Chapter 27
“Look! A squirrel!” Emily squealed, pointing to a flash of red fur darting through the bare branches of the elm tree.
The afternoon sun had coaxed them all into the garden, where patches of grass showed through melting snow like promises of spring.
Aaron watched Louise bend to examine something Emily had found, probably another “treasure” to add to the child’s growing collection of interesting stones and dried leaves.
Miss Whitfield had remained at the house, preparing tomorrow’s lesson on French verbs, leaving Emily free to enjoy the morning air.
The weak winter sunlight caught the copper in Louise’s hair, turning it to flame against her blue walking dress.
“Squirrels never left,” Cecilia corrected, adjusting Buttercup’s lead as the dog fixated on the tree with predatory intensity. “They simply had the good sense to stay warm while we foolishly ventured out in snowstorms.”
“Can we feed them?” Emily looked up at Aaron with hopeful eyes that he found increasingly difficult to refuse.
“They’re wild creatures. They find their own food.”
“But it’s winter. What if they’re hungry?”
Louise straightened, brushing dirt from her gloves. “The squirrels have been surviving winter long before we arrived to worry about them, darling.”
She moved closer to Aaron as she spoke, close enough that he caught her scent of lavender. The past days of skating and family dinners and quiet evenings had worn down his distance until he sought her proximity without conscious thought.
“You’re both terribly practical and unromantic,” Cecilia declared. “Dear Emily, we shall establish a squirrel feeding station immediately. Buttercup, stop drooling at them. You’re far too slow to catch one.”
The dog whined in disagreement but remained focused on the tree where the red squirrel chattered indignantly at their presence.
“We should continue walking before Buttercup decides to prove his hunting prowess.” Aaron offered Louise his arm, natural as breathing now.
She accepted with a smile that made his chest tighten. They strolled deeper into the garden while Emily ran ahead, Cecilia and Buttercup following at a more sedate pace that allowed for commentary on faded rosehips, brittle seed heads, and the stubborn greenery of evergreen shrubs they passed.
“She’s happy,” Louise said quietly, watching Emily chase shadows across the lawn.
“So are you.” Aaron studied her profile. “It suits you.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “These past days have been wonderful.”
“Indeed.” Aaron stopped walking, turning to face her fully.
Behind them, Cecilia had become distracted by instructing Emily on proper squirrel feeding etiquette. They stood in relative privacy beneath the drooping branches of a willow, hidden from the house.
His hand rose to cup her cheek without his permission. “Louise …”
She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “We shouldn’t. Not here.”
“No one can see us.”
“That’s not what I meant.” But she swayed closer, drawn by the same magnetism that had been pulling them together since that first night.
Aaron bent his head, intending a brief kiss, a mere brush of lips. But the moment their mouths met, control shattered. Louise made a soft sound that destroyed his remaining resistance. He pulled her against him, one hand tangling in her hair while the other pressed against her back.
She responded with equal fervor, her fingers gripping his coat as if anchoring herself in a storm.
The kiss deepened, became something desperate and necessary.
Everything else fell away: the garden, their circumstances, and the impossibility of their situation.
There was only Louise in his arms, warm and willing and absolutely perfect.
A tremendous crash, followed by barking, shattered the moment.
They broke apart to see Buttercup tearing across the lawn in pursuit of the red squirrel, his lead trailing behind him. The squirrel darted directly toward them, using Louise’s skirts as a highway to reach the willow’s trunk.
Buttercup, unable to stop his momentum, crashed into Louise at full speed. The lead tangled around her legs as the dog spun, trying to follow the squirrel’s vertical escape. Louise cried out as her feet went out from under her.
Aaron lunged forward but could not reach her in time. She toppled backward into the ornamental pond, landing with a splash that sent water cascading over the stone edges.
“Louise!” He plunged in after her, not caring that the water soaked through his boots immediately.
The pond was shallow but frigid, winter not yet finished with its grip.
Louise sat in the middle, gasping from the cold shock, and her beautiful walking dress ruined beyond salvation. She tried to stand but cried out again, her face paling.
“My ankle.” She gripped his arms as he lifted her. “I think I twisted it.”
Aaron swept her up entirely, carrying her from the pond as Cecilia and Emily came running.
“Good heavens!” Cecilia took in the scene with wide eyes. “Buttercup, you absolute disaster of a dog!”
Buttercup sat beside the pond, tail wagging, apparently proud of his squirrel hunting efforts despite the chaos created.
“Is Louise hurt?” Emily’s voice trembled with worry.
“She’ll be fine.” Aaron shifted Louise in his arms, noting how she shivered violently. “But she needs to get warm immediately. Cecilia, can you manage Lady Emily?”
“Of course. Go, quickly.”
Aaron carried Louise toward the house, her wet dress dripping a trail across the terrace. She pressed her face against his shoulder, her breath coming in short gasps, he recognized as suppressed pain rather than cold.
Inside, servants scattered at his barked orders to prepare a hot bath. He took the stairs two at a time, heading not for her chamber but his own, which was closer and had a larger fire already burning.
He set her gently on the chair nearest the flames. “We need to get you out of these wet things.”
“It’s improper …” But her protest lacked conviction, especially as another violent shiver wracked her frame.
Aaron kneeled before her, his hands already working at the buttons of her boots. “Propriety be damned. You’re freezing.”
The boots came away with difficulty, soaked through and already stiffening. Louise gasped when he peeled away her ruined stockings, revealing her left ankle already beginning to swell.
“Let me see.” His hands cradled her foot with infinite gentleness, testing the joint’s movement.
Louise bit her lip, fingers gripping the chair arms. “It’s not broken.”
“No, but it’s certainly sprained.” Aaron’s fingers moved higher, checking for additional injury along her calf. The silk of her skin beneath his palms made his breath catch. “Does this hurt?”
She shook her head, apparently unable to speak as his hands continued their exploration under the guise of medical examination. He traced the curve of her calf, the delicate bone of her knee, his touch ostensibly clinical but charged with an undercurrent of desire.
“Aaron.” His name emerged as half plea, half warning.
He looked up to find her watching him with dilated pupils, her shivers now having nothing to do with cold. The wet fabric of her dress clung to every curve, and he could see her body’s response to his touch despite the layers.
A knock interrupted. “Your Grace? The bath you requested is ready.”
“Thank you. That will be all.”
He helped Louise stand, supporting most of her weight. “Can you walk?”
“With help.”
They made their way to his bathing chamber, where steam rose from the copper tub. Aaron turned his back while she struggled with her fastenings.
“I can’t reach …” Frustration colored her voice.
He turned to find her fumbling with the buttons down her back, the wet fabric refusing to cooperate with cold, stiffened fingers. Without speaking, he moved behind her, his fingers taking over the task.
Each button revealed more skin, flushed pink from the cold. Aaron forced himself to focus on the mechanical action rather than the growing expanse of her bare back, the delicate wings of her shoulder blades, the elegant line of her spine.
“There.” He stepped back, hands clenched at his sides. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Don’t.” The word stopped him at the door. Louise looked over her shoulder, vulnerability and want written across her features. “Please. Stay.”
He froze at her whispered plea. Stay. There was no command in it. No seduction. Only raw wanting, and it unraveled him far more effectively than desire ever could.
Aaron stepped back toward the tub, his breath unsteady despite the control he clung to. Louise’s skin shimmered in the candlelight, water beading along her shoulders as she sank a little deeper beneath the surface, as if offering him just enough to tempt and torment him in equal measure.
He kneeled beside her.
“Tell me if I go too far,” he murmured.
Her answering nod was soft and trusting.
Aaron dipped a cloth into the warm water, wringing it slowly, deliberately.
He let the damp heat trail from her shoulder down the curve of her arm, watching each shiver, each flutter of breath.
The sight of it, of her, made every pulse in his body pound, but he forced his touch to remain maddeningly gentle.
He bathed her in careful strokes, letting his fingers occasionally replace the cloth, his knuckles grazing sensitive places he pretended not to notice.
Whenever her breath hitched, he slowed. Whenever she leaned subtly toward him, he allowed himself the smallest indulgence.
His lips brushed her temple, the shell of her ear, the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, as though he were fighting for air.
“It’s the water,” she breathed.
“It isn’t.” He kissed the corner of her jaw, light as silk. “You know it isn’t.”
Her hand lifted to his chest, fingertips splayed against his shirt. She tugged him closer.
“Aaron …” The way she said his name, soft and breathless, nearly shattered the last of his restraint.
He took the cloth again, running it slowly down the length of her arm, then across her collarbone, savoring each rise of her chest, each sigh he coaxed from her lips. His fingers trailed the path after, reverent, teasing, wanting.
She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, trust and desire laid bare before him.
He bent and kissed the hollow of her throat, and the sound it pulled from her made heat flood his veins.
“Please …” she whispered.
He swallowed hard. “Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice roughened. “If you beg, I won’t have the strength to deny you anything.”
And still he stayed. Still, he touched her with aching tenderness, bathing her inch by deliberate inch until she trembled not from the water, but from him.
Later, Aaron wrapped Louise in his warmest robe, carrying her to his bed despite her protests that she could walk. Her ankle had been properly bound, the swelling already reducing thanks to the heat of the bath.
“I should return to my room,” she said without conviction, burrowing deeper into his pillows.
“You should rest.” Aaron pulled the covers over her, unable to resist pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sleep. I’ll wake you before dinner.”
“What will we tell everyone?”
“That you needed rest after your fall. Which is entirely true.” He smoothed her damp hair back from her face. “No one will question it.”
Louise caught his hand as he turned to go. “Today was perfect. Even with Buttercup’s chaos.”
“Especially with Buttercup’s chaos.” Aaron squeezed her fingers gently. “Though we might consider keeping him away from squirrels in future.”
Her laugh followed him from the room, warm and bright as summer sunshine. He stood in the corridor for a moment, his own clothes still damp from the pond rescue, his mind replaying every moment of the afternoon.
The kiss in the garden. Her skin beneath his hands. The trust in her eyes as she asked him to stay.
He was crossing lines he had sworn never to approach. Taking liberties that blurred the careful boundaries meant to protect her. But with each passing day, those boundaries seemed less like protection and more like prison walls keeping them from the happiness they both deserved.
Aaron returned to his study, but concentration proved impossible. His thoughts remained upstairs where Louise slept in his bed, wearing his robe, bearing the marks of his touch in places no one else would ever see.
He was falling. Had already fallen, if he were honest.
The only question now was whether he would find the courage to stop pretending otherwise.