I watched as David grabbed Cara’s hand to help her into the house. “We are just friends.”
I felt my own hand taken into Jude’s. “I take people at their word,” he warned me. His hand was massive, swallowing mine. “So you are truly only friends?”
“Truly,” I said again, my eyes still on the snowy scene outside.
• • •
After dinner, most of the guests stayed in the dining room for cocktails and conversation. News of the mayor’s death had reached the Lodge that afternoon, and the landowners were already speculating about Rootless involvement. The lighter-hearted of us found ourselves gathered in the cozy parlor, drinking whiskey and spiced wine and playing cards.
The past few months spent serving as my father’s protégé had reduced my aversion to these types of gatherings—I supposed that I liked some of the gentry more, knowing them and their business better—and besides, the parlor was the warmest room in the house. That David was here, roundly beating anyone who dared join him and Jude at the whist table, was completely unimportant.
It was also completely unimportant that I’d tortured Elinor with indecision as to my hair and my dress before I’d come down that evening. We’d finally settled on a flowing silver gown with a tight, lacy bodice and high waistline, and Elinor had left my hair down, the scarlet waves gleaming almost to my waist. I’d felt pretty enough until I saw Cara at dinner—in her tight gold dress and dark smoky makeup, her body cozied up to David’s. After that, I’d rather wished I would have come down in my infinitely more comfortable day dress.
I’d been talking with Jane Osbourne about her family’s plans to vacation in New-New York, when Addison Westoff came to our corner with a sharp smile that signaled danger. A floridly pink dress hugged her waist and hips, stopping short a few inches above her knee. Her hair was up and diamond earrings brushed her bare shoulders. She must have been the only person at the Lodge who wasn’t freezing.
“Jane,” Addison said briskly. Years ago, Michael Osbourne had refused to do business with Harry Westoff, citing ethical concerns, and the Westoffs had never forgiven him or his children—even gentle Jane, who rarely spoke unless it was to say something nice.
Jane pulled her soft wool shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Good evening.”
Addison turned to me. “What do you say, Madeline?” she asked. “Shall we take on the war heroes? I hear you are quite talented at whist.”
“Do you think Cara would like to play with you?” I responded.
“I’d much rather watch,” Cara said. She stood behind David, looking down at his hand, fingers stroking his hair. Every now and again, she’d lean forward to murmur something in his ear and he’d laugh. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that this had me gesturing at the footman for refills more than normal. And perhaps it was all the wine and sips of warm whiskey, but I almost felt as if Cara and David were up on a stage, so carefully calculated were their movements. David seemed natural enough, mostly focused on his game, but Cara was playing the coquette too emphatically, too assiduously for a boyfriend she already had. Normally, men were only exposed to her cleavage and breathy whispers when she was still pursuing them. I had never seen her act this way to a boyfriend she’d had for six months.
To be fair, she had never had a boyfriend that long, either.
Fortified by spiced wine and something darker—I smiled at Addison. “In that case, whist sounds marvelous.”
Addison took my hand. “Come now. Let us see what these brave captains are made of.”
I bid farewell to Jane, and Addison and I made our way across the fur-scattered floor to the card table. Jude jumped to pull out my chair and took my drink from me as I took my seat. Addison sat facing me, just as Jude and David faced each other.
“Ladies,” David said, inclining his head. “So lovely to see you come to sacrifice your honor upon the card table.”
Jude leaned toward me. “I’m glad to see you,” he said, as if we hadn’t just spent dinner sitting next to one another. I nodded at him, and looked back at the cards, which David was dealing with the sharp, ticking precision of a marksman.
“So, David, I suppose you’re grateful to be home?” Addison asked.
Tick, tick, tick went the cards on the table, each lined up precisely on top of the other. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And did you miss all of us terribly while you were gone?”
Tick, tick. “Of course.”
“And I know you missed your sweetheart, too.”
Tick—David looked up, but not at Cara, at me, and his Cherenkov eyes blazed across the table, burning my skin and my thoughts. I wanted to bathe myself in that burn, to let the radiation take my skin and flesh and bones until I was nothing but charged particles dancing in space.
I felt the ghost of his kiss on my lips, felt the ghost of all the kisses I had craved and desired, and all the kisses I had yet to dream of, and then his mouth parted slightly and I wondered if he was dreaming of those phantom kisses, too.
Addison looked from David to me and then back to David and narrowed her eyes. David coughed and resumed dealing, tick tick tick, until all fifty-two cards were dealt, and the ending of that moment was as if all the stars in the sky had been extinguished. It took my breath away.
I hid my shaking hands under the table.
“Not good,” Addison said as she began arranging her hand. Somehow I knew she didn’t mean the cards.
Cara, too, was examining me in a way that made me uncomfortable, as if she could see my trembling hands and hear the thumping of my heart underneath the layers of silk and lace. Cara placed her hands on David’s shoulders and I put a hand to the onyx and ivory cameo around my neck.
“Well, Madeline, you are to my left, and so you must begin the first trick,” David said, his voice stiff and formal.
I led with spades, and Addison and I took the first trick. Next, Jude led, and he and David easily took that round.
“Well done,” I complimented Jude, who shrugged.
“Communicating during a game of cards is considerably easier than during a battle.”
“Speak for yourself,” David said, placing a card on the table.
“Cara found the most beautiful white fabric the other day,” Addison commented casually. “And I couldn’t help but think what a beautiful wedding dress it would make.”
David said nothing, but he began rearranging his hand with the concentration of a scholar.
“Do you know somebody who’s getting married?” Jude inquired politely.
Addison’s eyes glinted in my direction. “Well, I know that young David here must be desperate to make things official with my Cara. What is a military career without a wife to bring to all the balls and show off to the other men? And I hear it’s much easier to win a promotion with a wife to help you entertain your superiors.”
“I absolutely agree,” Jude said. I could feel him looking at me. Was Jude thinking about marriage? With me? I examined my cards to avoid looking at him. That was impossible. We had only just met.
David gestured to the middle of the table. “It’s your turn, Addison.”
“Oh, is it? Now as I play, David, you must tell me about what you and Cara will do after you’ve wed. Will you come to live at Westoff Castle with us? Or perhaps get a penthouse in town?”
Cara tossed her hair. “Yes, David, wherever will we live?”
He looked up at her. “Are you serious?”
“Of course,” she said. She braced her hands on the table, displaying her chest to ample advantage.
Jude, to his credit, looked down at his cards immediately. David did not.
“Are you really trying to force a proposal out of me at a whist table?” he asked her, and out of the corner of my eye, I thought I caught him glancing at me. So that intense moment before the game had been real. I wasn’t the only one who’d felt it.
Cara smoldered at him through long, firelight-laden eyelashes. “Well? Wouldn’t I look pretty in a white dr
ess?”
David looked incredulous, and I felt a surge of triumph. He wasn’t proposing just yet.
Cara laughed suddenly, brightly. “I’m just teasing, David. You know I want my proposal to be a grand production. I’ve already alerted all the florists in the city that you would be visiting them soon.”
With Cara, it was impossible to tell sarcasm from arrogance, as the two were so intertwined.
“Well, I for one can’t wait,” Addison said. “Since her attack, I’ve been keeping a very close eye on my Cara to make sure she finds a good gentry boy to help her recover from her shock. I’m so glad that good gentry boy is you.”
Something in Cara’s face hardened and I had to wonder at the maternal instincts of a woman who would bring up her daughter’s attack so callously, so casually, at a card table and in front of a stranger.
Cara leaned down and kissed David and kissed him hard, as if she needed to prove something about herself to David and to her mother. Her golden hair swung like a curtain in front of their joined faces, but just as I felt relieved that I couldn’t see them kissing, David reached up to touch Cara’s face, his hand moving her hair back. His fingers brushed her cheek in a gesture so tender and comforting that everything in me boiled in a furious black vacuum.
He pulled her into his lap, one armed snaked firmly around her waist, and deepened the kiss, closing his eyes completely.
Jude coughed uncomfortably.
Cara broke away with a small, satisfied smile, and David touched her cheek one last time. It was that gentle, thoughtful caress that made me bite my lip and stare at my cards, willing the fractured emotions inside to stay hidden. I was almost tempted to throw down my cards and walk out.
But maybe spending the last several weeks side by side with my father had awoken the dormant Landry steel within me, or maybe it was the presence of Jude, so handsome and kind and interested.
I put my hand on his hand and he looked up in surprise. “How long will you be staying with us?” I asked.
“At least until New Year, but with the East talking peace again, I may be able to extend my furlough until the first of February.”
I tried to remember all the things that Cara did so naturally—to widen my eyes and curve my shoulders and move my head so that the fire caught the light in my hair. “How wonderful. I imagine you will stay with David for most of the time, but you should come stay at Landry Park for at least a few days. Father loves to have military visitors.”
“Not to interrupt,” David interjected silkily, “but we are playing a game here.”
Jude apologized and led the trick, which Addison and I took, along with the next two. We were now one round away from winning, and David seemed irritated by this, double-checking everyone’s cards at the end of each trick to make sure some mistake in tallying hadn’t occurred.
“It’s a game of chance, David,” Cara said. “Stop taking it so seriously.”
He scowled, and I felt a lift of pleasure. Ha.
I plucked at Jude’s sleeve. “Do you mind getting me another glass of wine?”
He set down his cards and beamed. “I would be happy to.”
I met David’s eyes with flinty resolve as Jude walked away.
The fire in my fireplace crackled in the cozy silence as I finally crawled into bed, the only sound in the room save for Morgana’s purring as she lay curled up at the edge of my bed. I burrowed into the down blankets, sticking my toes underneath the cat’s warm little body, and was almost immediately pulled into a hazy sleep.
I woke, what seemed like seconds later, to a hand clapped firmly over my mouth. I struggled and tried to scream, opening my eyes to a figure leaning over the bed.
“Shh, Madeline, it’s me.” I recognized David’s voice as the fog of sleep cleared away. The firelight made his blond hair glow orange. “Promise not to scream?”
I nodded, and he released his hand.
What is he doing here? Excitement tensed into a nervous tangle below my navel.
He darted to the door and peeked out into the hallway. Apparently, all was clear, because he came to the bed and deftly lifted me off the mattress. I tried to cling to the blanket—Morgana, angry at being disturbed from sleep, leaped off the bed with a low meow—but soon I was in David’s arms in nothing but a nightdress.
Goose bumps emerged all over my arms from the chilly room—and from the sudden intimacy of our position. My nightdress was nothing less than what I might wear during the heat of summer, but still, the idea of being so close to him in the garment I wore to sleep . . .
He must have realized the same thing. As he ran his thumb over my upper arm, his breathing was ragged.
“Put me down,” I insisted, remembering that I was still upset about him and Cara.
His pupils were wide in the firelight. “I’d rather not.”
“At least let me grab my dressing gown,” I said, trying to break the spell, unsure of what was happening.
He tightened his grip on me and his wide smile returned. “No can do. We have furs outside.”
“Outside? David?”
“Shh.”
He nudged the door open again with his foot and crept out of the room, still carrying me, his feet skillfully silent after months of patrols in the mountains.
“You are as light as a doll,” he whispered to me, his breath rustling the curls around my ear.
I shivered.
I grew colder and colder as we made our way to the grand staircase, our quick passes by the hallway braziers serving only to remind me of how chilled I was getting. Down the stairs we went, bathed in pale moonlight. I could see the red of my hair reflected in David’s eyes.
I could kiss him. The mere thought of it made me too nervous to move, too nervous to speak—too nervous even to take a particle of pleasure from being in David’s arms.
We approached one of the many wooden doors that led outside. David opened it and suddenly we were standing under the stars, the icy cold freezing my bare arms and nipping at my nose. His boots crunched in the snow as we walked toward the stables, where a single Cherenkov lantern outlined a blue doorway.
The night was absolutely, infinitely clear, and, out here in the country, the stars were so numerous that they almost seemed wasteful. Wanton. As if someone had carelessly spilled a purse of jewels on the road.
“I heard you regretted missing the sleigh ride earlier today,” he said as he carried me into the stable. He put me down, and went to uncover another Cherenkov lantern while I hopped from foot to foot on the freezing planked floor. The blue light illuminated a sleigh at the other end. Blankets and furs were piled high in the seat.
He saw me shivering. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” he said, jumping over a pile of rope and shrugging off his tuxedo jacket. He cast it over my shoulders and buttoned one of the buttons, his fingers fumbling against my stomach for a moment. His jacket was silky and warm inside.
“Better?” he asked quietly. The neck of his white shirt was loose and his bow tie was undone. I could see the pulse jumping in his throat.
“Much better,” I replied.
He led the horses out of their stalls and began hitching them to the sleigh. The bells on their harnesses began to ring through the stable.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I pointed out, wandering closer to the sleigh, my feet like blocks of ice. “Really. I’m sure there will be another sleigh ride tomorrow.”
“But will it be at midnight? How many people can claim they went on a midnight sleigh ride?”
“I guess not very many,” I murmured. Not many can claim they went on a midnight sleigh ride with you.
“Besides, you owe me some fun after you humiliated me at cards tonight.” He flashed a grin. Suddenly, I didn’t feel cold at all.
A few minutes later found us pressed against each other, covered in furs and clutching flasks of spiced mead that David had swindled from Martha’s kitchens. It was as if we’d never sat around a card table, twisting in discomfort. Now, with D
avid pressed against me, I twisted in an altogether different way.
David took the reins and we started down the hill, away from the Lodge. Several hills and valleys away, I could see the cheery lights of the nearby village. The only signs of a road were the solar-powered lamps burning along the edges of the lane—every other landmark was blanketed in snow and ice.
David started talking about the snow in the Rockies, where shaded patches clung to the earth obstinately, even in June. He had never seen snow until this year. “I know it’s freezing everywhere else, but I suppose we’re too close to the ocean. It’s just hurricanes in Georgia,” he said. “Or droughts. Or floods. Or heat waves. No snow.”
“In Kansas, we get it all. Except we have cyclones instead of hurricanes.”
“Tell me a snow story,” David requested. “They say the Great Plains get the best blizzards.”
“I was never allowed outside when it snowed,” I said, remembering years of watching the flakes fall outside the windows. “I got sick too easily.”
“Most people prevent that by wearing coats. When they aren’t being kidnapped and dragged into the snow in their nightclothes, I mean.”
I shrugged. “I was always prone to colds and bouts of the flu, but when I was nine or ten, I started getting a recurring fever. My father blamed it on too much exertion and exposure, so I wasn’t allowed out in the cold anymore. But I still managed to catch the fever again—when I was thirteen, I was bedridden for almost an entire year.”
“A fever,” David said, mostly to himself, looking out onto the snow.
“It didn’t have a name—the doctor and my father called it ‘the illness’ or ‘the fever.’ My lungs were filled with fluid and I was unconscious most of the time. All I really remember is the pain—like my body was trying to split itself open.”
“Are you healthy now?” David asked.
“I haven’t had a relapse since then,” I said, a little proudly. Much had been made of my illness—at one time, the entire household seemed to revolve around it—and it was nice to know that was no longer the case. The days of fever dreams and needles, needles, needles were over.
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