With well-practiced grace and silence, he slipped through the copse of trees outlining the edge of the land and hurried his way over the naked stretch of rolling hills. Reaching the manor, he found that himself debating, suddenly, just what it was he was doing. For all intensive purposes, she didn't want him here.
And yet her written word pounded in his veins. He refused to believe that anything she'd penned to him had been done from pity or out of a sense of duty. Utterly refused. And it was that which held him firm as he slipped into the manor and slipped up to her room on the night of December 25.
Easing her door closed, he leaned against the wood, his eyes flickering about the room and landing on the dying embers in the fireplace before they slid to the lump of her form under her covers. Catlike, he reached her bed. His hand paused before it touched her, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he took in her slumbering features.
And in the end, he couldn't wake her. Instead, he leaned against the wall by her bed, his arms crossed, and simply watched her. He would drink his fill and then leave. If she didn't want him, he wouldn't force the issue.





Jessica Fear