Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
D aniel lay in his darkened bedchamber staring at the ceiling, utterly awake. Sleep eluded him. And he knew why. Caroline Fairbanks. He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair, frustration prickling at his skin.
He wanted her.
More than he had ever wanted another woman. The awareness of it was baffling—a sharp, insistent pull that had lingered since the moment he met her in that gift shop. It wasn’t just her beauty, though she had that in abundance—golden hair that shimmered in the firelight, eyes so vividly green they haunted him, and a mouth he had already tasted and wanted to taste again.
It was something more. Something that had been written in her eyes when he told her she was not the kind of woman he would marry. Something that told him she wanted more.
Marriage.
Children.
A life that had nothing to do with seduction or trysts in darkened bedchambers. Despite the scandal that clung to her name, despite the rumors and whispers, she would not be his lover. She would never settle for what he could offer. The lonely, wistful smile she had given him before bidding him goodnight—the memory of it pierced him.
What was he doing?
Daniel blew out a breath, shutting his eyes and pushing her from his thoughts.
He would not chase a woman who he could not give her what she wanted.
And Caroline Fairbanks …
His gut warned him she was not a woman who would accept less. With that final thought, he turned onto his side, willing sleep to come. But even as he drifted off, her laugh echoed in his mind.
And her taste lingered on his lips.
Daniel woke to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the heavy drapes of his chamber. He blinked at the ceiling, disoriented for a moment, his body unusually warm and well-rested.
That was odd.
Most December mornings, he rose feeling tense and restless, his sleep broken by the usual nightmares—the echoes of his parents’ screams, the terrifying crack of ice, the scream of his sister’s merging with his, and the suffocating silence that followed. Most mornings, he would pace the hallways of his estate, or saddle his horse and ride for hours through the bitter cold, chasing away memories that threatened to consume him.
But last night …
Last night, he had slept. Soundly. Deeply. Without dreams. And he knew exactly why.
Caroline Fairbanks. She had taken up every space in his dreams. Scowling at the unwanted thought, he threw off the covers and rose from the bed, dressing quickly and efficiently, as he always did. He had never been one to rely on a valet— he preferred solitude in the mornings, the ritual of fastening his own cravat and pulling on his boots a grounding habit in an otherwise unpredictable life.
Once dressed, he left his chamber and strode down the long hallway, surprised to find the house still eerily quiet.
Had he overslept?
A rare occurrence, indeed. Descending the grand staircase, he barely reached the landing before something caught his eye—a small figure sitting on the steps below, her delicate face forlorn as she rested her chin in her hands.
Daniel hesitated. The child, no more than seven or eight years old, perked up when she spotted him, her green eyes brightening with unmistakable excitement.
She scrambled to her feet and curtsied with great flourish. “Good morning, my lord! I am Lady Lily.”
Amused, he inclined his head. “Lady Lily.”
She grinned, then sighed dramatically, clasping her hands before her. “It is a terrible thing, my lord.”
“What is?” he asked, bemused.
“All of my aunts and uncles are still sleeping, and I wish to go skating! But mama says I cannot go outside without an adult.”
She pouted then, as if the world itself had betrayed her.
Daniel arched a brow. “Is that so?”
She nodded vehemently. “Yes. It is dreadfully unfair.”
“Mm.” He glanced toward the frost-laced windows, his gaze flickering toward the frozen pond in the distance. He remembered seeing it when he first arrived, a pristine sheet of ice nestled beyond the rolling snow-covered grounds.
The thought of gliding over that smooth, untouched surface …
He couldn’t recall the last time he had skated. A small hand suddenly gripped his sleeve, tugging gently.
“Will you take me, my lord?” Lily asked, tilting her head at him, her hopeful smile impossibly endearing.
He should say no. But for some reason, he didn’t want to. Instead, he found himself saying, “Fetch your skates, Lady Lily.”
Her squeal of delight nearly deafened him, and before he could react, she darted up the stairs, moving with all the determination of a soldier preparing for battle. A short while later, they made their way through the snow-dusted grounds, the crisp winter air nipping at their skin.
The pond came into view, its surface a flawless expanse of glass-like ice, the edges lined with frost-covered reeds and towering pines. The sunlight cast a pale shimmer over the frozen water, making it look almost ethereal.
Lily practically bounced beside him, barely able to contain her excitement.
“Have you skated before?” he asked as he knelt, helping her fasten the small leather straps of her skates.
She shook her head eagerly. “Only a little! But papa is going to teach me more.”
Daniel glanced at the house in the distance. “And where is your father?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Still abed, I think. He and mama stayed up very late last night playing cards with Uncle Colin and Aunt Hermina.”
A slow smile tugged at his lips. “Then I suppose I shall have to teach you instead.”
Her face lit up. “Truly?”
He nodded. “But only if you promise not to fall too often. I have no desire to explain to your parents why their daughter is covered in bruises.”
Lily giggled. “I shall try my best, my lord.”
With that, Daniel took her hand and led her onto the ice.
The first step was tentative, her small body teetering unsteadily.
He caught her easily, his grip firm and reassuring.
“Bend your knees a little,” he instructed, steadying her. “And keep your weight forward.”
She did as he said, her face scrunched in concentration. Then, with a careful push, he glided backward, pulling her along with him. Lily let out a delighted shriek, her laughter pealing across the frozen air.
“Again!” she cried, her fingers tightening around his hands.
Daniel smirked. “Very well, Lady Lily. Again.”
And so they skated, the child giggling with joy as he guided her across the ice, her feet stumbling but her determination unwavering. With each pass, she grew steadier, braver, until she was gliding on her own, her little arms outstretched for balance.
Daniel watched her, an unexpected warmth settling in his chest. It was a strange thing, to be here, on this frozen pond, with a child who was not his own—a child who adored her family, whose world was full of warmth and love.
For a moment, he wondered …
Would he ever have this? The thought unsettled him. So instead, he pushed it aside—and let himself enjoy the moment.