Page 157 of Snowbound Surrender
“It’s more than that, Scarlett,” he said, resting his chin on her shoulder as he gazed at her reflection. “I love you. You are my wife, and I want to live that way with you.”
“I know,” she whispered, though she said nothing else, and his heart rent in two. This was the second time he had told her how he felt for her, and again she stayed silent. He finished buttoning her dress and stepped back from her.
Coldness washed over him, and it had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures outside.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, hearing the anger in his voice but unable to keep from allowing his frustration to show. “What have I done to repulse you so?”
“It’s not you,” she said with a cry, turning around toward him, her silvery gown swishing like moonlight as she did. “I have no wish to return to London. It’s where … it’s where…”
“What?” he asked, desperate to know.
“It’s where my family fell apart,” she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes.
“Talk to me, Scarlett,” he pleaded, taking a hesitant step toward her, his hands coming to her arms over the white gloves she had pulled on.
“My parents … they were happy once,” she said, her eyes far away, unfocused. “I used to think how wonderful it was that they loved one another so much when it seemed many other couples care nothing for one another. We followed my father from London to the country, as most do, as you well know. I loved the country — I still do, clearly. I could spend all day with the horses, riding the fields, traveling the countryside. I loved following the neighbor’s children around. When we were at our country estate they would spend hours outdoors with me, but then they would go to school once we returned to London. This one summer, when I was ten years old, my mother decided that we could take an extra few weeks at the estate before returning to London. Instead of telling my father when we were to arrive, she thought she would surprise him. We arrived in London later than we anticipated — we got off to a late start, and we stopped to visit a friend on the way. It was just past dinner. We came to the front door, and the butler tried to keep us from entering, but….”
As she told the story, a hand came to her hair, still down upon her shoulders without a lady’s maid to attend to it. She worried those strands of hair so much that he wanted to reach out and still her fingers, but he knew if he interrupted, he might never have another opportunity to hear her tale.
“My father was in the drawing room with a woman. Her breasts were practically falling out of her bodice, her skirts hiked up nearly around her waist. My father was hastily trying to rearrange his clothing but … we knew. My mother went into a fit of hysterics. She had always been under the belief that myfather was true to her, that their love was pure. Her eyes were opened that day. When she began to put the pieces together, she realized that never in their marriage had he been without a mistress, never had he been faithful to her. She had been blind to it, not wanting to see it. And even worse, in her mind, was that he took hardly any effort to hide it, allowing this woman into her home — our home.”
She paused, her eyes finally focusing on his face.
“I’ve hated London since then. My mother has hardly ever been able to return to that townhouse, always remembering what she saw there. The worst part of it all, Hunter? My father didn’t even care. Oh, he was upset that I witnessed his exhibitions, that’s true. But it didn’t seem to bother him that my mother knew. And while she never forgot his blatant disregard for her feelings, to this day she continues to love him, despite how much she hates him in equal measure.”
Hunter stood there in shock, not knowing what to say. His parents had been cold to one another, had never been loving nor kind toward him. But that was the life he had always known. Scarlett had been part of a loving family — facade that it was — until it had been ripped away from her.
“Scarlett,” he finally said, bringing her hand to his lips. “I am so very sorry.”
CHAPTER 18
Why hadshe told him that story?
Her mother’s words echoing round her mind, Scarlett had begun to dress this evening determined to put some distance between her and Hunter — not to freeze him out entirely, but to put up some form of protection. Instead, she had shared some of her innermost thoughts with him, making herself even more vulnerable, giving him more power over her.
“Scarlett,” he said again, softly, “are you afraid I will do the same to you?”
She wiped at her eyes, dashing the tears away.
“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “At first, yes. Now … I am not so sure.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you like that,” he said, his lips tightly pursed. “I could never do that to a woman I love.”
“My father told my mother he loved her.”
“I’m not sure how to convince you that I am not the same man as your father,” he said gently, bringing his index finger and thumb to her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. His blue-green eyes bore into her, as though he were trying to emphasize his point. “But I’m not. Nor am I the same man as myown father. We come from parents who did not set the greatest examples of love for us. But can we not at least try, Scarlett?”
She gave a quick nod. She wanted to try, truly she did. But this had simply been a moment in time, when they were together without the rest of the world’s intrusion. What would it be like if she did return to the city with him? She had been in London for only short periods of time over the past ten years. Could she spend months within its confines, as she longed for the freedom the countryside offered her?
Her thoughts continued to plague her as she stepped into the sleigh with her mother and Hunter for the short ride to Lavinia’s. This was home now, she thought while they slid away, as she looked up at the impressive brick building, its wings stretching backward to the gardens beyond. She knew nearly every foot of the estate, was familiar with the servants, the tenants. How could she leave all of that behind?
When she turned her face from the view beside her, she saw Hunter looking at her with some concern, and she managed a small smile for both him and her mother.
When they reached the home of the Lavinia and Baxter Shaw, Hunter squeezed her hand as he helped both Scarlett and her mother out of the sleigh. Lavinia was, as always, extremely pleased to see them.
“Oh, and Lady Halifax, how lovely to have you with us!” she said as she led them through the foyer and down the corridor. Scarlett noted that all of Lavinia’s servants were still in attendance. Wasshein the minority of those who celebrated Boxing Day? Surely not. It must simply be Hunter and his sister. “We are a small party this evening. In addition to the four of us, Lord and Lady Raymond are here tonight instead of last night, as they were unable to travel on the roads.”
She swung open the door of the drawing room, to reveal Baxter lounging in his usual chair, a mahogany and leatherlibrary chair that was completely out of place within the delicate room. Scarlett knew it was rather well worn in the middle — she sometimes wondered if the piece of furniture was part of him. He had a glass of amber liquid in one hand, an unlit cheroot dangling from his lips. She didn’t understand what Lavinia saw in the man, but she actually seemed to enjoy his company, so Scarlett didn’t question it. As long as Nia was happy, who was Scarlett to judge?
