Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
T he sound of splintering wood and twisting metal echoed in his skull. “ Daniel! ”
His sister’s scream ripped through the night, piercing through the roar of the storm, the violent crashing of the carriage snapping apart, the icy plunge into the water.
They were drowning. They were all drowning. And he could only save one. Daniel jerked upright, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. Darkness pressed in around him, the sheets damp beneath him from sweat, the echoes of the past still roaring in his ears. His hands were clenched so tight his knuckles ached, and the room felt too small, too suffocating.
Dragging in a shuddering breath, he scrubbed a hand down his face, swallowing the bitter taste of old fear. It had been sixteen years since that night.
Yet on this night, every year, his mind dragged him back into the wreckage.
Slowly, he exhaled, pressing his palms into the mattress, grounding himself in the present. It was not a stormy night. There was no snow howling in the wind, no ice waiting to drag him under. The manor was quiet, warm, alive with laughter only hours before.
With a sigh, Daniel swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed himself to his feet. His body felt weighted, exhaustion pressing into his muscles, but he knew sleep would not come again tonight. He padded over to the window, pushing back the thick drapes. Moonlight spilled into the room, illuminating the frost-kissed grounds below. The stars were brilliant, scattered like silver dust across the velvet black sky.
Christmas Eve.
The anniversary of their deaths. His mother. His father. His brother. The night his entire world had shattered. Daniel sighed, pressing his forehead against the cool glass.
For years, he had avoided this night, avoided Christmas itself, unwilling to let himself dwell on the memories, unwilling to let himself feel.
Yet now, something unexpected stirred inside him.
“It is a family belief that our loved ones become stars when they leave us.”
A wry chuckle escaped his lips. Whimsical nonsense, but …
His eyes traced the shimmering constellations, and he let himself wonder, for the first time, if maybe—just maybe—somewhere up there, his mother still smiled. His father still watched over him. His brother still stood beside him.
The thought was foolish.
Yet …
Yet he liked it.
Daniel turned from the window and reached for his clothes. He dressed swiftly, tugging on his boots and his winter coat. The house was silent as he stepped into the hallway, his footfalls muffled by the thick carpet.
He needed air and he needed something more than memories and ghosts. Daniel descended the staircase, barely paying mind to the festive garlands still strung along the banisters and stepped outside into the cold night. The world was quiet beneath the weight of the snow. The air was crisp, the wind light, carrying the scent of pine and frost.
His feet carried him without thought, away from the house, toward the great oak tree at the back of the property. He found himself climbing without hesitation, gripping the rough bark, pulling himself higher. It was easier than he expected, as if his body already knew the path.
When he reached the branch where they had sat before, he stilled, exhaling a breath that clouded in the frigid air.
From here, the world felt different.
Smaller. Quieter.
He leaned back against the trunk, tilting his head toward the sky.
The stars were still there. He imagined his mother’s soft hands brushing through his hair, the way she always did when he was a boy. He thought of his father’s steady voice guiding him as they skated on the frozen pond, his brother’s laughter as they raced across the ice.
He could almost hear them.
Almost.
A knot tightened in his chest, but for once, it was not just grief. There was something else there too. Something that had not been there before.
Caroline . Daniel’s lips twitched into a small, wry smile, though he hardly knew why. She had been avoiding him since that night in the conservatory, and he had let her. Because he wasn’t ready to face what had happened either. He had never wanted a woman the way he wanted her. Not just in body—but in ways he did not understand.
Tonight, he had watched her at the unexpected bonfire Colin had built outside, her face illuminated by the golden glow of the flames against the endless stretch of snow-covered fields. The heat of the fire had thrown flickering shadows across the pristine landscape, making it feel like something out of a dream, a scene carved from an untouched winter paradise.
The scent of burning wood and the faintest hint of pine drifted on the cold night air, mingling with the sounds of mirth and music from inside the house.
And there she had been.
Laughing, her eyes bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her lips curved in a way that tugged at something deep inside him. She had been wrapped in a red cloak, her golden hair escaping in loose tendrils from beneath her hood. And for one reckless moment, Daniel had wanted nothing more than to walk over, drag her into his arms, and kiss her senseless beneath the stars.
But he had stayed where he was, a silent observer to the warmth and joy she so easily brought to the world around her. And he had felt it then—the sharp ache of longing, the sudden weight of loneliness, pressing in more than ever before.
A couple of nights ago in the conservatory, it had cost him everything not to take her. He had wrestled with his desire, reining in the wicked hunger clawing inside him. He had refused to go further when he knew he could offer her nothing.
But, God … he had wanted her.
Even now, his gut burned with the ache of unfulfilled need, a hunger that refused to fade.
He could still feel her fingertips ghosting over his jaw, a sensation seared into his skin, like a lingering brand. He could still taste her pussy on his tongue, a wicked torment that made his body tense with memory. He could still feel the tightness of her body around his fingers, the soft gasps and helpless cries that had torn from her throat as she came undone in his hands.
Daniel raked his fingers through his hair, muttering a silent curse. Why the hell was he allowing that sensual memory to rattle him so?
Exhaling sharply, he closed his eyes.
A little bit wicked .
That was what she had whispered so achingly against his lips, right before she had kissed him. Before she had surrendered herself so sweetly to his touch. He tipped his head back and stared up at the velvet stretch of night, where thousands of stars gleamed in icy brilliance. “I have met someone, Mother,” he murmured.
His lips twitched into a half-smile as he imagined her reaction. “If there is any possibility that you are listening, you must be wondering why it took me so long to talk to you.”
His smile faded slightly as he considered the thought. “A part of me thinks it is whimsical nonsense, but …” Daniel’s chest tightened with something foreign. “The person I met … she believes it. And damn if I understand why, but her belief makes it easier for me to believe too.”
He let out a rough chuckle, one that held no humor, just a vague sense of bemusement. “Her name is Caroline Fairbanks … and she is unexpected .”
Daniel did not like the restless sensations coursing through him one bit. They felt foreign—unfamiliar, something he could not control.
This was not him.
He exhaled a long breath, shoving a hand into his coat pocket as if to anchor himself. “I am not sure what to make of her or why I like her so much,” he admitted. “She is beautiful, yes. But more than that … she is charming and witty. Generous. Loving to her family. She spent today visiting people in the village, taking baskets of food. And she was … incredible. She spoke to everyone so naturally, made them feel at ease, as if she belonged among them. As if she had always been there.”
He clenched his jaw, recalling how effortlessly she spread warmth wherever she went.
“I do not think she would be a suitable countess,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Nor do I believe she meets any of the expectations you had for me. I still recall you had already picked my bride when I was merely twelve. Lady Roslyn Ashman was your choice. You would be pleased to know she is unwed.”
Daniel let the silence settle around him, staring at the endless sky. “I do not think—”
A rustle came from above him, followed by a soft, hesitant voice.
“I did not intentionally eavesdrop … forgive me.”
Daniel stiffened, his body going taut at the unexpected sound of her voice. He lifted his head sharply and found her perched a few branches higher than him, her figure silhouetted against the night sky, moonlight casting a soft glow over her wind-swept hair. He heard the throb of emotions in her tone, that slight hurt and thought of what he had just said.
Had she heard everything?
“You went higher tonight,” he said, his voice low and deliberately unreadable.
Caroline shifted, the branch beneath her giving a soft creak. “I—I had the urge to speak to my papa too,” she said quickly, her voice unsteady. “And when I saw you come up … I only meant to remain still until you left.”
Daniel let the silence stretch between them, the weight of unspoken truths pressing in. “Because you’ve been avoiding me,” he murmured.
A slight pause. Then, softly, she admitted, “I have been running.”
“Running from what?”
“From the reckless need pushing me toward you … because I knew it would not lead anywhere.”
His throat worked on a tight swallow. Daniel had expected her to avoid the truth, to brush him off with laughter or sharp wit. Instead, she had given him honesty.
It wrecked him.
“I like you too, Daniel,” she said with a light laugh. “I am not afraid to admit it.”
His heart lurched in his chest—a sensation so foreign, so startling that it knocked the breath from his lungs. He turned his gaze upward, staring at the vast stretch of stars, his mind a tangled mess of emotions he wasn’t ready to name.
Silence stretched between them, thick and potent, as if they had both stumbled too close to something raw and dangerous.
Then, softly, she said, “Tonight must be incredibly hard for you. Do you wish to speak about it?”
A shuddering breath left him, the frigid air burning his lungs. He never spoke about it. Never let anyone close enough to know.
Yet, tonight, the words came anyway.
“I had the chance to save my mother,” he said hoarsely, the memory slamming into him like a fist. “I swam toward her … but then, she looked past me. Over my shoulder.”
He swallowed, his throat raw.
“She was looking at the current pulling my sister away.”
He saw it now, clear as the stars above them. The terror in his mother’s eyes, the sudden shift of emotion when she realized Daniel had a choice.
“I stopped going to her,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I turned away and shouted that I would save Catherine. I was the strongest swimmer. I knew I could reach her.”
His fingers clenched against the bark, his nails digging into the rough surface as the memory ripped through him like a blade.
“And my mother … she was relieved. I saw it in her eyes. She smiled, just for a moment. Then I dove after my sister. Every time I thought I wouldn’t make it, I remembered that look in my mother’s eyes. That belief she had in me. And I dragged Catherine to the riverbank.”
Daniel inhaled sharply, his chest aching with the phantom weight of that night.
“When I turned back to the water …” He closed his eyes, as if that could stop the ice-cold memory from pressing in.
“They were all gone.”
The wind whispered through the trees, snow drifting gently through the night, the weight of old grief settling deep in his bones.
Then, a warmth.
Soft. Gentle.
Caroline’s fingertips brushed against his hand, tentative and light, yet it rocked him to his core.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “It must have been unbearable.”
He didn’t reply. Daniel stared straight ahead, feeling her soft touch against his skin, the warmth of her fingers searing through the cold night air.
Then, as if realizing she had been too bold, Caroline slowly withdrew her hand.
He let her.
And yet, the ghost of her touch remained. “I like your touch,” he said gruffly.
Daniel didn’t expect her to climb down. And yet, she did. The moment her boots met the lower branch, she hesitated, her gaze searching his in the moonlight. Then, with a small breath, she stepped into his arms and wrapped hers around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest.
For a moment, he went utterly still, the warmth of her body seeping through his coat. Then he closed his arms around her, holding her tightly, as if by instinct. And just like that … the weight of everything bled away. The grief. The guilt. The empty ache in his chest that had lingered for far too many years.
It was as if she had pulled it all from him, leaving something lighter, something warmer in its place. He swallowed hard, lowering his head slightly so that his chin brushed against her hair. “What did you talk to your father about?”
He felt the soft curve of her lips against his chest before she murmured, “I received a letter from Julia.”
He stiffened slightly, but only because he knew how much the Fairbanks family meant to her. “Your cousin who married the Earl of Ashton last year?”
“Yes,” she said, sighing. “She wrote to say that next season, they’ll be traveling to Italy, Venice, and France. She invited me to join them.”
Daniel stilled.
“She knows how much I’ve always wanted to travel,” Caroline continued, her voice carrying the echo of a wistful longing. “Ever since I was a little girl, I imagined walking the streets of Paris, standing beneath the towering spires of Notre-Dame Cathedral, and marveling at the beauty of Chateau de Versailles.” She let out a breathless chuckle. “Just imagine, Daniel. The Hall of Mirrors. The gardens. The very place where queens once walked …”
He pictured the light of a thousand chandeliers reflected in the grand mirrors, the endless halls filled with echoes of history.
She lifted her face to his, smiling faintly. “I’ve dreamed of it for so long.”
But there was something else in her tone, something he didn’t like. Sadness. “Why do you sound disappointed instead of thrilled?”
Caroline hesitated, then let out a quiet, wry chuckle. “Because Julia didn’t anticipate that I might be … engaged or married by then.”
His grip on her waist tightened instinctively.
She exhaled, shaking her head. “It’s a silly thing to be upset about, I know. And yet, sometimes the reality of it feels like a claw in my chest.”
Daniel closed his eyes briefly, suppressing a wave of frustration—not at her, but at society’s damned expectations. A woman’s reputation could be shattered with a single misstep, yet a man could walk away from a scandal completely unscathed.
It wasn’t fair.
He had always known it, but holding Caroline, hearing the ache in her voice—it felt unforgivable.
She wanted to see the world. And for the first time, he felt the need to give her everything she had ever dreamed of. The realization stunned him.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “What else have you always wanted?”
Caroline blinked up at him, then let out a soft laugh, as if caught off guard by the question.
But when she answered, her voice carried a note of wonder.
“I want to go to Egypt,” she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I want to stand before the Great Pyramids and see the Sphinx up close. Can you imagine what it must feel like to be in a place so ancient, so full of mystery?”
Daniel watched the moonlight dance across her face as she spoke.
She had never looked more beautiful.
“I want to see New York,” she continued, her smile turning mischievous. “Ester wrote to me once and described it as a place of bustling streets, towering buildings, and endless possibilities.” Caroline sighed, shaking her head. “Imagine stepping onto a ship, sailing across the ocean, and arriving in a city where everything feels new and exciting.”
Daniel almost smiled at the breathless way she spoke, as if she could already see it all so clearly in her mind. He had traveled more than most. He had been to Venice, had seen the rolling countryside of France, and had ridden beneath the blazing sun in Egypt, feeling the weight of history press upon him. But he had never spoken of those journeys with such unfiltered longing, such pure excitement.
Caroline sounded as if she ached to experience the world in a way he had never thought to appreciate before.
“And the ocean,” she murmured, tucking her head against his chest. “I want to sail the ocean. I want to stand on the deck of a ship, the wind in my hair, nothing but endless blue stretching out in every direction.” She sighed softly. “I know I cannot remain in this little corner of England forever. I need to see what else is out there. I need to know what the world has to offer beyond these shores.”
Daniel’s fingers flexed on her waist, his heartbeat thundering in his chest.
He had always viewed his life as one path, his responsibilities as unshakable truths. He would marry a respectable lady, produce heirs, and uphold his family’s legacy.
He had never considered that life could be something more.
Something wild.
Something free.
And yet, here she was, whispering about adventure and possibility, and damn him if he didn’t want to offer her the world.