Page 125 of Snowbound Surrender
“Hunter.”
She said nothing.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Unable to stand there staring at her any longer, he picked up his glass and returned to the sideboard to pour himself another.
“I am unsure of what I have done to hold such low esteem with you, Scarlett,” he said, his back to her. “But you are my wife, and there is nothing you can do to change that fact now. Can we not find some sort of peace between us?”
She looked down at the ground, where the stain was beginning to spread over the carpet.
“We need to clean this,” she murmured, apparently choosing to ignore his words. She walked over to him, knelt down by his feet, and before he could ask what in the blazes she was doing, she began to rummage around through the cupboard’s contents until she found what she was looking for.
“Here we are,” she said, pulling out a piece of fabric. How had she known where to find it? She returned to the carpet and began to blot out the liquid.
“Let me help you,” he said, putting down his glass, though not before taking a gulp of the brandy, letting it burn its way down his throat.
“It’s fine, I’ve got it,” she said, but he dismissed her resistance, taking one of the pieces of cloth in hand and beginning to blot out the liquid with her. He moved when she did, and their hands brushed against one another. He wasstartled by the jolt of heat that shot through him. He sat back on his haunches and looked at her, but her gaze remained rooted on the floor. Was her hand shaking slightly? He quickly shook his head, dismissing the notion.
Now that he was closer, he could better make out her features. He had nearly forgotten what she looked like, their time together having been so brief while their separation so long. He could see the smattering of freckles over her nose, though much of her face was hidden by the long curtain of her deep brown hair, which hung straight and loose around her shoulders.
If only she hadn’t built such a wall around herself, he thought with resignation. How very different this time together could be.
“That should do it,” she said abruptly, gathering the cloth and placing it by the door. “Your Aubusson is saved.”
“Thank you for your noble deed, my lady,” he said with a slight bow in jest, but she only raised an eyebrow at him.
“I will be to bed then,” she said.
She turned to the door, but he called out to her before she could go too far. “Scarlett?” She stopped. “Why are you awake at such a late hour?”
“I cannot sleep,” she said with a shrug. “I have never been able to.”
And neither could he. Perhaps they were more alike than either of them realized.
CHAPTER 3
“Hunter, you’re home!”
Scarlett didn’t think she had ever see Lavinia so animated as when she ran through the door of the dining room, stopping with her skirts still billowing around her as she looked about in bewilderment for her brother.
Her face fell when she found only Scarlett sitting there.
“I heard Hunter was home,” she said by way of apology, sitting down at the table. Scarlett shrugged. “Apparently he did not wake in time for breakfast,” she said, but her comment was slightly presumptuous as the man in question strolled into the room. Lavinia stood up from the table so abruptly that her Chippendale chair went flying backward. She ran the few steps remaining between them and all but jumped into her brother’s arms.
“Oh, Hunter, it is so wonderful to see you! I was asking Scarlett just yesterday if she knew whether you were going to grace us with your presence this Christmastide. Isn’t it lovely Scarlett?”
Scarlett forced a smile onto her face. If nothing else, itwaswonderful to see Hunter’s sister so joyful. Scarlett swallowed the piece of toast that was stuck in her throat, momentarilyunsure of what to say. For she had forgotten how devastatingly handsome Hunter was, but now that he stood here before her in the light of day, she found herself reminded. Last night after she had tackled him to the floor, when he looked at her she felt the intensity of his gaze, but in the dim light she hadn’t been able to appreciate the true allure of his blue-green eyes, which she now remembered much more vividly as the sun streamed in through the window to descend on the masculine planes of his face.
He and Lavinia were alike in coloring, but that was where the similarities ended. Where she was round, he was angular, and where she was soft, he was hard muscle. Scarlett hadn’t paid near enough attention to their parents to notice which they favored, but she seemed to recall the marquess reminding her of his son.
“Where is that husband of yours?”
“Oh, you know Baxter,” she said with a wave of her hand. “He had some business or other to attend to” —likely a cheroot and a newspaper, if Scarlett knew well enough— “but said he would be by to see you later on. We will be spending much time together over Christmas, I’m sure.”
“I, ah, I’m not sure how long I will be staying.”
“What?” Lavinia’s joy evaporated suddenly. “You only just arrived, Hunter, and Christmas is but days away. You must stay. Please, say you will. We will have dinner together, and we are even hosting a New Year’s Eve party. It will be great fun.”
“We shall see,” he said noncommittally, before raising his head to look directly at Scarlett. “Good morning, Scarlett.”
