Aye, he was too far gone to give her up. Ever.
Damn. How could he hope to make her his when he couldn’t even come up with a way out of this bind with the estate?
Amelia sighed, her breath feathering over his lips before lifting her chin and finding his mouth once more. With that, all thoughts of the future’s worries scuttled away like fallen leaves in a gust of wind.
Perhaps if he hoped, as Amelia did, trusted in good and right prevailing, some solution would appear. It seemed foolish to his rational mind, but as she’d said, this was a time and place of magic.
Just then, a series of loud pounds from below had Blair jerking back. Someone was knocking on the manor’s front door. Amelia looked up at him, her eyes dark with a mixture of unspent desire and bewilderment.
Blair exhaled, lowering his forehead to hers. He’d nearly forgotten himself again, just as he had under the mistletoe last eve. Perhaps he should be grateful for the interruption, yet he sent a silent curse to whoever stood outside the door all the same.
Straightening, he drew back the draperies with one arm, allowing Amelia to step out.
“Who could that be?” Amelia said, her voice rather wobbly. “And on Christmas Eve.”
“Let’s find out.”
As they crossed the schoolroom for the door, sounds of Mrs. Drummond shuffling across the entrance hall rose up the stairwell to them. The keep’s ancient door creaked open and Mrs. Drummond spoke to the mystery guest.
“May I help ye, sir?”
When the reply came, Blair lurched to a halt, ice spiking through his veins.
“John Cullingham at the request of the Earl of Brenmore.”
Chapter Fifteen
The thick, sturdy floorboards beneath Amelia’s feet seemed to tilt and sway.
No. Blair’s solicitor couldn’t be here already. It was too soon. She needed more time with him—time to find a solution, yes, but also time in his arms, touching him, kissing him.
Falling in love with him.
This couldn’t be over already. Not when they’d only just found each other.
Slowly, he turned to her. His eyes were distant, cold with pain.
“I…I need to go to him.”
“But…” A thousand denials screamed in her head, but none came to her tongue.
She’d known it would come to this from the moment he’d explained his plans. He’d never lied or deceived her. No, she’d done that herself, hoping against hope that somehow it wouldn’t end this way.
But the fact was, she’d been clinging to borrowed time from the beginning with Blair.
Even still, a wave of hot anguish washed over her. This was it. The solicitor was here, and all that remained was for Blair to sign the papers.
Stinging memory rose in her chest, of losing everything once before—her family, her home, her hopes for the future. It felt like they were being torn away all over again. Except this time, her heart would be shredded to ribbons as well.
“Amelia.” Blair’s voice was so soft that it broke. He searched her face, his own drawn with torment.
She dragged in a throbbing breath. She would not fall apart. Livie needed to be told, which meant Amelia had to be strong, hold herself together for the girl’s sake.
“Don’t keep him waiting,” she managed through a tight throat. “I’ll find Livie and let her know the game is over.”
Blair’s gaze lingered on her for a long moment. His eyes, so like ice, seemed to crack the instant before he turned and strode to the stairs.
Amelia pressed a hand over her mouth, but she wasn’t sure if it was to hold their kiss a little longer against her lips or to keep the sob that swelled from her chest inside.
* * * *
“Mr. Cullingham.”
Both Cullingham and Mrs. Drummond turned to look up at Blair where he stood at the top of the stairs, the solicitor with a stiff smile and the housekeeper with trepidation.
On wooden legs, Blair descended.
“I was not expecting ye.”
At Cullingham’s perplexed blink, Blair amended, “That is, given the conditions.”
“It was a bear getting here, to be sure,” the solicitor replied, removing his rectangular spectacles, which had fogged over when he’d come in from the cold. Setting down the carpet bag he was carrying, he wiped the spectacles efficiently with a kerchief before perching them on his nose once more. “But I didn’t wish to be the cause of any delay to your…” He glanced awkwardly at Mrs. Drummond. “…Your business here.”
Blair gave a curt nod. “Let’s take this to the study. Tea, please, Mrs. Drummond.”
She bobbed in a quick curtsy, not meeting Blair’s eyes, then hurried off toward the kitchen. Motioning Cullingham to fall in with him, Blair set out for the study.
Once Cullingham was seated across from him, Blair lowered himself behind the desk. The solicitor saved Blair from the need for any further stilted pleasantries by immediately drawing a leather portfolio out from the carpet bag, which he’d set on the floor beside him.
“I wasn’t exaggerating, my lord,” Cullingham said. “The roads are hell—half mud and half ice. Nevertheless, you requested that this matter be resolved before the new year, and I am not one to disappoint.” He opened the portfolio, spun it to face Blair, and set it on the desk before him. “As you specified in your note, it has been written up just the same as the Brenmore estate.”
Blair stared down at the tidy stack of papers covered in Cullingham’s small, precise script. His eyes drifted over the words, but he did not read them. He already knew what they said. It had felt like a bullet to the gut when he’d signed such papers after putting his father in the ground. Now all
