A Very Scandalous Fairbanks Christmas (Those Very Bad Fairbanks #14)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

T he manor was silent, the hush of night settled over the grand manor like a thick, comforting quilt. A few lights still flickered from behind heavy drapes, but for the most part, the household had retired for the night, leaving nothing but the whisper of snowflakes tumbling from the sky.

Daniel stood alone on the stone terrace, a flask of whisky in hand, as he stared into the vast snow-covered landscape. The chilled air bit at his skin, but he welcomed it. A bracing contrast to the warmth burning inside him. Not from the whisky, but from the sight he had witnessed earlier—Ravenswood with his wife and children. The duke had been a different man in their company—his gaze softened, his touch lingering, his love for his duchess unmistakable.

It had been painful to witness.

A reminder of what Daniel did not have.

A wife and lover.

A home filled with warmth instead of an endless stretch of cold, empty halls. For so long, he had told himself he did not need such things. That the loss of his mother, father, and brother had been a lesson.

Do not love too deeply. Do not get close or allow anyone close because the loss is inevitable, agonizing and gut-wrenching. It took far too long to lift oneself from the quagmire of grief and pain that came with the death of a beloved. Daniel tipped the flask to his lips, letting the whisky’s burn sear away the thoughts.

He was two and thirty, and only now did he begin to feel the sharp weight of loneliness settle over him. His younger sister, Catherine, had fled England years ago, taking refuge in Italy with her husband, unable to bear the memories of their family’s death. They wrote often, but he had not seen her in nearly five years.

Perhaps it was time to visit.

Daniel sighed, about to turn back inside the manor when a shadow moved in the distance. His body stilled, his senses sharpening. Someone was sneaking through the gardens.

At this hour?

Curiosity flickered in his chest as he watched the figure trudge through the fresh snow, moving toward the back of the property. Then the moonlight shifted, illuminating golden hair escaping from beneath a hood.

Daniel’s brow lifted. Caroline Fairbanks .

A slow smile curled his mouth. She had been avoiding him all day, skirting out of rooms when he entered, refusing to meet his gaze. The lady had even taken her supper in her room, leaving him to endure the full weight of her family’s curious and decidedly amused gazes as they dined.

Yet here she was, slinking through the shadows like a thief in the night.

He should leave her to her devices. Instead, he tucked the flask away and followed. She walked purposefully, her boots crunching against the snow-covered path, heedless of the cold. He kept his distance, watching as she made her way through the trees into the woodland surrounding the manor.

Most ladies would not dare venture into a snow-covered forest alone—not with only the half-moon to guide them.

But Caroline Fairbanks did.

Brave little thing. Or reckless .

He wondered—was she meeting a lover? The thought twisted inside him, something dark and unfamiliar curling in his gut. She was the only unmarried lady in the house. Had she snuck out for a rendezvous? His jaw tightened as he moved quieter, his boots making little sound against the packed snow. He did not know why the thought irritated him.

Only that it did.

She stopped beneath a massive oak tree, its twisting branches stretching toward the sky. She began to climb it. Daniel halted, blinking. What in the devil’s name was she doing?

The tree was massive, the bark slick with frost, the branches thin in places. Yet she climbed with determination, her hands and boots finding footholds with surprising ease.

A smirk tugged at his mouth.

How interesting you are, Miss Fairbanks.

She was doing well. Until she slipped. A startled cry tore from her lips. Daniel moved on instinct, surging forward just as she tumbled down. His arms caught her in the nick of time, her body crashing into his chest with a force that nearly sent them both toppling over into the snow.

Her hands flew up, grasping his shoulders in a tight, desperate grip.

She gasped, her breath warm against his throat. Her fingers dug into his coat, her wide, green eyes locking onto his in shock.

“Lord Walcott?”

Her voice was a mixture of disbelief and outrage.

He smirked, his arms still wrapped firmly around her waist. “A pleasure, as always, Miss Fairbanks.”

She gaped. “Where did you come from?”

His smile deepened, his fingers spanning the curve of her waist as he set her down gently onto the snow. “I might ask the same of you,” he murmured.

Miss Fairbanks stared at him, her breath coming fast and uneven, the snowflakes melting against her flushed skin.

She was close enough to kiss.

And for the first time in a long while, Daniel had the distinct urge to do just that. To pull a woman close, feel her soft curves press against him, and taste the sweetness of her lips. The desire sliced through him, sharp and unexpected.

His gaze drifted over her face, illuminated by the pale glow of the half-moon. The pristine snow stretched around them, casting the world in a hushed, ethereal stillness. Against that backdrop, Caroline looked almost otherworldly—her golden hair shimmering silver in the moonlight, her green eyes dark and luminous, filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite decipher. A faint flush warmed her cheeks from the cold, making her lips appear rosier and softer.

He had seen countless beautiful women before, but there was something about her—something wild and untamed, something he shouldn’t want. She must have sensed his thoughts because she suddenly hissed, pressing a firm palm against his chest.

“Do not do it, you scoundrel.”

He lifted a brow. “Do what?”

She blushed, the color evident even in the moonlight. “You were thinking of acting like a libertine!”

“Wrong,” he drawled, slow and deliberate. “I merely thought to kiss you. A libertine’s thoughts would have been far more wicked.”

Her breath hitched, her fingers twitching against his coat before she abruptly whirled away from him.

“I have better things to do than stand here and be scandalized,” she muttered, marching back toward the tree.

Daniel folded his arms, watching with mild amusement as she braced herself and reached for a low-hanging branch once more. She climbed a few feet before her boot slipped against the bark, and she slid back down with a startled gasp.

He caught her without hesitation.

Again.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her face close enough that he could see the delicate golden flecks in her green eyes.

She released a frustrated breath, pushed away from him, and tried again.

And again.

And again.

He was there to catch her each time, steady and patient, though his amusement grew with every failed attempt.

After the fourth time, he asked, “Is it so important to climb?”

“Yes.”

The single word was quiet but fiercely determined. He studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Then let me help you.”

She blinked up at him, hesitation flickering across her face. For the first time, she looked … uncertain. And the sight of it wrenched something odd and unfamiliar in his chest. She gave a small nod. Without another word, he stepped closer, bracing her by the waist, guiding her hands to the sturdier branches as she climbed.

Higher. And higher still. She didn’t stop until they were so far from the ground, the sharp bite of cold air was even more pronounced, and a fall would surely break bones.

Daniel scowled. “If you think I’m leaving you up here alone so you can tumble to your death when you decide to descend, you are sorely mistaken.”

She turned her head and smiled at him, her eyes glittering. “Then sit.”

His lips parted, ready to object, but then he saw the look on her face—the soft yearning, the way her gaze was fixed on the sky above them as if she were searching for something just beyond reach. With a sigh, he settled beside her, leaning against the sturdy curve of the branch. For a while, neither of them spoke, simply sitting there in the vast quiet of the night, the stars scattered brilliantly above them.

“Tell me, why is it so important to risk life and limb to make this climb?” His voice was dry with amusement. “At the very least, I’d like to know what I’ll have died for if I fall.”

A small laugh escaped her. “You won’t fall.”

“Tell me,” he insisted, his gaze steady on hers.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “It’s a family belief.”

He turned his head slightly, watching her instead of the stars. “What is?”

“That those we love … the ones we’ve lost … they live up there.” She tipped her chin toward the vast, star-studded sky. “They watch over us.”

Daniel exhaled, tilting his head to look up. “That’s fanciful.”

She smiled. “Perhaps. But it’s comforting.”

Something tightened in his chest . Comforting . He frowned, his thoughts drifting to the past, to memories buried beneath years of silence. His mother’s laughter, his father’s deep, rumbling voice, his brother’s teasing grin.

Could they be up there? He nearly scoffed at himself. Foolish thought.

And yet …

He found himself searching the sky anyway. For what, he didn’t know. But perhaps, just perhaps, it was indeed … comforting. Miss Fairbanks looked up at the sky again, the moonlight catching in the delicate angles of her face, making her look almost dreamlike.

She shifted slightly on the branch, tilting her head to study him. “Who did you lose?”

Daniel’s body went rigid.

She must have felt the tension roll off him because she immediately rushed to amend her words. “Forgive me. I did not mean to pry … I only recognized the pain on your face.”

He said nothing for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on the stars above as if searching for someone. Daniel said nothing. Because what could he say? He had not thought of his father that way in years. He had not thought of his mother’s voice, his brother’s teasing, or how their home had once been filled with warmth and life.

Then, quietly, he murmured, “My mother. My father. My brother.”