Page 12 of A Season for Christmas

Samuel made a face.

“Fencing, because he had to, but no, he was not much of a boxer. Too concerned about messing up his pretty face.” A nostalgic smile curved Samuel’s lips as he ran his finger around his own face. “Besides, if every man who boxed or fenced was a murderer, we’d be overrun with them. And we are not.”

“No, but some enjoy it more than others,” she pointed out. “But no, he does not sound like the bloodthirsty type. Unless someone damaged his face?”

Samuel snorted.

“He does not like that, but he does not retaliate, either. I accidentally popped him a good one in the nose once, made him bleed like a stuck pig, and all he did was go running for the ice, then proceeded to lecture me for a good hour onbeing more careful with my fists. That was back in our school days.”

“But he could have changed.”

“He could have, though I struggle to see it.”

So did Catherine from Samuel’s descriptions, but she was withholding judgment until she met the man himself.

“I can see him arranging things to harm innocents even less.” Samuel shook his head. “Gregory does not have a mean bone in his body and avoids any kind of confrontation. When asked to do something he does not want to do, he does not say no or deny you, but you will not see him again for a while. It is the most frustrating thing about him. But he is also very good at helping others work their way through a conflict, if he must, though he tends to avoid any kind of tension or anger, whether it is directed at him or not. If his father angered him or was angry at him, he would just avoid his father.”

Hm. One could say a bit of the same about Samuel. Rather than watch her marry another man, he’d left the country and had not come back until now. She was not going to bring that up, though. After all, it was not quite the same situation.

But she understood his point. Just as he had not confronted Lord Cross or her parents—or even her—Gregory would not confront his own father. She wondered if Samuel saw something of himself in Gregory and if that motivated part of his defense.

Suddenly leaning forward, Samuel put his hand on the table halfway between them.

“I would never bring you with me if I thought you were going to be in any danger,” he said earnestly, his gaze boring into hers, filled with sincerity.

Catherine blinked. She had not even thought of the possibility.

“Of course not,” she said, reaching forward to put her hand atop his in reassurance. “I never thought you would. That would be entirely againstyourcharacter.”

“Thank you for that.” He turned his hand over, so their palms were together. Heat curled in her stomach as the warmth between them grew. His fingers tips curled around her hand, the tip of his forefinger stroking the soft spot on the inside of her wrist. Arousal flared, her mouth going dry as her body responded to his touch.

“Gregory is not the only person I have not seen in such a long time… though you have gone through many changes, I would say the core of you is still intact.”

“Oh?” She was suddenly intrigued at how he viewed her. In many ways, he had not changed. He was still forthright, confident, and flirtatious—if anything, he was more so those things than before. But she knew that she was no longer the shrinking debutante, doing her best to fit the mold her parents tried to wedge her into, no longer desperately trying to be whoever her suitors wanted her to be so she could escape them.

In many ways, Samuel had been the only person she’d felt like she could be herself with when she was a debutante, yet, back then, she had not truly known who she was. It had taken marriage, disappointments as she was unable to get pregnant, her husband turning to other women, and his subsequent death for her to even begin to explore who she was on her own and what she wanted out of her life.

Becoming a widow had given her freedom she’d never expected to have, and she’d grabbed onto it with both hands.

But how did Samuel see her now?

He smiled, an easy, charming smile with a light in his eyes, his finger still making little strokes against her sensitive skin and sending little tingles along her arm to her core.

“You are more self-assured, more settled in your person, but you are still thoughtful and generous. You still sit back and watch a situation before deciding whether or not you are going to insert yourself… and how. You still do not jump into things very quickly.”

Unlike him. Samuel had been much faster than her to make his decisions, and she did not think that had changed.

“Until now,” she murmured, making him chuckle.

“Even now. You did not immediately accept the invitation to accompany me. You had to think about it.”

That was true, which made her feel a little better. She’d had to think quickly, but she had taken the time to think about it. And she’d taken the time to think about what she wanted to happen on this trip.

If Anna came back to the room to find it empty, she would just retire to her own room. She was discreet, though Catherine had never pushed the boundaries of her maid’s discretion. But Anna had never given her any reason to think that she would betray a confidence.

The time for thinking was over. She did not want to think anymore.

Catherine stood, her hand still in Samuel’s. His eyes lit up, but he did not stand the way a gentleman normally would. Instead, he watched her as she moved to the side, her fingers tightening around his wrist, then stepped toward him. The fact he was waiting for her, waiting to see what she would do, despite the instincts that would normally have had him jumping to his feet, intrigued her.

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