He hadn’t shaved yet. A mixture of gray and black peppered his cheeks and jaw, highlighting the streaks of shadow on his face. She wanted to pull off her mittens and run her naked fingers across those bristles, wanted to feel the scrape of them against her cheeks, her lips, her—

  “Tell me,” he said, his voice little more than a gruff whisper. “Was it a mistake?”

  She blinked at him, confused. “Was what…?”

  “When you kissed me.” He spoke the words as if he couldn’t bring himself to believe them. “But when you said nothing, when you pretended as if it had never happened, I wondered if it had only been the wine, or that you were still half-asleep and took me for someone else.”

  “Someone else?” Did he think she regularly went around large, dark houses kissing brooding gentlemen in the middle of the night?

  “Your…” He glanced down at his hands, flexing and stretching inside of his gloves. “I thought perhaps you mistook me for your husband.”

  “Oh.” She saw it then, a touch of hurt in his eyes, and she wondered that she could’ve been the one to put it there. “No, I… I would never have…” kissed my husband, she nearly said. Because Frederick had always been appalled by overt signs of affection; holding hands, kissing, the mere brush of fingertips across his arm as she walked past. Physical touch was to be confined to the marriage bed, and even then only for the procreation of children. “No, I knew it was you,” she said instead, and left it at that.

  Relief, that was what she saw on his face, clearing some of the tension from his brow, from the pinched corners of his mouth.

  But still, she feared the worst. “I’m sorry.” Her hands fluttered in front of her. “I didn’t know what I was thinking. I should never have… I’m sorry. I will understand if you want me to leave my place as Zora’s governess.”

  “Leave?” He stared at her, baffled. “Why would I ask you to leave?”

  “Because I…” Because she had done something she wanted, rather than push her desires deep down inside of herself, hidden away like a secret treasure that would never be uncovered.

  “Julia,” he said. Her name. And he took several steps forward, until he was close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “I want you to kiss me again.”

  She barely let him finish. She reached up and gripped the collar of his greatcoat, pulling him down until his mouth met hers. There was still a fear inside of her, that he would step back, that he would push her away, but he didn’t. And she thanked God for that.

  His lips…

  They were soft. A stark contrast to the rough bristles of his beard, to the nip of his teeth at the corner of her mouth. She drew him towards her until there was no space left between them, until she could feel the thud of his own heartbeat against her chest. And then she tasted him, her tongue touching his, all that was shy and tentative. Until his arms wrapped around her and his hips pressed against hers, igniting a wicked warmth between her legs that stripped away the last of her fears.

  And what had her fears been? That he would not want her. That his kindness towards her had only ever been fueled by pity. That he did not see her as she wished to be seen: as a woman, as a woman worth more than what she could provide as a wife and a mother and a housekeeper.

  She released his collar, but only to strip off her mittens, letting them fall to the ground as she slid her hands around his neck, her fingers delving into the ends of his hair. His hair and skin were wet with melting snow, but she only felt the heat of him, warming her through better than if she had been standing in front of a roaring fire.

  “Julia.” He broke off their kiss to look into her face. His gloved thumb came up to stroke her cheek, the stitching of the leather rough on her skin, making her shiver. “I may call you that now?”

  “Yes.” It was better than hearing her married name on his lips, of being reminded of her husband while standing in another man’s arms. She brought her hand around to graze her knuckles across his unshaven jaw, reveling in the feel of it. “Alexander.”

  Something passed through him, a shiver almost like ecstasy. “Say it again, please.”

  She smiled. “Alexander.”

  “I think you could order me to do anything you like, and I would happily agree, as long as you say my name like that.”

  Oh, if she could have such power over him… but perhaps she did. She licked her lips, and she noticed how closely he watched her as she did so. “Kiss me,” she said. “Alexander.”

  He did. He kissed her with a fierceness that made her hands grip his hair, knocking his hat off his head. She bit at his tongue, drawing it deeper into her mouth. He reacted by pressing his hips more firmly against hers, by groaning in the back of his throat.

  But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more of him, all of him. Twelve years of stifling her attraction to him, of battling the guilt that overwhelmed her each time she conjured him up in her thoughts. And now here he was, touching her, kissing her, as though for at least some portion of that dozen years, he had thought of her, too.

  “I need to go back,” she said, her breathing quick as she rested her forehead against his shoulder. “Zora will be up soon. She often wakes early, and she’ll be excited to see the snow.”

  “You’re wonderful with her, you know.” His hands still roamed over her, one settling on her lower back while the other moved along the side of her ribs, his thumb just brushing beneath the curve of her breast. “I was worried that—”

  She tipped her head back when he suddenly stopped speaking. The snow was falling heavy enough that above them the sky was a soft swirl of drifting white. “What?”

  Alexander shook his head. “Nothing. Simply thinking out loud.”

  She kissed him again, first a light kiss to the side of his jaw and then another to the corner of his mouth, where a faint line suddenly etched itself into his skin.

  “Do you want me to return to the house with you?” He took a slow step away from her.

  The cold slipped in between them immediately. She had to stop herself from going back to him, from sliding her arms beneath his coat, from dragging her onto the ground beneath them. “No, it’s not far. You can return to whatever it was you were going to do.”

  “I rode out to find you,” he said, and touched the tip of his finger to her chin. “I saw you, when I looked out my bedroom window this morning. There you were, cutting across the lawn like a determined thing.” He bent down and plucked up his hat from the ground, giving it a shake to remove the light dusting of snow that had already fallen on it. “I will see the two of you at breakfast then. It will have to be Mrs. Benton again, won’t it?”

  Ah, of course it would. They couldn’t call one another by their Christian names in front of the servants, in front of Zora. And all at once, she felt something shift between them. She was going to join him in his bed, and soon. Or she would bring him to hers. And they would not be married. They would not even be engaged. But she would do it, and joyfully.

  She departed first, shaking out her wet mittens and stuffing her hands back into them as she walked. The snow blanketed the ground with only the tips of the grass still poking through. But it had already begun to slow, the breeze picking up again to push away the wintry clouds overhead.

  Inside, the house had sprung to life during her short absence. Julia found a fresh fire blazing in her room, while the laundry she’d left on the floor had disappeared and her bed had been remade. She changed out of her cold, wet clothes, warming her bare arms and legs in front of the fire for several minutes before she donned clean stockings and gown and brushed out her damp hair. By the time she was fully dressed and took herself to the nursery, Zora was already awake and pressed against the window, gazing out at the white landscape with unfettered wonder.

  “Can we play today? I want to make a snowman!” she chattered excitedly as Julia helped her to dress and tidy her room.

  “I’m not sure there’s enough snow to build an entire person. But yes, we can go outside. Not until you’ve finished yesterday’s fractions, however. And not until after breakfast. An hour in the cold and you’ll be trembling with hunger.”

  Breakfast was to be had in the dining room. Julia walked downstairs with Zora, the latter continuing to talk about the snow and if it was cold enough for the stream to ice over and how long it would all last if the sun came out later that afternoon.

  Zora’s steady stream of dialogue helped to distract Julia from the fact that they were joining Mr. Halberd for breakfast. He was already seated at the table when they entered, his clothes crisp and dry and his hair displaying only a slight dampness at the ends, causing it to curl around his collar and on the very top of his head.

  He stood when they entered. Zora ran ahead to ask him if he’d seen the snow and whether or not he agreed with Julia about how much of it would be needed for the creation of a family of snowpeople.

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with Mrs. Benton.” His gaze skipped over Zora’s head to settle on Julia. A light in his eye, a spark like fire that made her cheeks flush. Apart from that, there was nothing in his expression to betray what had occured between them only an hour before. “And I wish I could stay home with you today to witness the answer to your question myself, but I’ve business out by the Paxton’s property today, to do with their proposed drainage project. But I promise to be back in time for dinner with you. Both of you,” he added, stealing another glance at Julia. “And perhaps you may even grant me the privilege of reading a story to you at bedtime?”

  “Mrs. Benton has been telling me a story about a dragon,” Zora said as her father pulled out two chairs for her and Julia. “And he has a heart made of coal, but every time he breathes fire he burns up a little bit of his heart. Which means he has to be careful during a fight, or he might use himself up entirely.”

  Mr. Halberd’s eyes climbed high on his forehead. “Is that from a storybook? I’m afraid I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “No,” Julia said, while she subtly scooted her chair nearer to the table. “It’s merely something I made up. We started it the first night I was here, and every few days I add a little more to the telling. Unfortunately, I never really know what will happen next until I sit down and begin speaking. But I believe it adds to the adventure that way. Or at least I hope it does.”

  “Then maybe I will simply be a part of the audience for your story,” he said, as one of the maids brought over pots of coffee and hot chocolate for them to choose between.

  “You could help her tell it!” Zora bounced in her chair, nearly leaping up to grab a bun and some butter before Julia placed a hand on her arm and passed the plate into her reach. “Sometimes I’ll tell her that the dragon should have barbs on its tail, or that the day should be cloudy rather than sunny, and she always makes the changes. I think it’s fun that way, telling a story all together.”

  Julia kept her head down while she buttered Zora’s roll, then spooned on a healthy portion of orange preserves. “Please don’t tip your cup,” she reminded Zora as she nearly sloshed half of her hot chocolate over the rim.

  She filled her own plate then, with a selection of buns and jams and far more butter than she should’ve allowed herself. She reached out to return the butter knife to the dish before she could be tempted to take more, when a whisper of something her husband had once said to her wafted past her ear. That she shouldn’t eat more than was necessary, that years of attempting to have a child had filled out her figure without her having done anything to encourage it. But then she recalled how that comment had made her feel, that yet another part of her was defective, her body taking on the shape of a woman ready and willing to bear children without her being able to enjoy any of the benefits of it.

  She picked up the knife again, scraped up a large dollop of butter, and smeared it across the top of her bun.

  “Mrs. Benton said that I need to work on my fractions before I can go outside,” Zora said after she’d finished her first bun and half of her hot chocolate. “What do you think, Papa? I think we can finish my fractions after we’ve gone out and come back in again.”

  Her voice was all sweetness, and Julia had to bite her lips at the child’s attempt to circumvent her rule and apply to her father instead.

  Mr. Halberd sipped his coffee, his expression serious. “If Mrs. Benton believes it correct for you to finish your lessons before play, then I will agree with her judgment on the matter.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Halberd.” Julia wiped her mouth with a napkin, but her gaze leapt over Zora’s head to meet his. Still, she thought, he gave little away. A small quirk of his mouth, a flare of his nostrils, and Julia felt heat pool between her legs at the warmth in that glance. And then he looked at his daughter again, his features transforming as he cleared his throat and picked up a crust of toast from his plate. Kindness and love were what she saw then, though with an edge of command underlying it all, enough to make him appear almost daunting at first glance.

  It was part of what had sparked her interest in him all those years ago, that mingling of hard and soft in both his behavior and his face. She remembered…

  Seven years ago? No, it must have been eight. After church on Sunday, the first Julia had attended after debilitating morning sickness that had resulted in her losing another child. She had still been weak and tired, even trembling if she stayed on her feet for too long. But Frederick had wanted her to be there, claiming that the townspeople were beginning to talk, that her prolonged absences did not reflect well on either of them or their position in the parish.

  It had been warm that day, unseasonably so. Julia had stepped out of the church and into the sun, perspiration immediately forming under her arms and across her brow. There had been the usual trade of greetings and meaningless pleasantries, a few pointed glances at her flat abdomen which would have carried a more telltale rounding if she had still been with child.

  The dizziness came on quickly. One moment, she had been fine. The next, a blackness flooded the edges of her vision, and her legs turned to jelly beneath her. She reached out — for something, for anything — all while knowing she was going to fall, and it was only the hard stonework of the path outside of the church to catch her.

  But she hadn’t fallen. Arms came around her, holding her up before she could collapse.

  “I have you,” he said. Mr. Halberd said. Alexander. Because of course it had been him. He carried her back inside of the church, into the coolness and the shade, the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows in jeweled tones that set the dust in the air on fire.

  He made her sit, made her bend forward until her head was nearly on her knees, made her breathe while the grayness pulled back from her sight and the sludge of her thoughts began to flow again. And all with his hand drawing soft circles on her upper back, his fingertips occasionally brushing across the damp skin above her collar. When she could raise her head again without fearing a relapse, it was to see him on his knees before her, his head bare and his eyes wide and worried.

  “Can you stand?” he had asked her, his voice low. And yet how it echoed against the high, arched ceiling of the nave.

  She shook her head. She had felt this way before, and she knew it would be several more minutes before she could trust her legs to support her. “I’m sorry.” The apology tumbled out as if by rote. Because she was so accustomed to apologizing, for begging absolution from those around her for all she continually did wrong.

  “What on earth for?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

  “Because…” But she couldn’t finish. A few of the other ladies must have finally noticed her absence outside, and they bustled into the church with the determination of hens, fretting and fluttering around her, offering her smelling salts and gently pushing Mr. Halberd out of the way until he picked up his hat and slowly backed away from her.

  When she could stand again, she returned outside at a slower pace, her hand hovering near the outer wall of the church in case she would need it for support. The sun was still too bright, the air too warm, but one of the ladies offered to walk her back to the vicarage if needed. Julia looked for her husband, and she found him standing off to one side, speaking with Mrs. Halberd about the planning for the summer fete. He told her later that he hadn’t noticed what had happened, had been oblivious to her plight. So of course she began to think that she had overreacted, that she hadn’t been as unwell as she had thought.

  “It’s very trying to have you so ill all of the time,” Frederick had said later that evening, when the incident had passed into the realm of things she might have only imagined. “It doesn’t look well for you to demand so much of others’ goodwill.”

  Julia closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was in the dining room at Langford, with Zora at her side sipping chocolate with loud slurping noises. Julia couldn’t bring herself to admonish her for it. “Half a page of fractions from the book and then you may go outside to play. But that means another full page when you come back in again.”

  Zora beamed, chocolate and buttered crumbs clinging to her upper lip. “I’ll do two pages if you help to make a snowman,” she bargained, still grinning.

  “Agreed,” Julia said, and accepted the second cup of chocolate Mr. Halberd offered to her.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * *

  The snow was nearly gone by the time Julia and Zora returned inside for their midday meal, only a few slashes of white still lingering on the shadowed portions of the lawn. They stripped out of their wet outer garments and huddled beside the fire in the nursery, Zora sitting cross-legged with her kitten in her lap while she ate apples and cheese and a few leftover buns from breakfast.

  Julia sat beside her, her legs curled up beneath her skirt, her cheeks warmed by the fire and her stomach assuaged by too many apples and bites of melted cheese. Instead of a kitten, which she would have much preferred, she had Zora’s page of fractions that still needed to be tended to, as well as a list of French verbs that would have to be memorized tomorrow. It had been a lovely morning, and spending the afternoon in the warm, quiet nursery should have been soothing to her soul. Instead, she was restless, despite the amount of energy she’d expended outside. Her thoughts continually strayed to Mr. Halberd, to when she would see him again, to when-