Chapter 3
MADDIE
The gardens lay white and silent, leaving Maddie alone with snow-covered hedges and statues draped with icicles.
She walked quickly to go deeper into the garden, her breath visible in the freezing air.
It was an hour before luncheon, and the rest of the guests were occupied with billiards and other indoor activities.
But she had wanted—needed—to escape it all and collect her thoughts alone.
At breakfast she had successfully avoided sitting near John, so at least that much had gone according to plan.
But the sight of him still brought all her hurt and anger rushing to the surface.
She had found herself, again, barely able to listen to Louis.
He knew her smiles and nods weren’t sincere, and as soon as he caught her alone, she would be peppered with questions.
So, she avoided Louis almost as much as she avoided John.
Had anyone else noticed how John barely touched his food? How his eyes seemed to drift to some middle distance when he thought no one was watching? He’d always been lean and fit, but was he a tad bit thinner than she remembered? Not that it was any of her concern.
Maddie hurried down the frozen path, past the towering hedges, and rounded a corner, only to stop short in disbelief. Hades was surely to blame, toying with her to see how much she could stand before she broke.
It was John. He stood alone at the center of the deserted garden beside a sculpted fountain that was completely filled with snow.
He was staring at the fountain, seemingly lost in thought, unmoving despite the bitter cold.
And she wondered if he, too, sought to escape.
Of course he did. That’s what he did when things were difficult.
He ran. Abandoned those who depended on him.
And loved him. Used to love him, she corrected herself.
Maddie considered turning back and retreating silently before he saw her.
But that would make her too much like him.
Someone unable to face matters head-on. And she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction again.
Her resolve gave way to a deeper impulse—a need for closure or confrontation, she wasn’t sure which.
She took cautious steps forward, her boots crunching in the snow, and when she approached the fountain, John looked up.
His eyes were as blue as frozen lakes beneath a pale winter sun, and his expression shifted from surprise to something unreadable.
A faint flicker of sadness? Remorse? His shoulders seemed to bear an invisible weight, and for a brief moment, she glimpsed something in his eyes that reminded her of a wounded animal.
But then it was gone, replaced by the man that made her giddy the first time his lips pressed against hers beneath a kissing ball.
She steeled herself to keep from reading into any of it.
He seemed to take a deep breath, and then he spoke first. “Maddie . . .”
Her heart skipped from the way he said her name. She felt incredibly fragile and exposed, wishing she’d fled when she had the opportunity. But why should she be the one to scurry away when she had done nothing wrong?
“Yes, Lord Ravensworth?” she replied, forcing a cool tone to match the crispness of the air between them. “Do you have something to say to me?” She stood perfectly still, daring him to continue.
“Jump right to the point, why don’t you,” he deadpanned, his face still unreadable. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he looked away briefly, as though gathering strength for what would come next.
Perhaps she had never been able to read him. If he had ever truly loved her, he wouldn’t have left. And she would have bet her life that John Liddell had been entirely and wholly in love with her. Shows what she knew.
“I hardly see much other reason for us to speak, unless you intend to offer some kind of explanation.”
“Maddie, please,” he pleaded, and there was an earnestness in his voice that she had not expected, that she did not want to hear.
“You must know that I never meant to—” He broke off, struggling to find the right words, looking more lost than she’d ever seen him.
His hands trembled slightly before he shoved them into his pockets.
“To what?” She took a step forward, no longer able to maintain her cool distance. Her heart pounded with betrayal and anger, leaving no room for caution or regret. “To leave me without so much as a word? Yet you took no issue with sneaking into my bedchamber the night before you departed.”
His face was stricken, as if she had physically struck him. “Maddie, I—”
“Why are you even here? Why now?” Her voice trembled against her will. She was helpless to steady it. And it only made her more irritated at the arse before her.
John took a tentative step toward her, his eyes shadowed with emotions she didn’t want to decipher. The usual spark that had once lit his gaze was dimmed, replaced by something hollower, something that might have concerned her if she allowed herself to care.
How dare he appear so wounded? Her words poured out of her before she could think better of it. “Was I nothing to you? Did you not think I would notice you had gone? Did you not think that I might be affected by your departure?”
“If I had known what to say, you would have been the first to hear it,” he said, and she heard the layers of grief and regret in his voice. Not that it moved her. “Ryan’s death . . . everything felt . . . impossible.”
“You still should have tried. If I had mattered to you at all, you would have done so.” As the words left her mouth, she bent down and scooped a handful of snow, compacting it between her gloved hands.
The cold seeped through the fabric, numbing her fingers—a welcome distraction from the feelings his presence evoked.
“I was broken. And I was a coward. I know that now,” he said quietly, as if admitting a secret to himself as much as to her. “But I believed you’d be better off. You are better off.”
The defeat in his voice might have moved her once, but she hardened her heart against it.
“I—I never stopped thinking of you,” he continued. “Never stopped caring.”
There was a desperation to him, but she’d fortified herself against his pleas.
“You expect me to believe that?” Her anger spurred her on, keeping her from believing that she could ever trust him again.
Her fingers worked at the snowball, packing it tighter as she released some of the tension in her chest. She forced herself to breathe, and the air stung her lungs.
“If you cared so much, why haven’t I heard from you?
You are only here now because of your sister.
And only speaking to me because I approached you. ”
He looked down, and she saw him fight for control. He raised his eyes to hers and nothing but pain shone there. “After Ryan died and watching Rosina hardly be able to get out of bed. I didn’t know how to—”
“So you ran,” she snapped, her voice fierce and unyielding.
“You used your grief as an excuse and ran away. When your sister needed you. When I needed you.” She saw the impact of her words on him, saw how each one seemed to cut deeper than the last. But if she was cruel, it was only because she was also scarred by what he’d done. Her grip tightened around the snowball.
He flinched and released a deep sigh. The dark shadows beneath his eyes seemed more pronounced in the harsh winter light. “I couldn’t stay. The pain . . . It was unbearable.” His voice broke again, and he stopped, looking down at the snow beneath their feet.
“I know that pain well,” she spat, resisting the unwelcome flash of empathy.
“Yes,” he said, struggling to hold her gaze. “I suppose you must.”
“Is that all you have to say?” She looked at him, daring him—begging him—to say something that might resolve the past, something that might give her some sense of comfort. That was folly. There was nothing that could justify what he’d done.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last. His voice was barely a whisper, but there was a conviction in it that echoed around them like a vow. “More than you can ever know.”
Maddie stood, suspended in the moment, finally hearing the apology she had wanted from him for so long.
And yet, it didn’t bring her the comfort she thought it would.
Just more sadness. As if she’d lost him all over again.
The pain of it welled up inside her, and before she could reconsider, she drew back her arm and hurled the snowball directly at his chest.
It struck him with a soft thud, exploding into a powder that clung to his dark coat.
For a moment, he looked completely stunned, blinking down at the mess.
Then, impossibly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Not quite a smile, but something close to it—the first real emotion she’d seen from him since their encounter began.
“I suppose I deserved that,” he said, brushing the snow from his coat. He flashed her a small grin. A fleeting light sparked in his eyes—something reminiscent of the old John, the one who never failed to make her laugh.
Maddie wasn’t sure whether to be infuriated that he’d taken her assault so calmly or oddly satisfied that she’d broken through his careful composure. Before she could decide, he bent down and scooped up a handful of snow himself.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she warned, taking a step back.
His eyes met hers, and for a moment, the years melted away. “I wouldn’t?”
He carefully shaped the snow, his hands moving with deliberate intent as he packed it into a perfect sphere.
She backed away further, suddenly uncertain. This was not how she had imagined their confrontation would go. She had expected anger, denial, perhaps even cold indifference. Not this strange charged moment that hovered between past and present. But she liked it.