"But—"
"Please," he said in a broken whisper. "I shouldn't have burdened you with the sins of my past. I only wanted you to know. When I push you away, when I am rude and cold and unfeeling, it's because I feel how drawn I am to you, and you deserve so much more than the shell of a man I have become."
"Brandon—"
"Go, Mariah. Just go."
It was no use. He would never listen to her now.
Shaking her head, Mariah turned to leave. She felt as though her heart were breaking.
As she reached the door, she looked back and saw that he was watching her, his face a mask of utter desolation.
Without another thought, she ran back to him and threw her arms round his neck, pressing her lips to his.
She could not kiss away his pain. Her touch couldn't make up for what he had suffered. What he still suffered. But that didn't mean she couldn't try. Try to show him that compassion still existed in the world and he was worthy of it. He obviously felt that he was undeserving of it. But he wasn't and she wanted to show him that.
He held himself stiff for a second or two before, with a muffled oath against her lips, he wrapped his arms round her and lifted her clean off her feet.
His lips were bruising, his arms crushing, his tongue demanding. The kiss, which she had only meant as a comfort, suddenly became something much more. Something wild and primitive and all-consuming.
It was as though telling his tale had opened his soul to her. And hers was rejoicing in the fact. She felt as though she was becoming a part of him and he of her.
It was the most intense, confusing thing she had ever felt, and she shook with the power of it.
But it was over all too soon.
He gently pushed her from him and gazed at her for a heart-stopping moment.
Then, with a gentle kiss on her forehead, he let her go.
"Goodnight, Mariah" he said softly.
She couldn't speak, so she turned and silently left the room.
CHAPTER NINE
The storm had passed, both inside the house and out.
By mutual unspoken agreement the conversation of that night, when he'd told her his sorry tale was not brought up again.
But Mariah hadn't forgotten it. And she was determined to make this Christmas a happy one for that poor, tragic family.
The days went on, and they fell into a blissful routine. Blissful in any case, for Mariah. The library was coming along magnificently, and since the wind and lashing snow had subsided, Mariah was able to spend some time in the gardens.
She didn't venture too far since the snow was knee deep in places, but it did her heart good to get out and about.
What did not do her heart good was the change in Brandon.
After the other night, they had continued to call each other by their given names and though Mariah knew it was a shocking impropriety that didn't stop her.
But the change in him was her undoing.
He was kind, attentive, chatty, and even cheerful at times. Well, at least he tried to be cheerful. He joined her for meals. He even came to see her progress in the library and complimented her on her work.
He rather moodily joined her on a tour of the house and listened to her list of ideas for redecorating. Pretended to listen, that was. But that didn't matter since at dinner that evening she presented him with a catalogue of notes on her ideas.
He had laughed and accepted it graciously. There had been a moment of intense sadness for her when she realised that his mother would probably make her own changes, and Mariah wouldn't even be there to see it.
But it was best not to dwell on that. Just like it was best not to dwell on the fact that she had gone from falling in love with him to being completely in love with him at the speed of a runaway carriage. Yes, she was a fool. But she was a fool in love.
This morning, they sat enjoying a leisurely breakfast and Mariah was struck by the thought that if he were her husband, they would enjoy mornings like this every day. It was a fantasy that she was allowing herself to indulge in far too often of late.
"What will you do today?" she asked him boldly, as though she had a right to inquire.
"Since the roads are too bad to travel to my mills, I had thought to go as far as the village and set about finding workers to begin your changes."
"My changes?" Mariah gaped at him. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Well, my dear, some of your ideas are rather elaborate, which is not in the least bit surprising,"
Mariah ignored his sarcasm just as she tried to ignore the fact that he had called her his dear. Was she becoming dear to him?
"So I will need a carpenter at the very least. Plus, I need to find someone who can source paper-hangings and such like."
"But, but — do you mean you are making all of the changes I suggested?"