed against her back. Nameless emotion surged through him, as he leaned down to the nape of her neck, where wispy curls escaped.

She hesitated, glanced back and forth between their creations. Even she couldn’t claim hers matched his. “Yours is average.”

Perhaps she could.

“Average, you say?”

“I’m trying to be kind.” She circled it. “It may be a bit under average, in reality. Actually, disappointing is more accurate.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m glad you agree.” She smiled. “Unless you like artistry that belongs in a museum if it wasn’t going to melt into a puddle. Now if you prefer true brilliance.” She gestured towards her creation. “Parson Brown is perfect.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “I believe someone is trying to sabotage our wager.”

“So you admit it?”

He circled closer. “Is the idea of a kiss with me so abhorrent?”

All amusement fled from her expression. She stared at his lips as she licked her own. “Quite the opposite, I’m afraid,” she whispered. “It is all-too-tempting.”

“So you admit that you los–”

Then, the snowstorm came.

It was sudden and intense, the sudden “snowstorm” that blew by, not a natural one, but crafted of a dozen children. The kids saw his circus clown far too late. In a moment, his sculpted masterpiece was a pile of snow.

Sarah gasped. “The kiddies knocked him down!”

The children froze, as if they too, were made of ice. In the next moment, a dozen gasped apologies came, amidst quivering lips, fearful eyes.

Sarah stepped forward, but Damien held up his hands. Silence ended the storm.

He exhaled, as he turned to her intact snowman, then to the heap of snow formerly his masterpiece, as his efforts melted as surely as the spring snow. When he turned to the terrified children, he softened. “I knocked down my share of snowmen in my day. If you promise to be more careful, no one needs to know about this.”

Expressions of horror and fear immediately transformed to brilliant smiles and relieved sighs. Amidst a dozen grateful expressions, the children raced off in search of more adventure.

Damien turned to Sarah. “I suppose you have won. As agreed, I can stop wooing–”

She pressed her lips to his.