Snowbound Surrender Page 18

  Cecilia watched as he flipped the bacon, served up toast and added the meat to the plate before setting it in front of her. A man had never cooked for her before. She was quite certain her guardian, the old man so interested in her fortune, had never even set foot in the kitchen of Whiteburn Hall. It wasn’t usual, but she was fast learning not much about Major Crawley conformed to expectation.

  He sat down opposite her and raised his cup in mock salute. ‘To your health, Lady Cecilia.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, her manners stopping her from diving into the breakfast head first, but her stomach grumbling loudly at the delay. She took a delicate bite and had to stop herself from sighing with pleasure. A young lady wasn’t meant to enjoy food quite as much as she did. She was lucky her guardian was so miserly when it came to mealtimes—otherwise she had no doubt she would have bloomed into a woman double her current size. Cecilia knew when she was a wealthy spinster, living a quiet life away from society, she would have to invest in a good cook and ensure she went on plenty of long walks to compensate.

  ‘I hope you slept well,’ she said, feeling a little guilty again for taking the only usable bed.

  ‘No,’ Major Crawley said. Most men would lie, they would spare a lady’s conscience, but Major Crawley just gave her that grim smile she was beginning to recognise.

  She took a bite of the bacon and let it melt on her tongue. It really was good.

  ‘I shall get out of your way today,’ she said, glancing out the window. The glass was frosty and didn’t afford much of a view of the conditions outside.

  ‘Unlikely,’ he said with a shake of his head.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘It is unlikely you’ll be able to go anywhere today,’ Major Crawley elaborated. ‘The snow is two feet thick and by the clouds to the east I wouldn’t be surprised if we had more fall before the afternoon is out.’

  ‘You’re an expert on the weather now,’ Cecilia couldn’t help but grumble. She had hoped to make it to Hawthorn House by this evening and try to forget this little episode with Major Crawley had ever happened. Soon her guardian would start searching for her, no doubt making a great fuss about her disappearance in the hope the ensuing scandal might force her to marry his son.

  Major Crawley regarded her with his pale blue eyes and gave a little shrug. ‘You don’t need to be an expert to see there will be more snow falling from clouds as dark as those.’

  They ate in silence for a while, all the time Cecilia trying not to show how much she was enjoying her breakfast. Her mother had told her years and years ago that a proper young lady did not show her delight in the simple pleasures in life. She should never be seen enjoying her food or drink, never be seen to shriek in delight at the wind whipping in her hair while riding horseback, never be seen to sigh in pleasure when a dashing gentleman kissed her hand. Her mother had been the belle of the Season when she’d met Cecilia’s father, she’d had the pick of suitors, and it had surprised no one when she’d chosen to become a countess.

  Cecilia had always tried to emulate her mother, but just enjoyed everything far too much. Well, she’d enjoyed everything until her parents had died suddenly six years ago from a winter fever within a couple of weeks of each other. Now there was always a solemnity to her actions that hadn’t been present before.

  ‘Where did you learn to cook?’ she asked, leaning back from the table and cradling her teacup in her hands. It was odd Major Crawley living out here all alone without any servants. He would have been raised in the same way as she, with maids and footmen and cooks ready to see to his every need. But somehow, somewhere, he’d shaken all of that off and decided the life of privilege wasn’t for him.

  ‘The army,’ he said. Cecilia waited for him to elaborate, but was fast realising Major Crawley was a man of few words.

  ‘You had to cook your own food in the army?’

  ‘No.’

  She took a sip of tea, looked at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Eventually he sighed and let just a little more information about himself slip out.

  ‘They had cooks. Big tents where you went to have your meals in the morning and evening when you were in camp. But army life taught me to be more self-sufficient, not to rely on anyone else for anything.’

  It was a different world. One that Cecilia knew she would never experience. There were women who followed the army around, some of them even respectable—the wives of the Colonels and the Majors and the Lieutenants. But she never planned to marry and the only other women who followed in the wake of the thousands of men who made up the army were prostitutes and women with something to sell.

  ‘But things are different now you’re home, surely?’ she pressed.

  He shrugged. ‘I find I cannot tolerate having another person do the things that I can easily do myself. It’s not as though I’m terribly busy otherwise.’ There was a hint of bitterness in his voice and Cecilia wondered if he had lost his way since returning home. She knew it happened to a lot of soldiers, they no longer felt as though they fit into the civilian world, but Major Crawley was one of the privileged few. He didn’t have to look for work, he had property, money, a family to love him.

  Abruptly he stood, as if signalling that was the end of their conversation. Quickly he gathered together the plates and took them over to the sink. He’d already filled it with warm water, boiled over the fire and cooled while they had their breakfast, and without looking back at Cecilia he began to wash the plates.

  ‘Let me do that,’ Cecilia said.

  He turned and stared at her, then went back to scrubbing a plate.

  ‘I’d like to help,’ she said, a little louder this time.

  ‘Have you ever washed a plate before in your life?’

  ‘No.’ There was no point lying about it.

  He turned back to the sink again.

  ‘How hard can it be?’ Cecilia asked, pushing up the sleeves of her dress so the material at the wrists wouldn’t get wet.

  Still Major Crawley didn’t step aside so Cecilia inserted her petite frame in between him and one of the work surfaces to his left and slowly began to nudge her way in closer to the sink.

  After a few seconds, when he must have judged that she wasn’t going to be put off by his stubborn refusal not to move, he stepped aside and allowed her to dip her hands into the water. Cecilia picked up a plate, watching out of the corner of her eye as he dried his hands on a cloth. They were strong hands, he was a strong man. She could imagine him dressed in his military uniform on the battlefield, leading his men. He cut a dashing figure, despite the scowl she couldn’t imagine him without.

  Trying to think back to when she’d known him in childhood, she wondered if he’d always been this way. The man she remembered before he headed off to war had smiled more, laughed and joked, fooled around with his older brother and teased his little sister.

  Side by side they washed the plates and cutlery, Major Crawley putting everything away in its place once it was dried.

  After she’d finished the last item Cecilia reached out for the cloth resting on the side, her hand gripping on to it just as Major Crawley touched it, too. Their fingers only brushed one another, but Major Crawley jumped back as if he’d been burned.

  Feeling her heart pounding in her chest, Cecilia looked up slowly, but Major Crawley had already turned away and was pulling on his coat. Without another word he opened the back door, letting in a cold gust of wind, and then walked out into the snow.

  * * *

  Joe pulled some more hay from the sack and arranged it so the horse could reach easily, all the time stroking the beautiful mare’s nose and murmuring softly.

  ‘You’d think I was a lad of twelve the way I jumped,’ he murmured, shaking his head ruefully. Lady Cecilia hadn’t even meant to brush his hand with her own and he could just imagine her confusion now at his reaction. No doubt the pretty young he
iress was used to men wanting to touch her, not fleeing from the faintest contact.

  He did want to touch her, that was half the problem. All night, the entire six hours he’d spent folded up uncomfortably in the armchair, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her. The image of her body silhouetted under the thin material of his cotton shirt was seared into his mind and had tormented him as he tried to sleep. All night he had listened for the faint noises of her moving around upstairs, just a few feet above him, and all night he had imagined a thousand things that were certainly not appropriate for a man to imagine about his sister’s closest friend.

  ‘Too long without a woman,’ he grumbled, patting the mare’s neck as he threw one of the old blankets he kept in the tiny stable over her back.

  He hadn’t been with a woman since his return from the Peninsula. At first he had been too ill, delirious with fever and the festering wound in his leg. Then he had to work for months to get his strength back, to learn how to walk again, how to move, how to do everything again. If he was honest, that wasn’t the only reason, though. For months now he had been at peak physical fitness despite his injury. He could walk for ten miles without taking a rest, could ride, chop wood, do any number of physical tasks, but still he hadn’t pursued even the briefest of relationships with a woman.

  Rebecca—she was why. ‘Not the woman I thought she was,’ he murmured to the horse, straightening out the blanket and checking the mare had everything she needed.

  The woman he had been betrothed to. The woman he had thought he would spend the rest of his life with. The woman who had promised to wait for him.

  She had waited. They’d met three years ago when he’d been home on leave and for two years she’d written him letters and promised one day they would build a life together. She’d waited the entire time, only to turn him away when he returned, with disgust in her eyes.

  That was why he hadn’t pursued any sort of relationship with a woman since. That look of disgust meant he wouldn’t any time soon either.

  ‘One more day, girl,’ he said, peering out of the stable and up at the sky. Surely by tomorrow the snow would have cleared and he could send Lady Cecilia on her way. He had survived the war, he could survive one more day of sharing his cottage with the pretty young heiress.

  ‘One more day until what?’ A voice came from somewhere to his left.

  He cursed under his breath. She was going to catch a chill and then what would he do with her?

  ‘What the devil are you doing out here?’ he barked, knowing his tone was far too harsh for a lady, but unable to temper down his frustration.

  ‘Seeing to my horse,’ she said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  ‘I’m doing that.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know that, did I?’

  ‘What did you think I was doing?’

  ‘How should I know? Going for a stroll, doing a spot of fishing, watching the birds.’ He heard the sarcasm in her voice and, instead of responding, just glared at her. Lady Cecilia gave him a sunny smile and squeezed past him into the stable. As she leaned forward to greet her horse, her hip grazed against his thigh and Joe had to tense to stop himself from jumping back.

  ‘Good morning, my beauty,’ she said, stroking the horse’s neck and allowing the animal to nuzzle into her.

  ‘You’ll catch a chill,’ Joe said stubbornly, grimacing as he realised he sounded like a stuffy old man.

  ‘So might you.’

  He looked down at his coat and boots and then across to hers. It was difficult to deny she was better dressed for the weather, with gloves protecting her hands and the collar of her coat done up to just below her chin. Still, she hadn’t fled the cottage quite as quickly as he had.

  ‘You don’t like to be touched,’ she said, not turning around to face him as she spoke.

  He almost spluttered. Most people weren’t so direct.

  The seconds ticked by in silence as he wondered how to answer that statement.

  ‘Is it because of your injury? Elizabeth told me a little about it. I can’t imagine I would be keen on having anyone touching me after having doctors prod and poke me for months on end.’

  He mumbled something incomprehensible. Better for her to think that than to suspect the real reason.

  ‘Was it really awful?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, surprising himself with his honesty. He rarely talked about that time in his life despite it taking up much of his thoughts.

  ‘Do you remember it all?’

  ‘No.’ He paused and then slowly continued, ‘That’s the worst part.’

  ‘Not remembering?’

  ‘The half-memories. Patches of time where I’m not sure if something happened or if was just a dream.’

  ‘You were delirious?’

  ‘For three weeks.’

  ‘Yet you survived.’

  He grimaced. He had survived. He never regretted that, despite the injury he had to live with, despite the cold sweats when the memories of the battles crept up on him. So many hadn’t come home, he could never be so ungrateful as not to appreciate the life he’d been given.

  ‘I survived.’ Even though he’d been told time and time again his odds were poor if he insisted on keeping his leg.

  ‘Is your injury why you hide out here?’ Lady Cecilia asked.

  ‘What?’ he spluttered before he could help himself.

  ‘Not in the stable,’ she said, turning to face him with that impish smile he was beginning to recognise. ‘Out here at the cottage.’

  ‘Why do you think I’m hiding?’

  ‘You chose to walk five miles in the snow rather than be comfortably ensconced in your parents’ home when their guests begin to arrive for Christmas.’

  It was pretty damning evidence.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, you’re not hiding or, no, it’s not because of your injury.’

  ‘No to both.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she murmured, pulling a face as if she didn’t believe him.

  ‘I needed some space to decide what to do with my life,’ he said, surprising himself with his candour. It was true one of the reasons he’d chosen to live out here by himself was to avoid the curious questions about his injury, about the army and to stop raking up all the painful memories, just as he knew he was also out here so he avoided ever having to accidentally bump into Rebecca again, but he also liked the quietness, the opportunity to take time to consider what his life held next for him.

  ‘And what have you decided?’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  She nodded, as if she finally believed him.

  ‘Shall we go back inside?’ he asked. Although she was well wrapped up, Lady Cecilia’s cheeks had turned rosy in the cold and the tip of her nose was pink. She nodded and they both moved for the door at once, their bodies colliding. Joe felt a stab of pain shoot through his leg, but managed to keep his balance, his arms instinctively coming up to encircle Lady Cecilia to stop her from toppling.

  With her body pressed against his she fit under his chin and there she stayed for a couple of seconds as he felt her breathing steady as she composed herself. After a moment she took a step back and looked up at him, their eyes meeting, and Joe felt an intense wave of desire flood through his body. She looked so perfect standing there in his arms, so kissable. He wanted to run his hands through her hair, to touch the soft skin of her cheeks and kiss her until they both forgot who they were.

  He saw the flicker of desire in her eyes, saw the unconscious sway of her body towards him, and for a moment he was tempted to give in. They both wanted it, both felt the inexplicable attraction, even though he’d been far from the perfect gentleman towards her.

  With great effort he stepped back, ensuring she was steady on her feet before moving. He would not seduce his sister’s dearest friend. He wouldn’
t take away her future, her chance to make a great match, not for a few hours of pleasure, however much he wanted her.

  Chapter Four

  In front of them the fire crackled and spat, causing Cecilia to look up from the book she was reading and stare into the flames. She was ever conscious of Major Crawley sitting just a few feet from her, aware every time he shifted or moved, aware of every breath he took.

  Foolish girl, she told herself. She’d nearly kissed him that morning out in the stable. After everything she’d promised herself, after all her years of self-restraint and careful behaviour. One smouldering look from a man she wasn’t sure even liked her and she was ready to throw it all away.

  Forcing her eyes back to her book, a rather dry factual book on the Great Fire of London a couple of centuries ago which seemed to be blaming the whole episode on one poor baker, it was only a few seconds before she heard Major Crawley shift. He rose, slipped off his jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Cecilia tried to look away, but the rhythmic motion of his fingers mesmerised her and she couldn’t help but watch as he revealed his tanned forearms.

  His eyes came up and met hers and she thought she detected a hint of amusement on his face before he turned to face the fire. She watched as he prodded at the logs with the poker before settling back into his chair.

  ‘Good book?’ he asked, his eyes raking over her, but his expression giving nothing away.

  ‘A little persecutory,’ she said. In response to his raised eyebrow she elaborated. ‘They are blaming the Great Fire of London on one man.’

  ‘When in reality it was down to poor town planning and a sense of invincibility,’ Major Crawley said.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘But it is much more sensational to go on a witch-hunt.’

  She nodded, knowing she should return to her book, but unable to look away from the man in front of her.

  ‘How about a game?’ Major Crawley said.

  ‘A game?’ He didn’t seem to be the sort of man who liked to play games. Far too serious.