Be grateful.
She glanced dispassionately around the chamber Aunt Winifred had made available for her. The bedding was lovely, the furnishings were of a deep rich mahogany, the drapes of a beautiful silk, and yet vivid in her mind was the bedchamber she’d left behind.
She hadn’t slept through the night once since their father had sent them away. Her breath fogged the window and for the hundredth time, she rubbed it away with her mittened fist.
This too shall pass, she reminded herself as she blinked away tears. Her aunt was a little batty, but she had kind eyes and seemed to want to do what was best for all of them. Feelings of homesickness would fade. They always did. Noelle simply needed to find a way to get her sisters back to normal.
The snow really was pretty. Her mother would have loved a night such as this.
This storm had moved in only a few hours ago and already had accumulated enough that it was impossible to identify where her aunt’s lawn ended and the road began. Having been raised in the country, Noelle found it somewhat of a novelty to live in the center of town, even if her aunt’s house was old and outrageously large and somewhat of a curiosity.
She popped the last sweet bite past her lips and peered outside again. She would hardly recognize the town square beneath all this snow if not for the statue erected in the center. It was supposedly made in the likeness of one of the town’s founders, hundreds of years before.
And then she blinked and tilted her head.
The statue was…
Moving?
She sat up straight and rubbed at the window again. It wasn’t a statue at all, but a man. Oh dear.
Midnight was long past and it was likely already two or three in the morning. What on earth would any sane person be doing outside on a bitter night like tonight? Was he mad?
Noelle narrowed her eyes and focused on the shadowy image as he stumbled and then seemed to sway in the wind. Perhaps he was ill.
Two steps forward and then backward and then…he continued backward until he fell to the ground and disappeared into the snow.
“Get up,” she urged in a whisper, feeling an inkling of alarm. Was he dead? Why didn’t he raise himself out of the snow?
Nothing. Just the sound of the wind against the window rattling the brittle panes and her own breathing.
“Get up,” she urged, louder this time as though he might hear her from inside the house and across the square.
Still. Nothing.
Panic rising, Noelle located her boots and pulled them on over her thick woolen socks before rushing back to the window. She still didn’t see him. Had he risen and left or was he yet laying in the snow? Buried alive?
He might never get up if he stayed out there much longer.
Noelle didn’t allow herself to reconsider her actions as she tiptoed out of her room and down the front stairs. She was almost surprised to find her aunt’s butler absent from the door. Of course, Mr. Clark was in bed. Of course, he was asleep. Normal people slept at this time.
Drawing in a deep breath to fortify her courage, she decided she would help check on him herself. If she couldn’t rouse him, then she’d wake the household up.
Finding a dead man in the town center, Noelle supposed, would likely be the sort of event for which a lady might wish to wake a few people.
She unlocked the door and opened it and when the wind blew inside, the cold sent a shiver traveling through her small frame. Undeterred, she clutched the scarf around her head and ducked outside into the dark, wretched storm.
Oh, but the snow was deep, and cold, and wet. Curling her spine against the wind, Noelle kept her head down and barreled headlong in the direction she’d thought she’d seen him fall. What if she couldn’t find him?
What if he was a murderer and this was all just a ruse to lure an innocent girl like herself out of her bed chamber and into his clutches?
She did her best to dismiss such pessimistic thoughts and glanced up to get her bearings, half hoping she would see him and half hoping he’d already made his way back to wherever he’d come from, inside where it was safe and dry.
Both parts of her were to be rewarded, or disappointed, depending on how she cared to think about it, when she caught sight of the dark figure on the ground just a few steps away. Ploughing her way through the snow, she dropped to her knees at his side purposely ignoring the cold now seeping through her coat and night rail. A man’s life was at stake, for goodness sake!
“Sir!” She leaned forward to get a better look at him. Even in her panic, in the middle of a blizzard, she couldn’t help but notice that he had beautiful, thick, dark lashes. So thick that they’d captured a few sparkling snowflakes and appeared almost magical against the pale skin just above strong cheekbones.
“Sir! Wake up!”
And then her gaze settled on his mouth. Framed with dark stubble above his upper lip and jaw, his lips looked soft but also firm. The word “kissable” flitted through her brain.
She shook her head. Men’s lips weren’t kissable! Were they?
“Oh please, wake up! Don’t be dead!” Not wanting to wake the entire village, she realized she was whispering. She didn’t wish to be too loud. It would be dreadfully embarrassing and scandalous if anyone discovered her outside by herself like this.
She removed her gloves and slapped his face a few times as an alternative. He was far too handsome to be dead. “Please!” Her fingers inadvertently threaded themselves through silky, thick, black hair. “You must wake up.”
Her fingers continued combing through his hair—strictly to remove the snow,
