Once Upon a Winter's Eve: A Spindle Cove Novella by Tessa Dare Page A

awoken thinking of Frederick. Thanking God for any small part I could play in avenging his death. Instead, every morning I woke wanting you. Wishing I could stroll outside to the square, find you there waiting with the dogs. Looking lovely as the dawn. A little smile on your face, because you’d just untangled a new translation.” He cleared his throat. “Like this one. Tumi amar jeeboner dhruvotara .”
    She tilted her head, puzzling over the phrase. “That’s not Hindustani.”
    “Bengali. It means ‘You are my life’s bright star’ in Bengali.” The sweet words were edged with frustration, not tenderness. His knuckles cracked. “Obviously, I was saving that one. For the right morning.”
    A forceful pang in her heart left her breathless.
    He loved her. He truly did love her.
    Christian cursed and resumed his pacing, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “But now, it will never be the ‘right morning’ for us. So yes, I’m angry. I’m goddamned furious with myself for somehow losing both you and Frederick forever. And I very, very, very much want to hit something.”
    He pulled up short, eyeing a row of crockery, and she panicked. If he crashed a fist through that shelf, the noise would be frightful.
    “Here.” She darted out from behind the counter. “Hit this.”
    In the corner of the shop sat a padded dress form, wearing a dotted muslin frock and a wide-brimmed straw bonnet. The Brights used it to display the newest wares.
    Violet grabbed the mannequin by the waist and swiveled it on its casters. “Go on,” she said. “Do your worst.”
    For a tense moment, he stared down the dress form. Violet edged to the side, her neck prickling with apprehension. His rage was palpable, even from the other side of the shop.
    At last, he raised his fist and made a fierce, lunging attack—
    Only to pull up short at the last moment.
    And let his fist drop.
    “I can’t,” he said, grimacing. “I can’t hit a woman.”
    Violet laughed. “Nellie’s not a real woman.”
    “She has a name ?” Turning way from the dress form, he threw up his hands. “That seals it. So much for throwing punches.”
    He braced both fists on the sales counter and bent over them, lowering his brow to the polished wood. A sound of raw anguish wrenched from his chest.
    Violet couldn’t stand to watch him suffer this way. Tears welled in her eyes as she approached and laid a hand to his shoulder. “Christian, I’m so sorry. I’m so very, very sorry. I know how much you loved him.”
    “I never told him.”
    She stroked the tense muscles of his neck, ran her fingers through the heavy locks of hair at his nape. “He knew. Of course he knew.”
    “ You didn’t know.” He lifted his head. “I should have told you, Violet. I should have told the both of you, every day.”
    A single tear spilled down her cheek. “I know now.”
    He seized her in his arms. In the faint light, his eyes were wild with emotion. “Do you, truly?”
    In answer, she kissed him. Curled both hands around his neck and pulled his head down so she could kiss his jawline, his cheekbone, the razor-thin scar along his throat. She even kissed the rugged slope of his twice-broken nose.
    And then his lips found hers. Hot, desperate. His arms lashed around her middle as they kissed, his big hands clutching fistfuls of her gown. Her breasts flattened and ached against his hard chest. She wanted him to hold her like this forever—so tightly, there could be no room for secrets.
    His kiss was fierce, intense, imbued with all the passion with which he’d always lived his life. He kissed her as though this were life itself—the only time they might have together. And she kissed him the same way, holding nothing back. There would be no shyness for Violet tonight. She would leave no emotion unexpressed, no desire unfulfilled. She wanted to caress and explore and possess every part of him, body and soul.
    A beam of light swept them, originating from outside the