* * *
Patrina sat on the wrought iron bench and stared at the boxwoods, heavy with snow. She pulled her cloak close, burrowing into the thick woolen fabric to brace herself from the chill.
By now, Weston had surely received her note, read her wishes, and knew she no longer would wed him. She’d sent it round yesterday morning. Yesterday. She scuffed the tip of her foot into the thick snow, drawing a faint circle in the fluffy white substance.
She really didn’t know what she’d expected of him. The illogical, foolishly naïve woman who still longed for love and hoped for happiness had imagined an extraordinary scenario in which he stormed from his home, ordered his horse, and charged after her. He’d declare his feelings…
Patrina shoved aside the pathetic yearnings. More likely, the marquess had realized how wholly unsuitable she was and had found a good measure of relief in being absolved of his—
Something landed hard at her back. She stiffened as the cool, wetness of snow seeped into the material of her cloak. She turned, just as another snowball found its mark at her shoulder. Outrage thrummed through her. “What—?” She leapt to her feet and froze. Her throat worked painfully at the sight of him in his towering golden glory, a shimmer of sun in the cold, wintry world.
Weston stood, some seven yards away, a snowball in his hand. He pointed an accusing finger at her. “I am displeased with you, madam.”
She swallowed hard. “My lord?”
His next snowball found its mark at her opposite shoulder. She stared down at the white fragment left upon her cloak. “Did you just hit me with a snowball?”
“No,” he barked. “I hit you with three snowballs.”
Well. “How did you know I was here?”
“That is what you’d ask me?” His golden eyebrows dipped. “Your sisters were quite forthcoming.”
Oh, she could just imagine. She imagined such forthcoming-ness also included mention of a certain viscountess to whom Weston shared blood. Her sisters’ betrayal needled at her heart. “Why are you here?” Surely he knew she made this sacrifice for him.
“I don’t want nor need you to make any sacrifice for me, Patrina Tidemore,” he snapped, having clearly followed the unspoken direction of her thoughts.
If his tone wasn’t so harshly angry, she would have been warmed by his—She gasped as he bent down and hastily put together another missile. “What are you doing?”
He stood. “You do not get to enter my life…the lives of my children…and then send around a letter politely refusing an offer.”
“I—”
“An offer you already accepted.”
She stiffened her spine at the biting fury in his clipped tones. “I’ll have you know I’ve done this for you.”
He glowered. “What have you done for me? Taken away all happiness you’ve brought into my life? Plunged me back into an icy, solitary world?”
His words tugged at her heart. “Oh, Wes—” He launched his snowball. It collided with her chest. She looked at the white splattered mark upon her breast. “You do know it is ungentlemanly to throw snowballs.”
He took a step toward her. “Is that all you’d say to me?” Then another. His black cloak snapped angrily about his ankles. Patrina glanced around at the small drifts and bushes preventing escape. Not that she feared him.
“Do you fear me?” he snapped.
Her head shot up, startled at his uncanny ability to know just what she was thinking. “Er, no.” She paused. “Should I?”
The low-growl that rumbled from his chest provided very little reassurance. He reached into the front of his cloak and withdrew a familiar note. He tossed it toward her. A gust of wind caught the thick sheet and carried it several feet where it fluttered silently into the snow. “What the hell is the meaning of this?” His booming voice carried through the empty park, echoing in the stillness.
Even as her heart was breaking for all she’d never have with him, she tipped her chin up a notch. “That is a letter.” His golden brows met in a single, furious line. Who did he think he was coming here and wreaking havoc on her already tumultuous mind? “I did not mean to wound your ego, my lord. Upon careful consideration—”
“By God, Patrina, if you say upon consideration, however, with strictly the well-being of your children in mind, I must rescind my acceptance of your very generous offer of marriage.”
She flattened her lips as he tossed her words back at her, as though they had no meaning, as though she’d not cried until she feared she’d break from penning those blasted words.
He claimed her gloved fingers in his. “Did nothing I say mean anything to you?” he demanded, his tone harsh and guttural. “I spoke to you about the happiness you’ve shown me. I spoke about how you’ve shown me how to laugh and smile again.” He dropped his voice to an angry whisper. “And then you’d so effortlessly cut me from your life.” Gold flecks glinted in his eyes. “Will you not say anything?” He released her suddenly and spun away. Walking away. Out of her life. And the glimmer of happiness he represented would be forever extinguished.
Patrina swallowed hard. “I-it mattered,” she called after him, hating the break in her voice that signified weakness.
He froze, his back presented to her.
She fixed her gaze on the immaculate fabric of his cloak. “You must understand, with my decision, I sacrificed not only my own happiness but that of all of my sisters. Even as they don’t fully realize the consequences of what I’ve done, the time will come when they enter Society and are spurned for their connection to me.” She held her palms up, forgetting he could not see her silent entreaty. “Don’t you see, if you were to wed me, the same will happen to Charlotte and the time would come when you resented me?” She sucked in a shuddery breath. “Maybe even hate me for a brash, girlish mistake I made seemingly a lifetime ago. And that I could not bear, Weston.” That would destroy her in way Albert Marshville’s betrayal never could have. “Please, don’t leave.” Not you.
He whirled around. “Is that what you believe? That I’m leaving you?” His long legs ate away the distance between them.
Patrina trailed the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “Well, I did assume… that is to say…” She sighed. “Yes.” She paused, her breath coming in labored gasps. “Weren’t you?”
A gust of wind whipped his unfashionably long golden strands about his eyes. “I was not.”
“Oh.” She studied the tips of her boots while waiting for him to say more. Wanting him to say more, needing him to say more. The winter wind gusted about them, dusting her cheeks with flakes of snow. The scent of him, honey and mint filled her senses, intoxicating in its sweetness. She ached for him.
He nudged her chin up with his knuckles. “I swear, Patrina Tidemore, you are the only woman I know who’d not ask me where I was off to.”
“Where were you off to, Weston?”
He fished around the front of his cloak and withdrew a small packet. “Here.” He held it out.
Her fingers, nearly numb with cold, shook as she fumbled through the pages. Her heartbeat paused and then sped up. Her gaze flew to his. “What does this mean?” Her words emerged as a breathless whisper.