Mariah couldn't remember a happier time than she spent in the garden that afternoon. Their search for stones and twigs descended into a snowball battle worthy of Nelson himself, and Mariah had to admit a laughing defeat before they could continue with Mr. Snow.
Eventually, as the sky darkened and her teeth began to chatter in earnest, she declared their creation finished, and they sauntered back toward the house.
"You will come to the Christmas fete, won't you?" Mariah asked him through frozen lips that she suspected were turning blue.
He looked down at her, and his face registered displeasure.
"You are freezing, Mariah. We should have come in sooner."
"Nonsense, I'm fine," she said with chattering teeth. "But the fete?"
"I don't know," he said doubtfully, "what is it?"
Mariah laughed.
"What do you think it is?" she asked. "'Tis nothing painful, I assure you. Just some carolling, food, hot cider, dancing."
"I don't dance," he said, suddenly sounding quite petulant.
"Can you dance?" she asked.
"Well, yes," he answered grudgingly, suddenly showing an intense interest in his Hessian boots.
"Then you dance," she smiled.
"I'll dance if I can dance with you," he said, lifting his eyes now and smiling.
Mariah smiled shyly in answer. "I'm sure that can be arranged."
The mood was somewhat ruined suddenly when Mariah stepped on a stone hidden beneath the snow and took a tumble. She reached out for purchase to stop her fall and grabbed hold of his coat. But since he wasn't expecting it, all she succeeded in doing was pulling him on top of her.
They landed with a thump in the snow, and Brandon immediately reared up on his hands peering at her, his eyes lit with concern.
She was and she found the situation most amusing. She burst out laughing, not caring that her hair was now being soaked by the freezing snow on which she lay.
She looked up into his eyes and the laughter died on her lips.
Good heavens, he was beautiful.
Without thought to her actions, she lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair from his brow.
Her simple action was like a tinder to a fire.
She watched, bemused, as his control snapped and he dove down, plundering her mouth with his.
Mariah gasped at the welcome invasion, twining her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.
He groaned and complied, rolling over and carrying her with him so that she lay atop him.
Oh, God. Mariah could quite happily stay there forever.
The kiss went on and on, and she knew that she wanted more. That if he were to ask for more, she would give it to him.
The sound of a gentle throat clearing had them springing apart, and Mariah scrambled hastily to her feet.
She turned and saw a woman whom she had never seen before eyeing them both with eager interest.
"Hello, darling" she said to Brandon who was standing now with a look on his face like he was heading to the gallows. The woman was smiling, though the sadness in her eyes clenched around Mariah's heart.
Dear Lord. This could only be his mother.
"We decided to come early and surprise you," she said softly. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your, er, friend?"
Mariah's cheeks flamed. The woman was his mother. And she'd just caught Mariah sprawled over her son.
Mariah had made her escape as soon as possible without seeming rude, though she laughed, albeit hysterically, at the thought of being concerned about rudeness when she'd been attacking Brandon on the front lawn not thirty minutes ago.
What on earth would his mother think of her now?
As she waited for her bath to come, Mariah paced agitatedly up and down her room.
Brandon had changed with his mother's arrival, reverting back to the surly, sullen man he'd been before.
She tried not to be hurt by it but she was. Of course she was.
He must be furious with her.
She turned with a smile of relief on her face as the door opened, no doubt heralding the arrival of her hot water but instead a tiny person bounded into the room, a blur of golden curls and white dress.
"Hello." The blur skidded to a halt and addressed her shyly.
Mariah smiled at the gorgeous creature who had just burst into her room.
"Hello, there," she answered kneeling down to the child's level. "I think I know who you are. You're Charlotte, are you not?"
"I am," answered the little one, her cornflower blue eyes huge in her baby face. She was an absolute doll, and from Brandon's description of her, the very image of her poor mother. "But everyone calls me Lottie."
"What a pretty name for a pretty young lady. May I call you Lottie?"
Lottie nodded then tilted her head and studied Mariah closely. "I know who you are too."
"Oh, you do?"
"Yes, you're the damned nuisance that Uncle Brandon won't marry."
Mariah felt as if she'd been doused in icy water. "I… beg your pardon?" she said in astonishment.
Lottie shrugged in that marvellously uncaring way that children had and repeated it.
"At least, that's what Uncle Brandon just shouted at grandmamma. I'm sure one of those words is naughty because Uncle Brandon always says naughty words when he's cross, and he's very cross now."