Letters at Christmas by Amber Lin Page A

him. Which she certainly hadn’t been doing. Never, never, never again.
    Voices murmured from around the house, along with all the stomach-clenching sounds of a carriage stopping and a passenger disembarking. The soft crunch of snow grew louder. She studiously trained her gaze on the white horizon.
    “Hello, Sidony.” Hale .
    She chose not to look down. It seemed safer that way. “Good afternoon.”
    A telling pause. “Why are you in a tree?”
    “Fresh air is an important component of physical fitness and mental stability.” Or so the ladies’ magazine had reported. “You may go inside now.”
    “I would very much like to go inside. It’s been a long journey. And yet, I find myself reluctant to leave you here. In this tree. Can you come down?”
    “Of course I can come down. I would have to be very stupid to climb a tree that I couldn’t climb down from.”
    “Yes, precisely.” Another pause. “Though it occurs to me that you might not have climbed up. Your window is open.”
    “How do you know that’s my window?”
    She flushed as her question brought to mind the nights he had been in her room.
    “How about this?” he asked reasonably. “In the interest of my mental stability, I’ll help you down. Then if you want to climb the tree again, I won’t stop you.”
    Fine, she reluctantly conceded. Better than freezing to death. Marginally . She held out her hand, wishing she’d thought to wear gloves. He was wearing them, of course, and the leather was cool and soft against her trembling fingers. She’d intended to go slowly and carefully, but as soon as he grasped her hand, he pulled. A slight tearing sound came from her dress, and then she was suspended in his arms, clinging to his neck.
    She suddenly had more sympathy for Poppet’s predicament; claws would be useful about now.
    “Are you all right?” he asked.
    Her dress was ripped. Her hair undone. Her pride beaten and shriveled. “Perfectly well, thank you.”
    “Of course you are. Sidony Harbeck always lands on her feet.”
    She reminded herself it was a compliment. Hale had always liked cats.
    As she looked up at him, the brilliance of his smile stopped her cold. It was a nice, handsome smile, but that wasn’t the danger. Those dimples that she had always thought of as adorable had deepened, and were now tanned…and dashing. Debonair, even. When had that happened?
    He nestled her comfortably in his arms, with her head tucked beneath his chin, thankfully relieving her of the sight. Instead, she looked at Harbeck Hall, the family estate, through new eyes as they approached. What did Hale think of the new slate turrets? No doubt they looked pedestrian to a man as well travelled. The entire moors must appear plain compared to exotic lagoons or snow-capped mountains.
    Price, the butler, met them at the door—far too late to be of use. He appeared flustered, concerned about her dishevelment and position, until Hale quietly and calmly took control of the situation. The servants followed his orders without seeming to recognize him as her brother’s old friend. He carried a natural air of command. She supposed running a ship could give that to a man.
    Once he set her down by the fire and the fury of a thousand needles stopped attacking her toes, she was able to get a better look at him. He was the same height, the same width, but the shape of him had changed, nonetheless. A shadowed slant of stubble marked his cheeks instead of the flushed softness she remembered. His hair no longer curled over his ears and collar as she’d once found so endearing. Those startling blue eyes held shadows she’d seen across an ocean expanse, something dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen, even more so than the boy she’d known. But he was not her Hale. This Hale was a stranger.
    With detached curiosity, she watched his tanned fingers prepare her tea. The old Hale never would have done something as domestic. He