My Merry Marquess (Wallflower's Christmas Wish #3) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,5

was at my aunt’s home,” she announced.

Aunt Winifred had informed her that the gentleman Noel saved had returned to the inn but would be coming back later that day for tea. “But I’m sure you know that by now.”

Feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, she set the pie on the nearest table and prepared to flee.

“Blitzencreek?” Nicholas frowned.

“Your friend.” Perhaps she’d been wrong?

“Ah, yes. He’s found his way back to us,” he drawled, his eyes indifferent.

Was he upset to see her again? Her gaze flicked to his hand, which was casually cradling an almost empty snifter. A bottle of amber liquid rested on the wooden mantle.

He was drinking with his other gentleman friend, and it wasn’t even noon. He’d made no move to introduce her, quite effectively putting her in her place.

The rogue standing at the mantel was the man she’d initially imagined him to be—before he’d ardently wooed her. Her mother had disapproved of his courting Eve at the outset, convinced that the handsome marquess didn’t seem the sort to settle down anytime soon.

And then there had been those rumors about the opera singer.

But Eve had believed him when he’d told her she was special. She had believed in him.

Unfortunately, her mother had been right. She knew this now.

Feeling unwelcome—confused, and angry—she dropped her gaze and backed out of the room. “Good day, then.” Stupid tears overflowed the moment she stepped outside.

She was over him. What on earth was the matter with her?

She couldn’t return home like this—she didn’t want to answer to her sisters or her aunt for why her eyes were swollen and red. Beyond caring where she ended up, she took off running. She ran behind the inn, past the mews, and into a path that cut through the thick grove of trees. Thick flakes were falling, cold air bit at her cheeks, and yet she continued undeterred. Her boots were wet, as was the hem of her dress and Aunt Winifred’s coat, but she picked her way through the brush and trees until a rushing stream blocked her from going any farther.

Ice formations edged the swift-moving water, and normally she would have found the entire scene quite pretty, but on this occasion, she was only grateful that she was alone now.

Dropping to her knees, she covered her face and choked on a sob.

Nick had wanted to be cavalier, to act as though seeing her again was of no consequence, but he couldn’t do it. Without making any explanation to Jack, and without stopping to put on a coat, hat, or gloves, Nick raced out the door to stop her.

But she wasn’t crossing the square back to her aunt’s home and if he hadn’t caught the flash of her hair, he’d have lost her.

What was she thinking, running into the storm like this?

Keeping his eye on the blur of gold and red, he stumbled into the trees, pushing back branches as he went and almost tripping more than once. Damnit, Eve, this isn’t like you.

The deeper he followed her, the more curious he became.

And worried.

Eve was not the sort of girl to kick up her heels and go running willy-nilly through a forest. She had always been proper, dignified. Except those moments when he’d managed to get her alone.

When he emerged, just at the edge of the grove, a brook meandered swiftly down the hill and, in the distance, he caught sight of a frozen-over lake.

He turned his head to the right and upon seeing her, sucked in a tight breath. She was on her knees, hands covering her face, long strands of golden-red hair falling forward.

“Eve.” His voice sounded hoarse. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t hear him over the rushing water.

Tentatively, uncertain what he was even going to say, he covered the distance between them.

“You shouldn’t be out here, it’s cold as hell.” He squatted beside her and rubbed his hands together to warm them.

“Go away.” She shook her head but then wiped at her eyes with her fingers. Nick pulled a handkerchief from the waistband of his trousers and placed it into her hand.

“Is it your intention to freeze me to death for the loss of your pie? Is this how a proper lady achieves her revenge for damaged baked goods?” It was a weak attempt to make her smile, and he knew it. He wasn’t comfortable with a lady’s tears—never had been.

She wiped at her eyes and then her nose and then finally turned to