Patrina continued, seeming wholly unaware of his inappropriate thoughts and continued speaking once more about her father. “I suspect my sisters would be better behaved had he lived.” She grinned. “Then I quickly realized they would have surely found different reasons to misbehave.”
He grinned, forgetting until this moment how much he’d missed being happy just for the sake of being happy. His smile slipped. “I imagine he was a good parent.” Unlike Cordelia who’d complained about Charlotte and Daniel since the moment she’d learned she was in the family way.
A wistful look stole over her face. “I was merely a girl when he died. Sometimes I can’t quite sort out who he really was in my mind and who he really was while he lived. Does that make sense, my lord?”
“It does.” Having heard the memory Charlotte crafted of the heartless woman who’d given her life, he knew exactly what Patrina spoke of. “Thank you for joining me…” He coughed into his hand. “That is to say, thank you for accompanying my family.” He glanced around for Patrina’s maid.
Patrina cleared her throat. “My maid is at the carriage. It seemed unfair to drag her along through the snow and ice for my own enjoyments.”
Ah, this regard for servants. “I believe you spoke to Charlotte about her treatment of my servants?”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth but then squared her shoulders. “I understand it was not my place to instruct your daughter on matters of your household. However—”
“I’m not displeased, my lady,” he interjected. He’d not have her believe he was a stodgy, pompous lord who’d abuse his servants.
She blinked. “You’re not?”
“I’m not.”
Patrina appeared deflated as though she’d been braced to defend her stance. She’d but known his daughter for a handful of days and yet, had exacted more positive change than Cordelia had managed in the course of all Charlotte and Daniel’s lives.
With Lady Patrina’s contemplative solemnity, it occurred to him, yet again, how vastly different she was than his late, viperous wife. Still, for the seriousness to Patrina, she always managed a gentle smile and kind words for his children. He enjoyed how carefree Charlotte was in Patrina’s presence. Just as he appreciated the fleeting smiles that occasionally wreathed the young lady’s cheeks whenever she was with his imps.
When it became apparent Patrina didn’t intend to break the quiet, he said, “Charlotte has clearly missed the presence of other females in her life and would benefit from the gentle influence of a proper, young lady.” Both of his children would.
Patrina froze, as stiff as the iced over Barn Elm tree branches overhead. Her skin turned an ashen gray to match the sky. He searched his mind for what inadvertent insult he must have dealt. “They are good children,” she defended quietly. “Are they close?” The question emerged almost haltingly from her lips.
From the corner of his eye he detected the tip of her pink tongue dart out and lick the smooth cream from the edge of her spoon. He bit back another groan, wishing he could trade places with that muscadine ice. “They fight often,” he said at last.
She smiled around her treat and it transformed her from serious woman to bright-eyed young lady. “That is part of being a sibling.”
Filled with a desire to know more about this woman who’d slipped past the defenses he’d constructed, he asked, “And what of you, my lady?” He didn’t understand this sudden, insatiable need to know more about her. “Are you close with your siblings.”
“Undoubtedly,” she replied, her response instantaneous. She wrinkled her nose. “Please, just Patrina,” she offered. “After all, considering our relationship these past five days, I imagine we’ve moved beyond the category of polite strangers, my lord.”
“Weston,” he corrected.
“Weston,” she murmured as though tasting his name on her lips like she had the frozen ice moments ago.
He paused. The sweet lyrical quality of his name upon her lips gave him pause. Their whole refined, polite world knew him as a title and nothing more and hearing her gentle tone wrap about the two-syllables of his name filled him with longing to hear her utter it over and over.
“It suits you,” she said, and smiled.
They seemed to have begun as cold, angry strangers, and now? Now, the warm glimmer in Patrina’s eyes made him want to forget the pledge he’d taken to never trust another woman.
Patrina continued on about her family, allowing him entry into her private world. “I am the eldest of four sisters and I have a brother. The Earl of Sinclair.”
Weston paused. Sinclair. The man known as Sin. He remembered the gentleman from their earlier days. The earl was touted as an infamous rogue who quite enjoyed the gaming tables.
Clearly perceptive, the young lady hurried to assure him. “Oh, he’s quite reformed, now.” She ran her spoon around the perimeter of her ice.
“Is he?” he said wryly.
She closed her lips over the dash of cream. “Oh, he is.” Patrina licked her spoon clean. Again.
He groaned at the erotic sight wishing she’d get on with finishing it so he didn’t have bear the torturous sight of her inadvertently sensual movements.
“My mother and I had despaired of him ever settling down, but he fell in love.” Something sad and wistful stole over Patrina’s face.
Desire fled, replaced by an overwhelming urge to drive back the pained regret reflected in her eyes. “It must have been interesting in such a crowded household.”
She grinned, and the sadness lifted. “It was certainly eventful.” She took another bite and the faintest bit of ice touched the corner of her mouth.
“You have ice here,” he gestured to his lip.
She colored prettily. “Here?” she murmured and used the back of her gloved hand to brush it away. Another dash of cream smeared her cheek.
His lips twitched. “Here,” he murmured and withdrew his handkerchief. “Allow me.” He touched the crisp, white fabric to her cheek and then the corner of her lip.
His breath caught. Or was that hers? This was madness.
Her sooty black lashes fluttered and he lowered his head, as reality slipped away and only they two remained. He longed to know the taste of her.
Playful shouts in the distance snapped him from his reverie. He jerked back and took a hasty step away from the tempting beauty. He glanced around for his children and saw them disappear over the crest, hurling snowballs at one another and laughing. “Forgive me,” he said quietly.
She blinked as if she’d been spun in too many circles. “There is nothing to forgive, Weston. You’ve done nothing improper.”
But he’d wanted to. God, how he’d wanted to. He’d wanted to take her lips under his and kiss her until she moaned with a desperate hunger for more of him.
Her chest rose and fell in a heavy rhythm and he suspected she wanted his kiss as much as he wanted hers.
He was lost.
With a groan, Weston lowered his head and claimed her lips. He dimly registered the crystal glass in her hands falling soundlessly to the thick blanket of snow at their booted feet. He slanted his mouth over hers again and again. He nipped at that too-full lower lip and when she moaned, he explored the hot, moist cavern of her mouth.