Alcott Hall: Second Sons Book Three

Charles went still as stone, his expression flashing quickly before he hid it behind a pale mask. But his eyes gave him away. He was angry. His jaw ticked as he stood there, feet apart from her. “You kissed him?”

She nodded.

“When?”

“I…just after you left us in the gazebo,” she replied. “I should say he kissed me, but I didn’t stop him.”

His jaw clenched tighter. “He watched me kiss you, then he took my place?”

She nodded again, biting her lip before adding, “And that wasn’t our first kiss.”

With a curse, he spun away, stomping down the path after the cart.

She watched him leave, heart in her throat. Then her legs moved on their own and she was running after him. “Charles, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I couldn’t not tell you. It felt important that you know.”

“And now I know.”

“He was just teasing me. It meant nothing. But I know you are friends so—”

“Friends,” he scoffed. “Right.”

“I don’t want it to come between you. Or us,” she added. “And it will never happen again, I assure you. Charles, please, it meant nothing—”

He rounded on her. “Stop saying my name.”

She slid to a halt. “Why?”

“Because to my great surprise, I find myself mad with jealousy, and when you say my name, I forget that I’m meant to have manners.” He pointed down the lane. “Walk, Madeline.”

She panted, righting the hood over her hair. “But—so you can say my name, but I can’t say yours? That hardly seems fair.”

He groaned low in his throat. “Christ, Madeline. Walk. And we will speak no more about this.” He spun away first, taking off after the cart.

“But we must speak of it,” she called. “You’ve still not given me your answer!”

“I need to think!”

“Mr. Bray!”

“Damn it, that’s worse than you calling me Charles,” he muttered.

She shrugged in frustrated defeat, glancing around at the wintry woods. “Well, then what am I to call you? Sir?”

He spun around and stomped back towards her, his amber eyes fierce and wild, shadowed by the brim of his hat as he leaned closer. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

They stood there in the lane staring at each other, Madeline’s heart racing. She gasped, glancing around, as the first snowflakes started to fall. Charles stiffened too. The flakes danced through the air, landing on his shoulders, the brim of his hat. Yet still he stood there, taking her in.

“What say you, sir? Are you still willing to consider a trial of sorts? A practice marriage?”

“I need more time,” he admitted. “Give me more time to think on it. I shall give you an answer when we’ve finished with the baskets.”

She nodded. What else could she do?

By the time they delivered half the baskets, it was snowing in earnest. What started as a good excuse to stretch her legs was turning into a tiring chore. The longer they were out in the elements, the bottom of Madeline’s dress and pelisse got soaked by the melting snow, making her skirts heavy and her feet cold. Her toes squished inside her stockings, all but numb. She should have worn a second layer, or at least a thicker wool.

Charles was quiet, not speaking until they were amongst the parishioners. Once again, he was all charm and friendliness, offering supportive words and easy touches. He pulled her into a few conversations, his hand at the small of her back as he encouraged her to take the lead, asking her questions that required more than one-word answers. It felt easier to talk to these people. She hardly stammered and they didn’t seem to notice or care when she did.

They left the third group and Madeline was shivering. Her feet felt like ice. But she wasn’t going to complain. She knew the warm welcome she’d receive once she returned to Alcott. These people had no warm welcome waiting for them except for what they could find around their meager fires, so she trudged along, wet skirts trailing behind her.

“It’s comin’ down now,” called Ramsay from the cart seat. “We might want to think about turning in for the day. Families won’t wanna be out in all this.”

Charles groaned. “He’s right.”

“Oh, but we’re nearly finished,” Madeline said though chattering teeth.

“It’ll be another thirty minutes to reach the next houses, and your lips are nearly blue,” he replied, still not looking at her. “I can finish on my own tomorrow.”

She bristled at his coldness. “This is my mission now as much as yours. I want to help—”

“Madeline, you’re freezing.”

“I’ll be warm again soon. I want to stay,” she said at his back.

“No, he’s right. It’s not fair to drag the families out in this weather. We’ll finish tomorrow.” He called over to the stable hand, “Ramsay, we’ll head back!”

“Right you are, sir.” He gave a tug to the reins, starting the horse on a half-circle to turn around. “You’ll get the miss back faster if you cut across on the deer path,” he called back. “The cart can’t fit, but you two surely can. ‘Less you both wanna budge up in the back ‘ere,” he added, pointing to the cluttered back of the tiny cart with his thumb.

The idea of bouncing along in the back of a cart wedged on top of Charles did not sound inviting. She’d already had enough of cart rides for one visit. She gazed out towards the trees instead. “Deer path?”

“It’s a walking trail,” he explained, coming to stand at her side. “Too narrow for carts. We call it the deer path. It leads back towards Alcott.”

She sighed, already dreaming of warm baths and crackling fires.

“Come on,” he muttered. “We’ll go that way.”

She followed him, tripping over her sodden skirts.

The path was exactly that—little more than a meandering trail, well-trod by dozens of feet over countless years. It was the kind of trail you read about in a story book. If Madeline were in a more creative mood, she might just feel enchanted. She imagined each new season brought out a different personality to the path. In spring, it would be dotted with wildflowers—yellow buttercups and white daffodils. Perhaps a curious bunny would hop along the way. Now the trees were bare as they carried the weight of the falling snow. Everything was being washed clean by a blanket of purest white.

There was a hush on the air to match the chill. The only sound her panting breath as she followed the dark silhouette of Charles. There was no sun to be seen today, but it was surely setting somewhere behind the thick storm clouds. The sky was changing from a pale grey to a twilight charcoal. It had to be after four o’clock. She’d certainly missed afternoon tea. With any luck, she’d still be back in time for dinner.

Charles set a grueling pace, marching through the fine layer of white snow as if he were being chased.

Before long, Madeline was wincing, clutching at her side, face flushed. “I can’t keep up with you, Charles,” she admitted. “I can’t walk so fast in these clothes.”

With a grumble, he slowed his pace, still staying a few feet ahead of her. The snow was deeper here, nearly reaching her shins, and more was still falling. The flakes were thicker than before, fluffy and white, dusting her clothes and melting on her face. She tried to lift her skirts, making it easier to piece her way over the uneven ground. More than once, Charles paused to glance over his shoulder, making sure she was still following.

As they wove through the darkening trees, she spied a set of glowing lights in the near distance. “What is that?” she called over the wintry quiet.

“It’s a cabin,” he replied, his tone clipped.

She tried to control the chattering of her teeth. “It’s an odd place for a cabin. Who lives there?”

“We’re on the edge of the Alcott grounds,” he explained. “There are several cabins placed throughout the woods for the use of the gamekeepers.”

She stilled, already knowing the answer before she spoke. “Who lives in that cabin?”

“Mr. Warren.”

“Mr. ahh—” She cried out. One moment she was stumbling along behind Charles, the next her toe was snagging on a hidden root, and she was flailing, arms windmilling in the fluttering snow, as she fell to her hands and knees with a sharp cry.

Charles doubled back at a run. “Madeline, are you hurt?”

She panted, pushing up with her hands to rock back onto her heels. Pain in her left ankle lanced at the movement. Her cloak was snagged under her knee, momentarily trapping her. She groaned, giving the cloak a tug, which promptly choked her at the neck. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. “‘M’fine,” she garbled, stumbling to her feet. She winced with her first step and Charles was there, one hand firmly holding her elbow.

“You’re not fine. Did you sprain your ankle? Why weren’t you watching where you were going?”

Her cheeks flamed. “I was distracted. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Distracted?”

“Yes,” she rasped, taking another step and wincing.

“By what?”

“By you, obviously,” she huffed, jerking her arm free of his grip. “By your coldness and your anger at me over something that is not my fault. Besides, you said yourself that you’ve sampled the delights of the flesh. How do your own experiences compare, sir? Shall you be casting the first stone?”

“Madeline—”

She shrugged away, taking another hobbling step. “I didn’t ask for Mr. Warren’s attention. But even if I had, there is no agreement between us. And so long as you reject my proposal, I don’t see that there’s anything wrong with kissing all the men in England!”

“Oh, you think so?” he called after her.

“I do, sir!”

He grabbed her by the shoulders, halting her steps. Then he was pressing in, his body flush against her back as she felt his hot breath fanning over her ear. “If you do become my wife, Madeline, that will be the first thing to change. You won’t kiss another man. You won’t bloody look at another man,” he growled, his gloved hand inching from her shoulder to gently circle her throat as he pressed closer.

She whimpered, her chin tilting back as she offered her neck.

“You won’t need another man,” he added, his lips all but brushing her ear. “Because I will satisfy your every want and desire…even the ones you don’t yet know you have.”

They panted, their warm breath fanning each other’s faces. His amber eyes were narrowed on her. A beast awoke inside her, uncurling like a serpent. She wanted to rise to his challenge. She wanted to be bold.

“Prove it,” she murmured, secretly loving the feel of his hand at her throat. Was it strange to admit it was oddly calming? It felt like her spiraling anxiety suddenly had a center, an anchor point. She could feel as chaotic as she wanted because Charles Bray was holding her steady. He was in control—

But then he was cursing and letting her go as if her touch burned him. He took a step back, leaving her reeling, sensing spinning.

Sucking in another breath of icy air, she limped away. She clenched her teeth with each step, trying to ignore the pain in her left ankle. All the while, the snow fell thick and heavy.

“Madeline, stop.”

“No.”

“You can’t walk another half mile on a twisted ankle!”

“Watch me!”

“Obstinate, headstrong girl,” he muttered. “Will you stop walking!”

“I can’t stop,” she cried, tears in her eyes. “I have to go back to Alcott. I can’t stay here another second. Your coldness and your indecision are worse than this storm and I cannot bear it!”

“Just—god—let me take you to Warren’s,” he called. “We’ll rest for a quarter of an hour. You can put that ankle up. Maybe the snows will stop.”

“Or maybe they’ll get worse,” she countered.

“If I bring you back looking like this, the duchess will flay me. Please, Madeline. I like my skin where it is. If you go to Warren’s, I can run on ahead to Alcott and get a horse. Then at least you’ll be out of the thick of the snow. You can ride back and be warm again by dinnertime.”

She raised a wary brow. “And you won’t punish him like you’re punishing me?”

“Just…come with me. Please.” He held out a gloved hand, willing her to take it.

After a moment’s hesitation, she placed her hand in his, and he led them off the walking path towards the glowing lights of Warren’s snow-covered cabin.