Wooed in Winter

by Scott, Scarlett

  “More of the same, I do believe.” His head lowered.

  His mouth was within her reach. She met him halfway. This kiss, however, was nothing like the last. This kiss was not a mere meeting of mouths, a hasty contact and then done. No, indeed. Graham anchored her to him, holding her still, his lips moving over hers. Coaxing her to respond.

  And respond she did. Hesitantly at first. Her second kiss. Oh, how wondrous. Graham was kissing her. It seemed a dream as she opened for his seeking tongue. He tasted sweet and tart, like the first bite of an apple. Like the most decadent thing she had ever tasted. She wanted more.

  Her fingers hesitantly moved. She brushed the softness of his hair, those fiery strands she had dreamt about touching on so many occasions. It was as soft and sleek as it looked. He kissed as marvelously as she had imagined, too.

  She never wanted his lips to leave hers.

  He held her closer, a low growl leaving his throat that sent a frisson of delight chasing down her spine. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, their bodies perfectly aligned. She had never been so close to a gentleman. Now she understood why propriety dictated ladies and gentlemen maintain a proper amount of distance between them. Because Graham’s large, solid form—so different from hers in such a delightful fashion—was pure temptation.

  He deepened the kiss, his lips worshiping hers, and she suddenly understood how a lady could so willingly be ruined. There was nothing better than being in this man’s arms, than his beautiful mouth on hers. She felt as if she had not truly lived until this moment. How fitting she should be suspended above the ground, for her head felt as if it were in the clouds.

  His mouth left hers at last, and he raised his head, his gaze burning into hers. Reflected in his handsome countenance was the maelstrom whirling inside her—confusion, shock, need. Desperate, abiding yearning.

  “My God, Han,” he whispered. “You have no idea how many times I imagined kissing you just like this. But I never dared to hope…”

  Hannah smiled back at him, hope beating in her heart. “Nor did I.”

  But now?

  Now, she most certainly did.

  “I could stay in this tree with you forever.” Graham’s gaze dipped to her mouth, and she felt the touch as surely as if his lips were still fused with hers. “I could keep you to myself and never let you go.”

  That was what she wanted as well.

  The hope took flight. Soaring into the sky.

  “We cannot,” she reminded him, recalling her reputation at last. “We would cause a dreadful scandal.”

  “That would not do.” A beautiful grin curved his lips. “I suppose I must allow my angel to return to earth. For now.”

  With ginger care, he lowered her to the grass once more. Hannah’s heart sang the whole way home.

  Chapter Five

  Now

  Let me come to you.

  With five words, Graham had shaken her world, leaving her feeling as if everything she had known had been suddenly torn asunder, proven to be a lie.

  Not Graham, she reminded herself. He is the Marquess of Haven now.

  For despite the passionate kisses and intimacies they had shared earlier that evening, he was very much a stranger to her. A stranger she must keep at bay at all costs. The danger was too omnipotent: for the reputations of her sisters as well as for herself.

  Hannah paced the thick carpet of the guest chamber she had been assigned. She was painfully aware she could not remain a widow forever. Fawkesbury had all but beggared them before drinking himself to death. She was left with nothing but a tiny widow’s portion.

  Father had been too prideful to make provisions for her prior to her nuptials, so desperate to marry her off to an earl after the scandal she had been about to cause. Even the money he had settled upon her in her dowry had been lost quite easily by her husband. Fawkesbury had been a denizen of the green baize since he had been a young man. Nothing had changed after he had married her, other than that he had used her dowry to facilitate his gambling habits. The only boon of his vice had been that when he was in London, she was blissfully alone, and he could not hurt her.

  But she must not think upon the misery of her life as Countess of Fawkesbury when her husband had been alive. She must think, instead, upon the weakness that had allowed her to behave so foolishly in the gardens tonight. She must gird herself against any such future mistakes, for she could not afford to sully Addy and Evie with her actions. Nor could she afford to sully herself.

  Once had been enough, and she had done penance for her sins. She had no wish to take another fall or to serve another sentence with a rotter of a husband thanks to the Marquess of Haven. On a miserable cry, she stalked to her dressing area, where a pitcher and basin sat. She splashed handfuls of cold water on her face, and then scrubbed at her cheeks, trying to wash away the memory of those blistering kisses. The memory of his touch.

  A low knock sounded on her door, and she froze, fearing it was him.

  Heart pounding, she dabbed at her face with the cloth, thinking her skin must look a reddened fright after her zealous ablutions. Then she chastised herself for such an unworthy thought. She must not care about what Graham thought of her. Or how she looked.

  And above all, she must not grant him entrée to her chamber.

  Haven, she reminded herself belatedly. Haven, not Graham. Indeed, Graham was dead to her, a ghost of her past, if indeed he had ever truly existed at all. Certainly, the powerfully handsome man who had swept her into the shadows and had his way with her tonight was not he.

  He smelled the same, whispered a taunting voice inside her.

  He had tasted the same as well.

  And his kiss was every bit as delicious as it once was.

  “No,” she said aloud, with far more force than she had intended.

  Her voice echoed in the chamber, like a shot.

  “Han?” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

  It was female and familiar. Beloved.

  Hannah heaved a sigh of relief, stalked across the chamber, and opened the portal to find Adele standing there, her expression hesitant. “What can it be, Addy? Do you not know the danger in wandering about the corridors so late at night in mixed company?”

  Her sister paled, worrying her lower lip. “Forgive me, Han. It is merely that I wanted to speak with you. We are separated only by a wall, after all. It was seven steps. Eight at the most, just around the corner.”

  Guilt assailed Hannah, both at the sharpness of her tone and just how close she had come to destroying her sister’s chance of making a good match earlier. She stepped back, gesturing for Adele to enter. “Come in, then, dearest. What can be the matter?”

  “That is what I wanted to ask you,” her sister said, crossing the threshold.

  She was wearing a night rail and wrapper, Hannah realized, which was also frightfully scandalous. She closed the door in a hurry and turned to face her younger sister.

  “Addy, you are not wearing the attire in which an innocent lady ought to be seen about the halls.” Realizing her error, she shook her head. “Forget that. What I mean to say is that you should not be gadding about the halls at all as an innocent lady. It is most unseemly, and you are behaving quite recklessly with your reputation. This is not a promenade, my dear, and whilst the rules are a trifle relaxed because of the nature of a country house party, you cannot afford to allow yourself to be ruined. Trust me on this.”

  Her sister appeared undeterred by her chastisement. Adele swept toward her, catching her hands and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “As I said, it was nothing more than a few steps and round a bend, Han. But I needed to see you, because I wanted to be certain you are well.”

  “Me?” Hannah frowned, for if anyone ought to be concerned about another, it was her about Adele.

  Her sister had been notably withdrawn thus far over the course of this house party. This morning, in particular, she had been pale and wan. “It is I who should be worried about y
ou, Addy. You scarcely ate more than a few bites this morning at breakfast, and at tea, you were napping. Are you ill?”

  It made sense, now that Hannah thought of it. Her sister ordinarily was possessed of a hale constitution. Her appetite had never suffered, though one would hardly know given her willowy frame. Quite the opposite of Hannah’s full curves.

  “Of course I am not ill.”

  But despite her sister’s denial, Adele compressed her lips and released her grip on Hannah’s hands, spinning away to pace the chamber much as Hannah had been doing before her sister’s untimely interruption.

  Something was amiss. Adele was ordinarily quiet and composed. Where Evie was the more garrulous of the twins and the one everyone invariably noticed, Adele was the wallflower, the practical sister, the silent one. She was the one who watched. The one who was knowledgeable beyond her tender age. She was not the sister Hannah would have expected to knock on her door this late in the evening.

  Or, to be dreadfully honest, ever. Adele always seemed so very self-assured. So utterly composed. But her sister was not composed now. No, indeed, she was quite flustered.

  “Are you certain, my dear?” Hannah asked, following her sister to where she paused by one of the two large windows on the far wall.

  In the morning light, they overlooked the gardens where Hannah had so recently come close to ruin. Desperate ruin. Stupid ruin.

  Her self-loathing had not been this potent in years. Not since her rushed nuptials to Fawkesbury. Not since the first time he had raised his hand to her.

  Their wedding night.

  But she would not think of that now. She was free. He could never hurt her again. If only he had met his demise before it had been too late…

  “Han?”

  Her sister’s worried voice broke through Hannah’s troubled musings once more. She realized she had paused in the middle of the chamber, overcome by the weight of the past, mingling with the unexpected weight of the present.

  She shook herself free from those old chains, forced a bright smile she little felt. “What is it, Addy? Why are you seeking me out at this late hour instead of seeking your rest? Was Lord Foy rude? Did he upset you in some fashion?”

  If he had, Hannah would box his ears. She vowed it. Addy had the sweetest heart, always looking to take care of those around her, rather like a mother hen taking care of her flock. She rather reminded Hannah of herself at the same age. But it was difficult indeed to recall what she had been like then, when her heart had been whole. Before Graham’s betrayal. Before she had been saddled with a husband who not only did not care for her, but who had taken pleasure in her pain.

  None of that, she reminded herself.

  Forgetting could not vanquish the pain. However, it certainly made rising each morning far more bearable than it would be otherwise.

  “Lord Foy is lovely,” Adele said. “He has only been polite. I do think he is a kind and true gentleman, and I believe he wishes to marry me…”

  “Oh, Addy, that is wonderful news!” She caught her sister’s hands in hers once more, and this time she was the one to give them a reassuring squeeze. “Lord Foy is an excellent catch, and I do believe he is an honorable man. His esteem for you is undeniable.”

  Lord Foy was not the sort of man who would hit his wife, Hannah knew. From the moment she had first made the acquaintance of her former husband, there had been an indefinable quality he possessed—a general coldness and hostility—which had put her on edge. But she had been too naïve then to know the damage a man could do.

  She was wiser now.

  Hardened as well.

  But Adele was not smiling. Not sharing her relief. Instead, she looked sad.

  “I wish it were wonderful news,” her sister said on a heavy sigh. “That is why I wanted to speak with you. I am terribly confused, Han. I wish I cared about Lord Foy in the same manner he claims he cares for me. But I do not.”

  Oh, dear.

  Perhaps her inner conflict was reason for her sister’s ailments. And the trouble was, Hannah understood. Lord, how she understood, albeit in a different sense.

  “Lord Foy seems as if he is kind and gentle,” she pointed out softly. “He does not seem the sort of man who would ever hurt you. I saw the way he looked at you tonight, Addy. I do hope you are not holding out hope for some romantic nonsense. No one can reassure you better than I that such a fantasy will not be forthcoming. If a lady must wed, and it is certain most of us have no other choice, it is far preferable to marry a kind man.”

  Adele searched her gaze, her expression hardening. “Did Fawkesbury beat you?”

  The question, so unexpected, so unfettered, robbed the breath from her. Shocked her. Hannah could not form a response. Instead, she released her hold on her sister and spun away, stalking toward the flickering fire in the grate.

  No one had ever asked her such a direct question in five years. Not her father. Not her mother. Not anyone.

  That Addy, sweet, innocent, quiet Addy would suspect such violence had occurred to Hannah shocked her. And worried her, too. Instantly, she was on guard, protective of her sister.

  She spun back around. “Has someone hit you, Addy?”

  “Of course not,” Adele said. “But I…I saw a bruise on your arm, Han, two summers ago at Fillmore Hall.”

  Shame seeped through her. “Fawkesbury had a temper. Particularly when he was losing at the tables or when he was in his cups. He was not a gentle man.”

  “That rotter!” Her sister’s outraged voice snapped through the chamber. “Someone ought to have pummeled him. I told Maximilian, but he did not believe me.”

  Their brother, Maximilian, had enough problems of his own, and it came as no surprise to Hannah that he would not have heeded Adele’s suspicions. Even if he had listened, there would have been nothing he could have done to aid Hannah. Fawkesbury had never beaten her with his fists.

  “It is over now, Addy,” she said quietly. A year had come and gone since her husband’s death. “He can no longer hurt me.”

  “Why did you marry him?” her sister asked then. “The two of you never suited, even from the beginning.”

  No one knew the truth of why she had wed Fawkesbury. No one save her mother, father, and Fawkesbury himself. She had kept her silence out of embarrassment and fear. But something about seeing the man she had once loved tonight—something about having been in his arms once more—changed her.

  “I had no choice,” she admitted. “I was with child.”

  Adele gasped. “Fawkesbury?”

  “No,” she was quick to deny. “He was not the father.”

  Understanding dawned on her sister’s countenance. “Haven,” she guessed, for it was no secret that Hannah had fancied herself wildly in love with him.

  She recalled all too well, in her youthful folly, announcing to Addy and Evie that she was going to marry Lord Graham, as he had been then. A second son. Not yet a marquess.

  “Yes.” This confession left her with sadness, for she had lost the child a fortnight after her nuptials to Fawkesbury. “I was young and foolish. I allowed myself to be ruined, and unfortunately, Haven had no intention of making an honorable woman of me. Father left me with a choice: go away to the Continent forever, or marry the earl and remain. I chose to remain.”

  “Oh, Hannah.” Her sister crossed the room and embraced her. “Why did you never tell me the truth?”

  “Because the truth was shameful.” She hugged Adele tightly, trying to ignore the prickle of ensuing tears. “And it no longer mattered. I had made my decision, and I had no choice but to stay the course.”

  “Did Haven know?” Adele asked next.

  “I wrote him a letter,” she recalled bitterly. “He never responded.”

  “I am so very sorry, Han.” Her sister’s arms tightened around her, and she sniffled. “Neither Fawkesbury nor Haven ever deserved you.”

  No, they had not.

  She smiled against her sister’s hair. “All is well, Addy. I le
arned my lesson, and I have no intention of ever making such a dreadful mistake again. But do let my follies serve as a warning for you. It is my fondest wish to see you happy.”

  “I wish the same for you,” Adele insisted, drawing back to frown at her. “You deserve happiness as well.”

  “I am very happy now,” she said, but even as the words left her, she knew they were a lie.

  Because her stubborn, stupid heart had not stopped longing for Graham. And those kisses in the garden had only proved to her just how susceptible she still was to him. She must never allow him near her again.

  She was a fever, infecting his blood.

  One taste of her lips, and Graham was as lost for Hannah as he had ever been.

  Why, damn it all? He could not understand it himself as he prowled the seemingly endless corridors of Abingdon House on his way back to his chamber. He already knew her to be a faithless, heartless conniver, who had chosen a title over the mere second son she had professed to love. The old wounds she had dealt still oozed. Years had gone by, and his heart had yet to recover from her defection.

  His weakness for her made no sense, and his attempts at distracting himself had gone nowhere. He had paced. He had taken himself in hand. He had splashed cold water on his face. And sleep had not been forthcoming.

  His inner torment had finally led him to the library where he had managed to secure a Latin volume that he very much doubted would prove much distraction or solace. The opportunity to escape the four mocking walls of his chamber had beckoned, however. Despite making himself spill to thoughts of lifting Hannah’s gown and finishing what they had begun in the garden, his cock remained rigid.

  He was going to read the treatise until dawn if he had to. His already ravaged pride would not allow him to think of Hannah any more than he already had. He bloody well never should have kissed her. Never should have followed her out to the garden. Never should have touched her.

  By God, he never should have touched her all those years ago either. But it had not stopped him then. He hoped to hell he had learned some hard lessons in the last five years. That he could control himself better.