Page 22 of The Christmas Countess

He set his gaze directly on hers. “I don’t know that I even chose what my life was long ago—I just lived it. I owed Vinehill—the marquess—everything. Everything I had, everything I was. It was because of him. I was an orphan. He took me into his home. Raised me as one of his own. So why would I ever question what was asked of me?”

Her lips pursed, but she didn’t argue. She was listening.

He would take it.

“All I can tell you, Karta, is that I would change the past if I could. It was never because I didn’t love you. I would have moved mountains for you. I still would.”

He paused, shaking his head. “But I can’t change the past. I know that.” He reached out, setting his hand gently on her knee. “I can only speak to now. To this moment. And now—now I am beholden to no one. Not the marquess. Not Vinehill. I’m only beholden to that pile of stones across the glen that I inherited.”

Her look had dropped to his hand on her knee.

He wasn’t sure if she was about to flick it off of its perch or grab it.

A long moment passed.

She grabbed it.

“It’s not exactly a pile of stones, Dom.” Her brown eyes lifted, meeting his gaze. “The structure is actually quite beautiful—I’ve always admired it.”

A change in subject.

It wasn’t forgiveness, but it wasn’t continued vilification. Progress.

With a shrug, his hand flipped over under her fingers, setting his palm flat against hers. “The abbey is crumbling in areas. It’s going to take much work to right it. To right the estate after the neglect it has suffered the last several years.”

“I didn’t know the last Lord Kirkmere had neglected it so. Though I’ve heard very little gossip about the area. The staff here is tight-lipped about everything around me. They regard me as a suspicious lowlander.” She shivered. “Maggie at least has traces of her Highland accent, so she has gotten on well enough with them.”

He slipped his hand out from under hers and set his arm around her shoulders, tugging her back onto him. She didn’t fight him, flattening her cold body against his chest once more.

“The last Kirkmere was quite addled at the end, from what I’ve been told. He apparently became quite confused about what age he was living in—the poor old chap thought the war in America had just begun. Just before the war ended, his only son was drunk in Stirling when he was pressed onto a warship and then died before it even reached America. So I guess that’s the time he wanted to live in—when his son was still alive.”

Her head shook. “Tragic. I can imagine going back in time like that in the end of life—especially to happier times.”

He looked down at the top of her head. “When would you live?”

She angled her face to look up at him, a grin playing about her lips. “I think I’ll refuse to answer that for fear the control we are exhibiting would be ruined.”

She took the last sip of her brandy, then tucked the back of her fingers holding the glass against the center divot of his chest. “Well, if anyone can right the estate, it is you, Dom. You’ve been holding Vinehill together for ages—doing the hard work of running an estate like that—so taking over Kirkmere Abbey should be an easy task for you.” Her words slowed, thick, and she nuzzled her head along his shoulder, finding just the right spot to settle it.

“Your confidence in me is odd.”

“Why?” The sleepy word was whispered with a deep breath.

“That you still have it in me. Even after I failed you.”

Silence.

He waited, his breath held for seconds that dragged on far too long before he realized she’d fallen asleep. Too much brandy. Too much whisky. Her fingers had gone limp on her glass, and he tugged the tumbler from her grasp. He set it on the side table to his right, clinking it next to his own glass.

This he would also take. A thousand times over.

Karta sleeping on him, the shivers that had held onto her body long since dissipated. Karta peaceful, not teetering on that constant nervous edge she’d balanced along ever since she had woken in the abbey to see him. Karta without harsh words of his devastating betrayal on her lips.

This he would take.

It wasn’t all of her. But he had time for that now.

As much time as she needed.

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