Chapter 11
“We can leave now.” Aaron kept his voice carefully neutral as he shook Louise awake, maintaining a distance between them in the dim light of dawn.
She stirred slowly, copper hair spilling across the dingy pillow, and for a moment, her eyes held confusion before memory flooded back. He watched her walls rebuild themselves, watched her transform from the passionate woman who’d demanded his touch to the proper, responsible Lady Louise.
“The storm has passed?” Her voice emerged husky with sleep.
Aaron forced himself not to remember how it had sounded speaking his name in the darkness.
“Yes. The streets should be passable.”
She sat up, reaching for her boots. Aaron turned away, giving her privacy while she prepared herself, though the gesture felt hollow after what they’d shared.
What they’d almost shared.
The distance was short, but the ride back to Calborough House felt like it lasted a lifetime. Fresh snow muffled their journey and turned London pristine and deceptively pure.
Neither of them spoke. What words could bridge the chasm between what had happened and what should have happened?
Aaron kept slightly ahead, ostensibly checking for ice, avoiding the sight of her. Every glimpse brought back sensation. Her mouth beneath his. Her skin warming under his hands. The way she’d said “please,” like he held something she desperately needed.
He’d almost given it to her.
God, what a fool he was.
The grand entrance of Calborough House appeared through the swirling snow like salvation.
Or damnation. Aaron couldn’t decide which.
“Use the servants’ entrance,” he instructed quietly. “Less chance of being seen.”
Louise paused at the door, and he made the mistake of meeting her eyes. Green fire burned there, hurt and anger and something else that made his chest constrict.
“Of course,” she said. “We wouldn’t want anyone to know.”
She disappeared inside before he could respond.
Know what?
That he’d kissed her? That he’d wanted her with an intensity that terrified him? That stopping had required every ounce of will he possessed?
Aaron entered through the main door, nodding to a surprised footman already preparing for the day. His boots left wet prints on the marble as he climbed to his chambers, each step heavier than the last.
His room felt too warm after the frosty night, too civilized after her brother’s shabby apartment. Aaron stripped off his damp clothes mechanically, but when he lay on his perfectly made bed, sleep proved impossible.
Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Louise saying his name while firelight painted her skin gold. Felt her fingers working at his shirt buttons.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to banish the images.
He’d done the right thing. The honorable thing. She deserved better than a moment’s passion with a man who couldn’t offer anything to her beyond that moment.
But honor tasted like ash when he remembered how she’d looked at him afterward. Like he’d confirmed every fear she harbored about her worth.
Aaron rose, pacing to the window. Dawn painted the garden in shades of pearl and gold. He’d maintained the boundaries that kept them both safe.
So why did he feel like the villain in this story?
Control. He needed to regain control. Last night had been an aberration brought on by danger and forced proximity. Today, things would return to normal. He would be the Duke of Calborough, she would be Lady Louise, and they would maintain an appropriate distance.
The resolution lasted exactly three hours.
Aaron descended for breakfast later than usual, having finally managed a few hours of restless sleep.
The house hummed with normal morning activity. Maids polishing silver. Footmen carrying coal. Mrs. Hammond directing everything with quiet efficiency.
Laughter drifted from the garden.
Against his better judgment, Aaron moved to the window. The scene beyond the glass struck him with unexpected force.
Emily had constructed what appeared to be a snow fortress, though it looked more like a lopsided cake.
Buttercup romped through the snow, sending white powder flying with every bound of his massive paws.
The dog wore another of Cecilia’s bonnets, this one bright blue with trailing ribbons that he kept trying to catch.
“Lady Merrow, should Buttercup wear the bonnet, or would he prefer my scarf?” Emily asked solemnly.
Cecilia stood wrapped in furs, clapping her gloved hands in delight at the spectacle. And beside her, Louise smiled. Not the careful, controlled expression she usually wore, but something genuine and unguarded. The morning sun caught her hair, turning it to flame against the white landscape.
“Oh, definitely the bonnet,” Cecilia replied. “It brings out his eyes.”
Buttercup chose that moment to attempt a leap over Emily’s fortress. His bulk destroyed it instantly, sending child and dog tumbling into the snow in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Cecilia shrieked with mirth, doubling over.
And Louise threw her head back and laughed.
The sound couldn’t penetrate the window glass, but Aaron felt it anyway. Felt it in his chest like a physical touch, warm and impossibly gentle. This was who she could be without the weight of responsibility crushing her. Without the constant fear of what tomorrow might bring.
Without him reminding her of all the reasons she couldn’t have what she wanted.
Louise’s gaze lifted to the window. Their eyes met across the frozen garden, and her laughter died. She nodded at him and then whispered something to his aunt.
Aaron stepped back from the window as if burned.
He couldn’t face her. Not yet. Not when the memory of her skin still burned on his fingertips.
He strode down the corridor to his study, closing the door with more force than necessary.
Here, surrounded by ledgers and correspondence, he could pretend last night hadn’t happened.
Could rebuild himself into the man he needed to be rather than the one who’d almost lost himself in a pair of green eyes.
A knock interrupted his attempted escape.
“Enter.”
Mr. Thornton appeared.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Cartwright has arrived from Calborough Manor. He says you were expecting him?”
Aaron’s stomach dropped. The quarterly meeting with his estate manager. He had scheduled it himself three weeks ago, before Lady Louise Burrows had walked into his life and scattered his carefully ordered existence to the winds.
“Of course. Send him in.”
He moved to his desk, shuffling papers into some semblance of order while silently berating himself.
He was the Duke of Calborough. He had tenants depending on him, an estate to manage, and responsibilities that stretched back generations. And he had nearly forgotten all of it because he couldn’t stop thinking about a woman he had no right to want.
Mr. Cartwright entered with the quiet efficiency that had made him invaluable these past seven years. A tall man in his fifties with silver-streaked hair and shrewd eyes, he carried a leather satchel bulging with documents.
“Mr. Cartwright, thank you for coming. I trust the journey wasn’t too arduous in this weather?”
“The roads were passable, Your Grace. Though I confess the last mile through London proved more treacherous than the entire route from the country.” Cartwright settled into the chair across from Aaron’s desk and began extracting papers. “Shall we begin with the tenant reports?”
“Please.”
Cartwright launched into a detailed account of the winter’s impact on the estate. Roof repairs needed for three cottages. A dispute between two farmers over grazing rights for the coming year. The new drainage system was performing admirably despite the heavy snow.
Aaron listened, nodded, and asked the appropriate questions. But his mind kept drifting.
The softness of Louise’s lips. The way she had gasped his name. The desperate hunger in her kiss that had matched his own.
“… and the Miller family has requested an extension on their rent, given the difficulties with their eldest son’s illness. I thought perhaps a reduction of twenty percent for the quarter might be appropriate, but of course, the decision is yours, Your Grace.”
Aaron blinked. “Yes. The reduction. That seems reasonable.”
Cartwright paused, his pen hovering over his notes. “You seem distracted, Your Grace. If this is an inconvenient time …”
“No.” Aaron straightened in his chair, forcing himself to focus. “Forgive me. I’ve had a complicated few days. Please continue.”
But even as Cartwright moved on to crop projections for the spring planting, Aaron’s thoughts betrayed him again.
He could still feel the press of her body against his. Still taste her on his lips. Still hear the small sound she had made when he deepened the kiss, a whimper of surrender that had nearly shattered his control entirely.
Fool.
He was a fool. She was under his protection, vulnerable and dependent on his goodwill. To want her was to risk becoming everything he despised about his father. To act on that want would be unforgivable.
And yet he had kissed her. Had pulled her into his arms in that freezing room and kissed her like a man drowning, like she was the only air left in the world.
“Your Grace?”
Aaron realized Cartwright had asked him something. “I apologize. You were saying?”
“The matter of the new barn for the home farm. You had asked about reviewing the builder’s proposals before making a final decision.”
“Yes. Leave them with me. I’ll review them this week and send word.”
Cartwright nodded, but concern lingered in his expression. In seven years, Aaron had been nothing less than fully engaged in matters of the estate. His distraction must be glaringly obvious.
They concluded the meeting with discussion of staff wages and the upcoming repairs to the manor’s east wing. Aaron signed the necessary documents, approved the expenditures Cartwright recommended, and thanked him for making the journey in such weather.
“Will you stay the night?” Aaron asked as Cartwright gathered his papers. “The roads will only worsen after dark.”
“Most kind, Your Grace. I’d be grateful for a bed that doesn’t sway with every rut in the road.”
Aaron rang for Thornton to arrange accommodations, then sat alone in his study after Cartwright departed.
The fire crackled. Outside, he could hear faint sounds of laughter from the garden, where Emily and Buttercup were no doubt wreaking cheerful havoc in the snow.
He should review the builder’s proposals. Should attend to the stack of correspondence accumulating on his desk. Should do anything other than sit here replaying every moment of last night in excruciating detail.
Instead, he stared at the flames and thought about copper hair spread across a threadbare pillow. About green eyes wide with want. About the way Louise had said his name, just Aaron, as if titles and propriety meant nothing.
As if he were simply a man, and she simply a woman, and the chasm between them didn’t exist.