Page 31 of Snowbound with the Earl
Hours later, he admitted Battersea, who took one look at him and veered away from the dressing room. “Shall I inform Lady Dorsey you will not be dining with the other guests tonight?”
“I have a cough,” Graham said, removing his spectacles and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll bring a tray for you, my lord.” The servant didn’t depart, and after a pointed silence, Graham looked away from his book to meet his valet’s gaze.
“Something else, Battersea?”
“Shall I send your regrets for the ball, my lord?”
“I have a cough.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“Well, at least one of us does.”
Graham went back to his book, vaguely aware of the sounds of the other guests and their servants outside his chamber. Footsteps passed his door, some heavy and slow and others quick and light. Female voices tinkled and male laughter boomed and then the sound of strings being tuned wafted up to him. Graham had barely touched the tray Battersea brought, but now he put down his book and bit into the bread. His eyes stung from reading so long, and his legs ached from disuse. He rose and stretched, going to the window to peer out at the lawn. The snow lay like a soft blanket of white, undisturbed and gleaming in the moonlight. The moon was clearly visible, indicating it was unlikely to snow more this evening. Perhaps he’d be able to depart on the morrow. He should have departed the moment he’d been informed Noelle would attend the house party, but if he was honest with himself, he could admit he wanted to see her again. He wanted to know if the feelings he’d had for her were still there.
Well, he had his answer, didn’t he? And this time he was left with more than simply the memory of her hand in his as they danced at a ball. Now he would spend his lonely nights remembering the feel of her breasts in his hands and the taste of her on his tongue. Now he knew what she sounded like when she climaxed and how her cheeks colored when he did something she enjoyed. How was he supposed to spend the next decade not touching her soft hair or inhaling her cherry cordial scent?
There weren’t enough books in the world to erase the feel of her body pressed against his.
A tap on the door drew his attention from the snowdrifts outside the window. “I don’t need anything, Battersea,” he called. “You may retire for the night.”
“It’s not Battersea,” came a feminine voice he knew all too well. Graham clenched his fists. Why could she not leave him in peace?
“I have a cough,” he said. “I’m not taking visitors.”
“Open the door, Graham,” Noelle said. Then, without waiting for a response, she tried the latch. He hadn’t remembered to bolt the door again after Battersea had delivered the tray, and the door swung open, revealing Noelle in a scarlet silk ballgown with holly leaves along the bodice and hem of the skirt. Her mahogany hair had been swept up into a glossy crown at the top of her head from which a profusion of fat curls tumbled down, making her look eighteen again. But her eyes were not eighteen. She looked at him with a wisdom she hadn’t possessed a decade ago. “I need to tell you something.”
“I think you’ve said enough.”
“Sit down and listen.”
Something in the tone of her voice made him reconsider his retort. Instead, he crossed to the chair he’d occupied these last few hours and sank into it. Noelle stood before the fire, hands clasped before her, looking as lovely as he’d ever seen her. “For eighteen years,” she began, “I was the perfect daughter. I did as I was ordered. My parents told me what to wear, what to say, what to do, and what to believe. I never once thought of going against their wishes. Until I met you.” She swallowed, and Graham had to force himself not to interrupt.
“I loved you from the first conversation we had together. Do you remember? It was at the Duke of Moreland’s ball. Her Grace introduced us, and you said you didn’t dance—”
“But I would make an exception for you.”
“Yes, and then you asked me to dance. I think I hardly spoke a word. I was so in awe of you. I’d never met a man who was so handsome or so charming. I couldn’t believe you had given me even a moment’s attention.”
“You were beautiful,” he said. “Many men gave you attention.”
“I was pretty at best, and most of the men who sought my favor also wanted political favors from my father. But not you. You had no ulterior motive. You weren’t political at all.”
“Which was my downfall.”
“Yes, my father made it clear years before my first Season that I was to marry either a man with political power or a title or, preferably, both. You had neither, but that didn’t stop me from wanting you. It didn’t stop me from believing I could change my father’s mind. I was a child. I thought if my parents understood I loved you—and you loved me too—that would make all the difference. I don’t have to tell you that my feelings made no difference at all to them. I was too afraid to go against their wishes. To be fair, I’d been trained all my life to do as I’d been told. Gainsaying them was antithetical to every bone in my body, and yet, I was so close to running away with you. I wish I had.”
“So do I. But we both know the end of this story, Noelle.”
“No. You don’t know the end of the story. You don’t know how I spent another decade of my life under a man’s thumb. First my parents. Then the Viscount of Bonneville. I wasn’t allowed to read what I wanted, go where I wanted, say what I wanted. Worst of all, even my body was not my own. I was Bonneville’s property, and he could come into my bed at any time of day or night and demand his marital rights. Don’t look at me like that. I’m far from the only woman in the world who must suffer attentions she does not want. I was fortunate that he either lost interest or could not perform after a few years. But I was still a prisoner—a prisoner in fine clothes and in a lovely home. I wanted my freedom.”
“What has any of this to do with me?”
She moved to stand before him and, to his shock, she knelt at his knee.
“Stand up.”
