Read Online Miss Winters Proposes by Frances Fowlkes - Free Book Online Page A

to assist you?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “Perhaps heat some negus or other hot beverage?”
    Her lips curved upward. “There is a special treat I reserve for monstrously cold occasions…and whenever my father wishes to indulge.” She lifted the lid off a rusted tin and fished out a small brass key. “Slide this into the square box on the third shelf behind you.”
    She placed the key in his hand, her fingers already a degree warmer than they had been moments before.
    “And what shall I find when I open the box?”
    Her smile broadened, the whites of her teeth glowing in the dim light. “Chocolate.”
    Benjamin chuckled. “I haven’t had chocolate in ages, not since…” He turned away, the laughter dying on his lips.
    “Not since what?”
    His back stiffened as was his normal response to anything dealing with his loss. What the devil had gotten into him that he so easily referenced a moment he wished to forget?
    “Benjamin?”
    He cleared his throat, his gaze focused entirely on the wooden box. He had become accustomed to the sting of sorrow and wave of guilt that accompanied recollections of his past. But it still hurt. Every single time.
    “Not since Amelia partook of it at our wedding.” He slid the key into the lock. He lifted the small dried cake, the rich and decadent smell of the expensive treat filling his nose.
    “You must miss her very much,” Juliet whispered, her words barely audible over the whines and yips of the dogs.
    He did miss her. But he missed what he had been when they first met even more. A third son. With no aspirations or hope for the title. And for that, he felt all the more guilty.
    “Did you love her?”
    He near dropped the cake. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Did you love Amelia?”
    Benjamin peered across the table to the inquisitive and prying woman. Only Juliet would be so bold as to ask a question so personal. So deep. So extremely awkward. Perhaps if he avoided the question she would refrain from asking it again, his silence answer enough for her inquiry.
    After he settled the chocolate onto the table, he wiped his hands on his coat. “Do you have a pot to warm the milk?”
    She pointed toward a copper piece dangling over the sideboard. “This morning’s milk is in the pail on the table.”
    A moment of heavy silence settled between them before he found himself saying, “No.”
    “My lord?” Juliet lifted her head from a piece of meat she was parceling out to the hounds.
    Benjamin poured a generous helping of milk into the pot, unsure of what had compelled him to answer. Guilt? Honesty? Honor?
    “I held great affection for Amelia, but no. I did not love her.”
    Theirs had been a friendship, one that, with time, might have blossomed into more. Death, however, had intervened and the time for anything deeper than a shared and mutual respect for one another had never come.
    And it never would with another.
    She remained silent, her face one of deep reflection. Her auburn brows furrowed, the freckled skin of her forehead creasing into pensive lines.
    Lines he had an overwhelming urge to smooth. Perhaps with a kiss or two. Or three.
    Obviously he hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night. He was out of his damn fool mind this morning.
    “What of you?” He grated the chocolate tablet into the milk. “Have you ever loved another?” Had she ever offered her heart? Had she ever felt the sting of rejection or loss?
    The lines on her forehead deepened. “No. I have not.”
    He placed the pot over the fire, his interest piqued. In a few days’ time, Juliet would be his wife. And he suddenly realized outside of knowing she possessed a very determined and passionate spirit, he knew very little of the future Lady Colwyn.
    Not that it should matter. She would leave for Evenrood after their marriage, and he would return to Darlington Hall. He would not see her, save for the two months out of the year he could, if he felt so inclined, fill his