“And Belgium.” All the while he dabbed at the wound, he felt her watching him closely.
“Did you… take a companion with you… to these important spots?”
Nick was relieved that she hadn’t sent him away already. It was a wonder she was speaking to him at all.
Not for the first time, a hefty wave of guilt swept through him.
“Not really. I spent a few months in the mountains. Hiking alone, mostly. I dabbled at some painting.” Nick tucked the linen into itself so that the bandage he’d affected wouldn’t come undone. “The wilderness seemed to lift me out of my self-pity. It soothed my soul more than the cities.” He swallowed hard at the memory. He’d found more healing there than anywhere else.
Eve glanced over at her apples. “I need to finish cutting them. If I don’t, they’ll go bad, and we already throw away far too much food.” She went to slide off the table, but Nick stopped her.
“I’ll do it.” He removed his coat and draped it over a chair in the corner of the room and then returned, rolling up his sleeves. “The bleeding won’t stop if you use it now.”
Nick regaled one of his more humorous hiking stories as he cleaned up the area and threw out the apples she’d bled on. When he was finished with that, he cleaned the knife and then stared contemplatively at the remaining fruit and the bowl of finely sliced apple pieces.
“You’ll want to peel the skin off first.” Her begrudging smile made him want to please her all the more.
“Like this?” He proudly carved off a slice of skin.
“Not so much.” But she laughed. How had he forgotten how satisfying it had always been when he could draw out her laughter?
Peeling the skin wasn’t quite as easy as it looked and eventually, he had a rather pathetic-looking apple to work with. Following her instructions, he gradually filled the bowl.
“That should be enough. Now we need to make the crust.”
While he’d been concentrating, she’d slid off the worktable and maneuvered around him with various ingredients. He didn’t mind that she stood right beside him while he worked the dough. He especially didn’t mind the breathy little giggling sounds she made whenever he erred.
“That Dunder fellow.” Nick brought up the subject casually. “The one at home you said wanted to marry you? Have you seen much of him this past year?” She’d mentioned him only once, but Nick had been unable to dismiss the image of her marrying or even becoming betrothed.
“He married the vicar’s daughter. Why do you ask?”
Nick barely realized that he’d let out a sigh of relief until she paused to stare up at him, looking quite pleased. He turned and grasped her by the waist, uncaring that his hands were sticky from the dough. “You know why, you little minx,” he growled.
And they were back to this.
Back to this unescapable physical attraction. He watched as her pulse fluttered near the base of her neck. Nothing in the world could keep him from tasting it.
He hated that she tensed.
“Nicholas, I’m scared.”
“Of what?” But he knew. The torture of being torn apart had left him feeling leery as well.
“Of this. Of you. Of myself.” She blinked and then dropped her lashes. When she looked back up, her gaze shifted to the worktable, and she covered her mouth, trying not to smile. “And I believe I might also be scared of your pie.”
Nick glanced sideways and then lifted one brow. “What’s wrong with my pie?”
Other than the varying thickness of the crust and the fact that some of his apple chunks weren’t much smaller than an apple itself, it was a fine-looking pie indeed. He clenched her closer to him.
“Let’s not be afraid. Let’s give ourselves a second chance.” His voice came out sounding gruff.
“But how?”
“Let’s just be together.” He didn’t know any other way. Eventually, they would both have to decide if love was worth the risk. “Let’s do something fun. I noticed a sleigh parked behind the inn.”
“The baron and Noelle are using it today, I believe.”
“Who?”
“Your friend, Lord Blitzencreek.”
Nick froze. What kind of a game was Dash playing? His “friend” did not go by the name of Blitzencreek, and he most certainly wasn’t a baron.
“Ah, yes.” A feeling of unease weighed in his chest. He’d make it a point to speak with Dash about such a falsehood the next time he ran into him, for certain.
Eve gave him a half-smile. “The pond is frozen over today. We could go ice skating?” She made the suggestion tentatively, and Nick would not deny her anything at this precarious stage of their relationship.
He was an excellent swordsman, an accomplished fighter and horseman, and a crack shot with a bow and arrow. What Nicholas St. Hope was not was an accomplished skater—he was not, in fact, even a respectable one. Damn near broke both his legs on the one and only occasion he’d attempted to swoosh around with such abominable blades on his footwear.
“Anything,” he answered, utterly lost as he gazed into eyes he’d dreamt about more times than he could count. “Anything.”
Twenty minutes later, sitting in her chamber, Eve was afraid but she was also feeling hopeful—more hopeful than she’d felt about anything since her mother had died. She smiled to herself as she drew on her stockings—woolen today, not nearly as sensual as the ones Nicholas had removed from her legs the day before. None of her winter clothes seemed designed to impress a gentleman but that might be exactly what they needed.
She needed to be able to talk with him without having to fight all those sensual urges he always managed to bring to life.
A knock sounded, and Mr. Clark’s called from the foyer, “Lord Merriweather is here to collect you, My Lady.”
Eve’s breath fluttered. Nick had barely departed an hour ago and already she was eager to see him again. This exhilarating feeling reminded her of before and that had ended horribly. The reminder
