Love wasn’t struck in an instant. It was built over time. It required trust and understanding. Lust at first sight she could understand. But kissing the earl in the dark in the ring of sycamore trees had nothing to do with lust.

But it was foolish to think it was love.

It couldn’t be.

Her lady’s maid showed Tilly into her room. It was a beautiful room overlooking a hedge maze that was flanked by a beautiful stone statute dusted in snow.

She curled up into her chair and tucked her feet under her. She pulled a blanket tight around her shoulders and closed her eyes, stealing a nap.

And avoided the conversation that awaited her downstairs with dark eyes.

CHAPTER 5

Usually, Ethan bounded into Tilly’s bed before daybreak. Some days, he dressed as a pirate and on others, he insisted she look at his drawing when her eyes could barely focus from being at the theater too late.

But his pudgy hands would wrap around her cheeks and draw her gaze to his, and her heart would melt.

Always.

Only two days until Christmas and she would be forced to spend the holiday with a group of strangers. Well, except for Mrs. Craven. But Mrs. Craven might as well have been a stranger. Tilly didn’t dare utter a word of the truth to the old woman for fear of what she could do. Being old and crotchety had enough power, and she didn’t wish to share that Ethan was Tilly’s illegitimate son. So much of protecting her reputation meant balancing how others regarded her, including which roles she selected, which parties she attended, and which charities she supported. A careless whisper from Mrs. Craven could send ripples throughout the beau monde, and the delicate balance Tilly had fought for to maintain the public’s favor would be gone.

Five years and that secret never grew lighter.

If anything, it became something of a chain, binding her to Roger these past few months now that he knew.

But it helped that her family was supportive of her acting. The seven Brennan brothers and sisters stormed into London’s theater scene after Ethan’s first birthday with a story that Ethan was her mother’s youngest, but with their father gravely ill, Imogen and Tilly agreed to care for him.

And the story stuck.

Imogen eventually married a vicar and left London, and Tilly’s performances garnered enough attention that London adored her. For the moment, anyhow.

She was fortunate that she wasn’t immediately cast off for being an actress. The ton embraced her and delighted in her company, and she had hung on to that for as long as she could.

But Tilly was tired.

Bone tired of pretending. Of not letting her guard slip. Of performing for everyone on and off the stage.

Of being alone.

She was so alone.

Tilly wiped at her cheeks, annoyed with herself for being overly sentimental. She would celebrate Christmas with the others when she returned to London, and Ethan would be delighted at having the opportunity to celebrate twice. And she would do as Roger wished so that Ethan could do just that.

“Miss, I hope I am not bothering you. Mrs. Craven insisted I bring up a breakfast tray for you before you expired from hunger.” The lady’s maid floated into the room and set the tray by her bed.

Tilly propped herself up, forcing on a sleepy smile.

She had practiced lines far too late last evening. While she appreciated Mrs. Craven’s thoughtfulness, she needed more sleep now that she had the opportunity. Though, if she were being honest, five years of mothering Ethan had turned her into a reluctant morning person. There was not much sleep to be had with a rowdy five-year-old in the house.

The maid threw back the velvet curtains to reveal a bright white light. “Oh, I know the weather made travel difficult, but there is nothing more magical than a fresh coat of snow before Christmas.”

“I have only experienced snow for Christmas once before now. Has the storm finally lifted? The wind was horrible last evening.”

“It has, m’lady. And Haddington looks beautiful. If you wish to go for a sleigh ride later, I would be happy to arrange it for you.”

“Thank you.” Tilly reached for the teacup on the tray and drank it without a touch of cream or sugar. She preferred the bitterness in the morning to jolt her awake. “That sounds grand.”

“The duke might also have a pair of skates for you if you wish to skate the pond. The winters at Haddington can seem as if they drag on and on, but I find if one can dress for the weather, there is fun to be had. Is there anything else you need, miss?”

Tilly eyed her toast with butter and jam, and her stomach gurgled. “No, thank you.”

The lady’s maid whisked out of her room just as quickly as she had whisked in, and Tilly enjoyed breakfast in bed all the while knowing the earl was somewhere in this vast house.

Did he prefer the mornings or the evenings? What did he enjoy doing? She couldn’t see him singing along as she played the piano. Maybe he preferred the library or a game of chess?

It made no difference because she had no right to know. They were strangers, and a snowstorm saw them snowed in together in some cruel twist of fate, but they must remain strangers.

They must, or surely, she would lose her heart to him. If she hadn’t already.

She quickly dressed, visited with Mrs. Craven, then decided to spend some time out in the country air.

The stone stairs were shoveled but slick as she made her way down to the sleigh.

“Would you like to join me?” a deep voice asked from behind her.

Tilly turned, holding her skirts tight to stop herself from throwing arms around the earl. What luck to find him again. And what horrible timing.

“Join you? I was going to enjoy a sleigh ride by myself.”

“I had arranged for a ride as well. I apologize. I didn’t realize…”

She had never been so tongue-tied in her life as she met his stare and swallowed in his earnest manners. Damn him and his gentlemanly ways.

“I will go skating. Please, enjoy⁠—”

“I insist. I don’t wish to interfere—” he said, speaking over her.

“—the ride. It’s a beautiful day.” She laughed. Well, not laughed. That would have required dignity, which she had none at the moment because she tittered like a schoolgirl. She couldn’t speak around the earl, couldn’t think around him. And now she couldn’t act as if she hadn’t already lived lifetimes in her twenty-one years.

“I will go skating,” she insisted again, avoiding eye contact. “You can tell me all about the sleigh ride later.”

“Very well.”

The earl climbed up into the sleigh and settled beneath a blanket.

“Are you avoiding me, Miss Brennan?”