Remembering what Holly had revealed yesterday about Mr. Kringle and their aunt, Eve cracked a smile for the first time that morning. “We must hide your Mr. Kringle’s beef from Cook. The strays in the village are getting positively fat from all of her… mistakes.”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. And speaking of that—”
“You have a visitor.” Noelle entered. “You’re welcome to come back, My Lord.” She gestured behind her.
The air whooshed out of Eve’s lungs, and she barely managed to acknowledge Noelle as her sister swept through the room and then disappeared out the back door. Something about meeting Holly outside and going on a sleigh ride.
Aunt Winifred raised her brows. “Good day, My Lord.” She curtsied in Nicholas’s direction. “I’m late for my errands.” She scampered away with the loaded basket. Late? When had Aunt Winifred ever cared about being on time for anything?
Nicholas nodded but remained standing at the entrance of the kitchen until the two of them were alone. He appeared as though he’d suffered an even worse night than she had.
His face was pale, almost green, and dark circles were etched beneath his bloodshot eyes. Eve placed the finished pie she’d just removed from the oven onto the counter so that she wouldn’t do anything stupid with it and trailed her gaze over the rest of him. Despite the haggard appearance of his face, he’d dressed impeccably this morning, shaved, and his hair was neat and tidy.
He held her letters in one hand.
Eve steadied her knees, which suddenly felt as though they might buckle beneath her.
He’d opened them.
Eve glanced around the room, remembering some of what she’d written and feeling embarrassed. She’d been in love with him at the time.
“I read them.” His voice sounded gravelly and dry. “I’m so sorry about your mother. Yesterday, I never would have suggested—”
“I know,” Eve cut him off. “I realized later.”
Unsure what to say, if anything, she took up her knife and returned to cutting and peeling the apples she’d been working on. She was afraid to look in his eyes. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want his guilt. She wanted something that she hardly dared wish for.
He moved so that he was standing directly behind her—close—too close.
“All night, I’ve pondered words that might express how disgusted I am with myself.”
The heat of his body warmed her back.
“Did you ignore them intentionally? Were you that eager to relegate me to your past?” Eve fixed her attention on the apples as she spoke, slicing off the skin with jerky movements.
“God, no. I had no idea.” His hand settled on her waist and his breath caressed the skin behind her ear. “Something snapped when I heard that you’d gone. I don’t understand it myself, but I… panicked.”
Eve fought the urge to lean back against him. Was this what she’d been craving all night long? Was this what had kept her awake?
In London, he’d spoken to her of marriage and of making a family. “What did you do while you were on the Continent?” What did all handsome gentlemen do when they went to Paris? Picturing him kissing elegant Parisian women, imagining him touching them the way he’d touched her, made her slightly ill. How many women had he been with since the two of them had parted? How many women had he professed to love?
“My God, Eve!” Nicholas stiffened behind her.
Eve stared at her hands through a fog. Scarlet drops of blood dripped all over her freshly cut apples from a large gash she’d sliced through her palm. Black rimmed her vision when her nostrils caught the coppery scent of it.
She’d never handled blood with much dignity. She blinked and thought to speak but no words emerged. The last thing she remembered was Nicholas removing the knife from her as her knees crumpled and the floor rushed up to meet her.
Chapter 6
One minute Nick was prepared to profess his love to Eve again, and the next he was carefully lowering her limp form to the floor.
He kneeled beside her, brushing her hair away from her face, “Eve.” By now, the blood was soaking into her apron and gown. Grasping a nearby kitchen linen, he wound it around her hand and then leaned over her again, this time, gently touching her cheeks.
“Eve, love. Come back to me.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and then drew back as her lashes fluttered.
“I’m sorry. Stupid of me.”
“My fault. I shouldn’t have distracted you.” He put one arm around her shoulder to steady her as she pushed herself up. “Good girl. Easy now.”
“The knife slipped.” She glanced down at where the blood had soaked her dress and swayed slightly.
“Don’t look at it.” Nick tucked her face into his chest. “Before coming to see you, I knew you might want to draw blood, but I imagined it would be mine.”
When she responded with a small cry, he tipped her chin up so that he could meet her gaze. “I must be losing my touch. I could always get you to laugh before.”
This did manage to evoke a very tiny little chuckle. She squirmed but allowed him to assist her to her feet. “I need to finish my pie.”
“Not with that hand, you won’t.” Happy for any excuse to have his hands on her, he lifted her so that she was sitting on a clear spot on the worktable and took hold of her hands. “This needs cleaning and wrapped properly.” He flicked his eyes up and met her stare. “Look at me, rather than your hand. Or, if you find my mug offensive, try the ceiling.” He wet another clean linen and focused on the cut. The bleeding had slowed but not halted completely.
“I ate. I drank, mostly. I gambled at night and in the day, I visited all the important spots.” He picked up their conversation in order to take her mind off of the blood.
She took a moment to
