Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
C aroline wrapped her arms around herself as she made her way toward the lake, her boots crunching softly over the frost-kissed path. The morning air was crisp, the sky a pale winter blue, the world still and hushed save for the occasional burst of laughter.
Then she saw him.
Her steps faltered. Daniel stood on the ice, his tall, commanding frame somehow at ease, his gloved hands steadying Lily as she wobbled unsteadily on her skates. He was smiling, his head slightly tilted as he listened to whatever she was saying, and then—
He laughed.
The sound was rich, deep, and utterly at odds with the cold and aloof earl everyone whispered about in the ton . Caroline’s fingers fluttered to her lips, her breath hitching. In an instant, she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers—the shocking heat, the way he had kissed her as if he had every right to, as if he had already claimed her. The taste of him still lingered, dark and intoxicating, and warmth flooded her so swiftly that for the first time that morning, she no longer felt cold.
Lily, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, beamed up at him with absolute trust.
“You must keep your knees bent just a little,” Daniel instructed, his voice calm yet firm. “And don’t lock your ankles.”
Lily nodded solemnly, mimicking his stance.
Caroline watched as he took both of Lily’s hands in his, guiding her gently onto the ice. She wobbled but didn’t fall, her gleeful laughter carrying across the lake.
“You’re doing well,” Daniel said, his own skates slicing effortlessly across the ice as he glided backward, keeping her steady.
Lily’s small face lit with triumph. “I didn’t fall!”
“Not yet,” he teased. “Now, let’s see if you can move without me.”
“He is good with children.”
Caroline started, a sharp breath escaping her as Ester suddenly appeared beside her, her expression amused. She turned, pressing a hand to her chest. “You startled me.”
Ester grinned, her cheeks glowing with happiness, her dark curls loose over her shoulders. “You were staring at Lord Walcott so intently you did not even hear me.”
Caroline flushed, her gaze darting back to the ice. Daniel was still standing with Lily, steadying her as she pushed forward on her skates, her delighted giggles echoing across the frozen lake. “I was merely … surprised to see him,” she said carefully.
Ester arched a brow. “Ellie was quite correct in saying there is an attraction between the two of you.”
Caroline groaned, turning away. “No. There is not.”
“No?” Ester drawled, her blue eyes gleaming and her lips twitching. “Just startled enough to hide in your room all of yesterday and conveniently miss dinner?”
Caroline glared, but her cousin only laughed. Before she could issue a proper retort, Lily spotted them. Her green eyes gleamed as she waved excitedly. “Cousin Caroline! Aunt Ester!”
She darted across the snow, nearly tripping over her own feet in excitement before throwing her arms around Ester’s waist.
Ester laughed, ruffling the child’s curls. “Come, darling. Fanny and Cook have made your favorite cookies.”
Lily gasped. “Chocolate and cinnamon?”
Ester winked. “Only the best.”
Lily whipped around and waved at Daniel. “Thank you, Lord Walcott! I must go now!”
Daniel gave her a slow nod, a faint smile still curving his lips. “Enjoy your sweets, Lady Lily.”
With one last gleeful look, Lily bound toward the house, her boots kicking up soft flurries of snow as she and Ester disappeared inside.
And then—
Caroline was alone with the earl. Daniel had turned, watching her and something in his gaze unraveled her. She forced herself to walk toward him, summoning every bit of composure she possessed, determined to appear calm and unflappable.
Even as her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Caroline barely breathed as she watched him. The cold winter morning felt hushed, as if the world itself had paused, listening to the secrets they shared. Daniel waited, his posture rigid, yet there was something unguarded about him at this moment. The wind had ruffled his dark hair, the usually neat strands falling over his forehead in a way that made him seem less like an untouchable earl and more like a man at ease with the world. A man who had just spent the morning laughing with a child.
There was a dampness to his hair from the fine mist of snowflakes that had settled on it while they skated, and a single drop clung stubbornly to the sharp edge of his cheekbone before trailing down to his strong jaw.
His cravat was slightly askew, his greatcoat unfastened, revealing a hint of the crisp linen beneath. He was not the polished, coldly distant man she had first met in that little shop on High Holborn.
No.
Here, with the wind teasing his hair and a thoughtful expression softening the usual steel in his eyes, he was … different.
More approachable. More human.
And she was achingly aware of it. Acutely aware of his closeness, of the faint scent of leather, spice, and winter air that clung to him. Her fingers fluttered slightly, wanting—for one foolish moment—to reach up and smooth back the unruly strands of his hair.
Instead, she curled her hands into her cloak and forced herself to look away, focusing on anything but him. The forest beyond them stretched into the distance, the towering trees blanketed in a thick layer of pristine white, their branches bowing slightly beneath the weight of fresh snowfall.
A few brittle twigs peeked through, their edges dusted with frost, and when the wind stirred, a fine spray of glittering powder cascaded down, the tiny flakes catching the weak morning sunlight. The lake behind them was a glistening sheet of ice, the smooth surface broken only by faint skate marks and the occasional fallen leaf, frozen in place like a relic from autumn.
Everything was still, save for the soft crunch of her boots against the packed snow as she shifted slightly, trying to gather her composure. Daniel’s gaze remained on her, and she felt the weight of his scrutiny like a brand on her skin.
She swallowed. “You seem more relaxed.”
His brow lifted slightly, as if surprised by the observation.
She cleared her throat. “I meant … you are not as brooding as you were in London. I saw you a few times at balls and you do not dance or engage in conversation …”
Oh, I am rambling!
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “That is because London suffocates me.”
Something in the way he said it—the quiet certainty of it—made her pause. She understood the feeling. There were days when London suffocated her too. But she did not say so. Instead, she forced herself to step back, creating distance, though the cold that rushed between them felt far less biting than the loss of his warmth.
“Thank you for indulging Lily,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.
His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “She is a bright girl.”
Caroline smiled. “She is. Though she has the makings of a true terror.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “All children do, I imagine.”
She hesitated, then said, “You looked … comfortable with her. You are good with children.”
He stilled again, his expression closing off as quickly as it had opened. She regretted the words almost instantly. “Have I said something wrong, Daniel?”
His gaze flickered over her face, as if measuring something in her expression. Then, after a long moment, he said, “No. I simply do not think of myself as a man who is good with children.”
“That is surprising. You seemed …” Caroline hesitated. “At ease.”
His mouth twisted slightly, as if the idea amused him. “I generally avoid them.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head. “And why is that?”
He exhaled slowly, his breath a faint mist in the cold air. “I have little in common with children. What reason do I have to converse with those little hellions?”
A laugh burst from her before she could stop it. “Hellions?”
“You have not met many unruly children, have you?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with something warm, teasing.
She thought of the Fairbanks brood—of Lily running through the halls, Simon, Ester, and Ellie’s sons terrorizing the dogs, and Nicholas’s daughter giggling behind closed doors, no doubt plotting some form of mischief.
“Oh, I have,” she admitted, smiling. “Yet … when I am around them, I feel this longing for my own.”
The words left her before she could stop them, and she sucked in a breath, her eyes widening in horror. Heat crept up her neck, mortification curling in her belly.
Daniel said nothing for a moment, merely watching her, his expression unreadable. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he said, “Perhaps … they have that power. Children.”
She glanced at him, startled by the rawness in his voice. “Have what power?”
“To make you realize your secret longing. For many years, I dismissed the idea of a wife … of children,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I only thought of them in terms of duty . A necessity. Eventually, I would need an heir. But I never …” He exhaled. “Even recently, I thought life … can be rather empty. So perhaps it is time I fulfill my responsibilities.”
His gaze drifted toward the ice, his hands clenching slightly at his sides.
“But just now,” he said, voice gruff, “after spending time with Lily, I realized something. A child is not just a duty or an obligation. A child is … a person. A living, breathing piece of oneself. Someone who would laugh, talk, cry … rely on me to protect them from the world.”
A slight tremor ran through his voice, though his face remained impassive. “It is terrifying.”
Caroline’s breath caught. Something about the way he said it, the depth of emotion in his otherwise composed demeanor, made her chest tighten. Her eyes snapped to his, but just as quickly, the flicker of vulnerability was gone. His face was once again cool, distant, unreadable. She suspected he hadn’t meant to share so much with her—or perhaps, like her, he had done so because she had unwittingly bared a small piece of herself first. The realization sent a peculiar warmth through her, though she did not dare examine it too closely.
Daniel glanced down at her feet. “You came out to skate,” he noted.
“Yes.”
His gaze flickered back to hers. “Do not let me hold you up.”
She nodded, expecting him to turn and leave, but then his stare lingered—just for a moment—on her mouth before he looked away. An odd flutter started in her stomach, and before she could second-guess herself, the words left her lips. “Perhaps … you could skate with me.”
He stilled, as if the suggestion had caught him completely off guard. A few beats passed before he turned back toward her. His silver eyes searched hers, and then, to her utter astonishment, he smiled. “Very well.”
Caroline bit the inside of her cheek to keep from beaming like a fool as he strode toward her with the grace of a man who was completely at ease on the ice. She, unfortunately, was not so skilled. The moment she attempted to move forward, her balance wavered, and she let out a startled gasp as her skates slid wildly beneath her. Before she could land in an ungraceful heap, strong hands caught her waist, steadying her.
“You are poor at this,” Daniel observed, his voice laced with amusement.
Caroline huffed a laugh, pushing strands of windblown hair from her face. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
His mouth quirked. “Hard not to when you almost take a tumble two seconds in.”
“I just need a moment to find my rhythm,” she defended, trying to regain her dignity.
His silver eyes glinted with amusement, but he released her and gestured. “Go on, then.”
She took one step forward—and promptly lost her balance again. With a yelped laugh, she toppled backward, arms flailing, bracing for the inevitable cold and bruised pride. But Daniel was there. Once more, his hands found her waist, steady and impossibly warm even through the layers of her pelisse.
“You are determined to fall, aren’t you?” he murmured, his breath fanning against her temple as he effortlessly righted her.
Caroline laughed, feeling the sound bubble from her throat like champagne. “Perhaps I am testing you, my lord.”
His lips twitched. “Testing my patience?”
“Testing your reflexes.”
A low chuckle rumbled from him, rich and deep, and she found herself ridiculously pleased to have drawn that sound from him.
“Come,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let me teach you properly.”
He positioned himself beside her, taking one of her hands in his while his other lightly rested at the small of her back. Caroline gulped. His closeness was wreaking havoc on her heartbeat. They moved forward together, his firm grip guiding her movements, adjusting her posture.
“Bend your knees slightly—yes, just like that. Now, shift your weight onto your right foot …”
She followed his instruction carefully, biting her lower lip as she wobbled only slightly before gliding forward.
“Yes,” he murmured approvingly, and something about the way his voice dipped sent a curl of heat through her veins.
They continued like that, slow and steady, the movements growing easier, the laughter more frequent whenever she wobbled. More than once, she found herself staring at his mouth, wondering how it would feel pressed against hers again.
Temptation curled within her, unbidden, startlingly strong. She blushed furiously and immediately looked away.
Daniel’s brows lifted, and a wicked smile touched his lips. “I am tempted to ask what wicked thoughts you are having to turn your cheeks apple red.”
Caroline groaned inwardly, cursing her complexion. She scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as if completely unaffected. “It’s the cold.”
His smile deepened, but he did not argue. Instead, he continued guiding her across the smooth expanse of ice, their skates slicing through the surface in effortless glides.
“You are a wonderful skater,” she said after a moment, trying to steer the conversation into safer territory.
“Are you surprised?”
“A little,” she admitted with a teasing smile. “Who taught you?”
His expression shifted, something softer, almost nostalgic flickering across his face.
“My father,” he said simply.
Caroline didn’t miss the way his grip tightened slightly around hers, or the way his gaze drifted somewhere far away for a moment.
She hesitated, then murmured, “You must have been very young.”
His silver eyes returned to hers, something unreadable flickering within them. “I was about seven when he taught me and my brother. I have not skated in years; I am surprised I still remembered how.”
A faint sadness drifted through her chest, but she did not press further. Instead, she tightened her grip on his hand and smiled. “I am fortunate to have such a skilled teacher. Thank you.”
His lips quirked, but he said nothing. The silence between them settled, not uncomfortable, but lingering, as they continued their slow, gliding dance across the ice.