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But he was a rude, arrogant, boorish bully
who was probably, in all honesty, also a little insane.

She didn't think he would hurt her. Not
physically anyway. But her emotions just weren't up to withstanding
his ire.

So, what she would do, she decided with a
false bravado, was ignore him as much as humanly possible, get the
library finished then get the hell out of there.

Staring into the dancing orange flames of the
roaring fire, Mariah let her imagination wander as it was wont to
do. She gave it free reign now; envisioning bumping into him and
his mysterious woman in the village square and being marvellously
nonchalant about it; seeing him at a dance in the assembly rooms
and laugh at his pining after her while she danced with all the
dashing young gentlemen who begged her.

She'd never been begged for dance in her
life, and the gentlemen of her acquaintance fell abysmally short of
dashing but that was neither here nor there.

Feeling a little better, she managed an
almost genuine smile when Dora came with a cup of chocolate and to
help her dress, taking Mariah's borrowed night rail to wash out and
ready for that evening.

Mercifully, she had brought Mariah's own
simple muslin gown, freshly washed and pressed. Mariah didn't think
she had the fortitude to wear another of the mystery lady's
garments.

"Are you hungry?" asked Dora.

"Famished."

"Good," Dora said with a smile, buttoning the
back of Mariah's dress. "Mr. Haverton said we were to make sure
there was plenty for you to eat this morning, since you didn't eat
last night."

Mariah's heart skittered at the mention of
last night as well as at the fact that he had been so considerate
of her.

"And will Mr. Haverton be at breakfast?"

Mariah sat at the vanity while Dora started
to brush out and pin her hair.

"No. He said to extend his apologies but he
had a tonne of work and would be locked in his study for the
day."

Mariah didn't realise she'd been holding her
breath until it left her in a whoosh of relief. She didn't know if
he was avoiding her or giving her the chance to avoid him, but
either way, she was vastly grateful.

Still angry. But grateful.

The dining room seemed larger than before
with nobody in it but Mariah and the footmen who were attending
her, but that did not put her off her breakfast. She enjoyed a meal
so large that her mother would have rung a peal over her head for
having an unladylike appetite.

As soon as she had eaten her fill, she took a
pot of tea and hid herself away in library. She had absolutely no
desire to see Mr. Haverton. She did not even know what she would
say to him.

The morning went on and on and still the snow
fell. Outside looked incredibly bleak and Mariah was grateful for
the roaring blaze of the fire and the maid who diligently attended
to it, ensuring that it never went out.

Mariah took lunch on a tray in the library
and kept working with a dogged determination to be finished and
gone before she ever had to set eyes on Brandon Haverton again.

By mid-afternoon it sounded as though the
howling of the wind had lessened slightly and Mariah hoped against
hope that that meant the storm was easing.

As the dinner hour approached, her stomach
knotted more and more. She snuck from the library, her muscles sore
and cramping from having been leaning over heavy tomes all day. She
wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a long sleep, and when she
rang the bell for Dora, she informed the young girl of this.

"Won't Mr. Haverton be expecting you for
dinner?"

"Perhaps, but I am simply too tired," Mariah
lied, exaggerating the yawning and droopiness.

Dora didn't look convinced, but she remained
quiet, for which Maria was very grateful.

After a long soak, Mariah requested a supper
tray in her room, and as soon as she was done she crawled into
bed.

This was fine, she thought, snuggling under
the heavy counterpane of her bed, if she could do this every day
there would be absolutely no problems at all.

There was a
problem.

Mariah sighed in frustration and threw the
book she'd been reading onto the bedside table.

She was going stark, raving mad holed up in
this house.

For three days, she'd been to the library and
her bedroom, and that was it.

Mercifully the snow had eased off and though
the roads were still completely impassable for her and her small
gig, a footman had been sent with word of her safety and forced
stay at the manor house and had returned with a few gowns.
Unfortunately, the gowns were accompanied by a sermon of some
magnitude on propriety and the ruination of women in society,
courtesy of a letter from her mother.

But this? This self-imposed incarceration was
driving her slowly insane.

Mariah stood and pulled back the curtains
which Dora had drawn earlier. The sky was cloudless, the complete
blackness dotted with shining stars and dominated by the pale,
ice-white moon.

The moonlight illuminated the grounds lending
an ethereal glow to everything. It was peaceful and beautiful, yet
she felt restless.

It was not even past the usual dinner hour
but she felt as though she'd been in this room for hours
already.

What she needed, Mariah thought, was a drink;
brandy or whiskey or some such thing, to send her into a deep,
dreamless sleep.

For her sleeps had been far from deep and
very, very far from dreamless. In fact, she could barely close her
eyes without Brandon Haverton galloping to the forefront of her
thoughts.

Mariah didn't know many compromising
positions, but the ones she did know were put to good use during
the wee hours of the night when her imagination ran wild and she
ended up awakening feeling frustrated, hot and bothered.

This was ridiculous and it needed to stop.
She hadn't even seen the man in days. Not since that last horrid
conversation in the drawing room.

She was exhausted. She needed to sleep. And
she certainly needed to stop thinking about Mr. Haverton.

Her mind made up, Mariah decided to brave the
corridors.

From Dora she had learned that Mr. Haverton
had been keeping to his room and study, no doubt with the same
intentions she had in mind.

So, in theory, it should be safe to dart
downstairs and sneak a drink from the drawing room, which she knew
was kept stocked.

She did think fleetingly that it was rather
concerning to turn to alcohol to deal with life's problems, but
then she figured nobody had ever had to deal with a man such as
Haverton before and if they had, they would certainly be foxed more
often than not.

The house was freezing as Mariah darted
through it. Thankfully, she hadn't yet changed into her night rail,
so if she did get caught she would brazen it out and ask for
tea.

The drawing room was mercifully empty, and
Mariah heaved a sigh of relief as she moved toward the drinks
cabinet. She had thought a medicinal glass of wine would do the
trick but her hand stilled in the act of pouring as she eyed the
amber coloured brandy that Mr. Haverton favoured.

The stuff had been vile. But, because clearly
she'd crossed into complete madness, she felt herself wanting to
drink it because
he
had been the one to provide her first
taste of it.

How foolish of her.

She silently berated herself as she sloshed
some of the liquid into a glass. Did she think that drinking his
brandy would suddenly bring them closer together? Did she think
that he would suddenly throw off his mantle of secretive sullenness
and fall desperately in love with her because she stole something
from his drinks cabinet?

Mariah had had some strange ideas in her time
but even she could admit that seemed a little far-fetched.

It didn't stop her drinking it, however.

The first sip burned its way down her throat
and she coughed and spluttered and genuinely thought for a moment
that she would die. But, after the burn subsided she quite enjoyed
the feeling of warmth in her belly, and she took another healthy
slug.

"So you're a thief then?"

Mariah yelped at the sound of the voice
behind her and promptly spilled the contents of the glass all over
the front of her.

"Good heavens, you scared the life out of
me," she said breathlessly swiping ineffectually at the front of
her dress. "What are you doing sneaking up on people?"

Mariah waited for his answer as she rubbed at
the now soaking material of her white muslin. When none was
forthcoming, she glanced up and her heart simply stopped then
galloped.

His blazing eyes were riveted to the front of
her dress where the brandy had soaked through the material.

Mariah thought, for a horrified minute, that
perhaps it was see-through but as she followed his gaze she saw
that although there was a hint of skin, there certainly wasn't
anything, well, improper on display.

She glanced back up and this time, her eyes
locked with his. Good lord. He looked almost savage. Mariah
suddenly thought of the pirate captain she'd once read about in a
book she'd sworn up and down she
hadn't
read when questioned
by Mama.

But she had read it. And she'd enjoyed it
immensely.

And now, here Brandon Haverton stood, looking
like the hero of her scandalous novel come to life.

His hair, though not long, was just as dark
and silky in the dim light of the fire.

His eyes, black as coal but filled with fire
as they bored into her.

He didn't wear a jacket and Mariah could see
the muscular outline of his torso and stomach as her eyes raked
over him greedily.

Suddenly, the brandy wasn't the only thing
heating her anymore.

Mariah waited for him to speak but he uttered
not a word. Just stared.

So then, she should speak.

Really she should leave. She had told herself
that she wouldn't spend any more time with him. And here she was.
Spending.

"If you'll excuse me," she mumbled and made
to leave the room.

But as she passed, Haverton reached out and
grabbed her upper arm.

"Wait," he said gruffly.

Mariah's skin fairly blistered with the heat
from his touch.

This was not good. Not good at all.

She waited. And still he did not speak.

"Mr. Haverton, really I –"

"You've been hiding," he said abruptly.
"Why?"

Mariah pulled her arm away and stepped back
from him.

"I've been busy."

"Too busy to eat in the dining room?"

"How do you know where I've eaten? You
haven't been in the dining room either," she countered.

"Yes, but I admit I've been hiding."

Oh.

"Why?" she asked, still refusing to admit to
the same thing.

He sighed then and moved to decant himself a
glass of brandy, pouring another for her without asking if she
wanted one.

"I don't want another."

"You spilled the first."

"Yes, so I should change my gown."

"Oh, I'm not complaining, just replenishing
your drink."

Mariah swallowed. He had the uncanny ability
to render her totally speechless with just a few words.

He crossed back to her and handed her the
glass, which she took without comment.

"Will you sit for a moment? I want to talk to
you"

Mariah hesitated before complying. He rarely
spoke so nicely to her, and her curiosity was piqued.

Besides, loath as she was to admit it even to
herself, any chance she had to spend time with him was something
for which she was grateful.

She waited for him to speak, but for a long
while he just sat staring into the glowing embers of the fire.
Eventually he began to talk, his gravelly voice playing havoc with
her already fraying nerves.

"I must apologise for my behaviour at dinner
the other night. I was unpardonably rude. And you don't deserve
it."

Well, that was a good start.

"Thank you," she said. Then, because good
manners dictated it, she continued, "I am sorry too. If you do not
want to tell me things about your life then that is perfectly
acceptable. I am only here to fix your library."

He frowned at her then, as if confused by her
words.

"I almost forgot about that. How are you
faring with it?"

"Oh, wonderfully. You have an outstanding
collection here, Mr. Haverton. I do hope you will consider keeping
it. You've gotten an absolute treasure in this place.

He smiled indulgently, which caused her
breath to quicken.

"You are very passionate about books?"

Mariah nodded enthusiastically but stopped
herself from launching into a speech on the wonders of books and
his library.

She was far more interested in what he had to
say.

Another silence. It was most aggravating.

"Tell me, Miss Bolton, do you think that
someone less interested in books than you are, but who could
desperately use a distraction of some kind, would like the
collection in the library?"

Mariah frowned at the strange question.

"I suppose it would depend on what they were
interested in reading, sir," she began, not sure what he was asking
exactly. "But the collection is varied and interesting. There are
even some terribly romantic gothic novels in there." She smiled,
tying to lighten the suddenly maudlin mood.

He did not return her smile, however.

And for a moment he looked so bleak that
Mariah almost reached for him. Almost. "Mr. Haverton, is everything
alright?" she asked, unsure of herself.

He started at her question, as if he had
forgotten she was there. "I have treated you abominably, have I
not?" he said quietly.