Page 7 of Mine This Winter
“Despite our past acquaintance, Miss Caldwell, such an intimate conversation is hardly appropriate. Perhaps you should save your praise for the men in the drawing room. It would take more than a half-hearted compliment to rouse a reaction from me.”
The lady clutched her breast as if mortally wounded. Water welled in her eyes. “What happened to make you so cruel?”
“Cruel?” Cruel was professing love for a man and casting him aside hours later. “Those in glass houses should not throw stones, madam.”
Confusion marred her brow.
Knots twisted in his stomach as she dashed more tears from her cheek.
“So it’s true. All hope is lost. You’re no longer the caring man I used to know.” Desperate to make a quick escape, she swung around too quickly and lost her footing in the snow.
Before Simon knew what the devil was happening, he’d caught her and hauled her into his arms. He was ready to chastise her again, but she sagged against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist like she used to.
Simon closed his eyes, his soul content for the first time in five years. The warmth of her body melted the ice around his heart. She smelled exactly as he remembered—like sunshine and summertime—like the woman he still loved.
Don’t do this to me, he uttered silently.
Not now. Not after all these years.
He looked down at her, ready to pull away, but couldn’t resist pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.
Gwendolyn looked up, desire’s fire in her damp eyes, her plump lips parted as if hungry for more.
His cock hardened.
His pulse soared.
And his heart nearly broke in two.
He was seconds away from devouring her mouth, from laying her down in the snow and indulging in every wicked pleasure. The thought was like dousing a drunkard with cold water—sobering.
He clasped her upper arms, determined not to fall for this hoyden’s tricks. “We’re not the same people anymore. Go! Go now! Go, before I do something we will both regret.”
CHAPTER 3
Gwendolyn took to her heels and ran, anger propelling her forward, though she wanted to drop to her knees and wallow in grief. Despite all the ridiculous stories she’d heard involving Simon Garrick, she always hoped he would come home, regretful, eager to make amends and plead for her hand in marriage.
I love you, Gwendolyn. Forgive me!
But no! He had put a lit torch to her dreams. He had forced her to face a stark reality. He didn’t want her. Perhaps he never had.
Damn the man.
Why had he come to Whitehaven and opened old wounds?
Ignorance was easier to deal with than the truth.
Blinded by tears, she stumbled and slipped in the snow, her bare hands breaking her fall. Despite the cold, she remained there, a crumpled heap, a fragment of the elegant lady who’d played the pianoforte so perfectly for her brother’s guests.
“Miss Caldwell.” Mr Garrick’s deep voice pierced the silence. “Allow me to help you back to the house.” Firm fingers gripped her elbow as he hauled her to her feet. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
She wanted to yank her arm free, tell him she was capable of finding her own way, but all the strength had left her body.
“Thank you, Mr Garrick. I should have known better than to venture out in this weather.” She brushed snow from her hands and cloak, though her fingers were as numb as her heart. “I shall be fine on my own.”
The last statement was a mantra she repeated often.
A state of mind she’d adopted the past five years.
