VI.

It was snowing.

At least, she had the idea that it was snowing. Tiny, white flakes landed on her bare skin with a moment's chill—too small, gone too soon, the icy lace melting against the heat of her cheek so quickly.

But the flakes gathered swiftly, swirling around her with menace. And above was only darkness. A night without stars. A black void. A hole in the ground. She wondered…

What if it wasn't snow at all? What if she was dead already and it was dirt being shoveled on her grave from above? Graves were just as cold, weren't they?

Buried alive.

She would be buried alive, with no one to hear her screams. And with that tiny casket, too small for anything but a newborn, laid at her feet. God, please no! She ran from the idea, fingers digging against the side of that hole—

She woke, fingers digging at his chest, her heartrate slowing only as she became aware of the strong arms that held her.

She was being carried again. By whom? Where were they going? And why?

And who am I?

Lavinia was struggling to recall anything. She had no conscious thought beyond that vague notion of snow. It was snow. It must be. She wasn't alone. She wasn't in a hole in the ground. She settled in his arms again, her soft whimpers going quiet, her breathing evening out, and she listened. The crunch of hurried footsteps, the hush of a winter's night.

Oh, but the hush didn't last. The fever wouldn't let it last. She continued to drift in and out of horrible dreamscapes, cluttered with monsters and darkness and a dead child.

My child.

When she told Richard that she was pregnant, she expected him to sneer at her recklessness. She expected him to tell her that it was all her fault and why wasn't she more careful and what did she expect him to do about it?

He had arranged his life with such order and precision. Every financial decision was made years in advance. Every professional step he took was calculated to achieve the next rung on the ladder he climbed. Every document on his desk was laid parallel against the edge in straight lines. A man like that didn't like surprises.

I don't like surprises either, Richard.

She expected him to rage or go sullen. Anything, really, but what happened…

"I'll marry you, if you like," he'd offered, in a cool and calm manner. Unaffected, as always.

And when she didn't reply, when he finally lifted his eyes to hers, regarding her as if she were the current line item on his day's agenda, he asked, in a voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever, "Well?"

That's what nettled her. That's what made her bristle and suddenly pull away, the change in her expression too transparent, too sudden. Her stomach had been in knots all morning, worried how he would react. She was ready for a fight, craved it even. If only to rid herself of the lingering, damning feeling that she had crossed a line that there was no coming back from.

And he didn't flinch. He didn't blink.

He seemed to have no care for what they'd done or what they'd created. It was against every law of decent society, didn't he understand? They had sinned and would now have to live with the consequences of that sin. And Richard seemed completely undisturbed by any of it. The offer of marriage was made as an afterthought.

A truly modern man.

But she didn't want a modern man. She would swear it in blood. She hadn't been thinking, she had been caught up in…whatever this was. And it had swallowed her whole. The memories, still so fresh, of coming here to his office, to meet him secretly afterhours, brought a blush to her face that bloomed anew. And this time, it wasn't in passion. It was shame.

Lavinia, what have you done? Her father's voice was in her head.

She felt like she might be sick.

She didn't recognize herself. The Lavinia who served tea to her father's friends wore a demure smile and had a calm, respectable manner. That Lavinia had always imagined a quiet wedding to a man who would ask her father's permission first. A man who would stumble over the words, unsure of himself, because he was pure and good and decent.

But Richard wouldn't ask her father, thinking him a fool. And even if he debased himself to do so, Richard wouldn't stumble over any word. He would know what to say. He always knew what to say. Because he was worldly and blunt and…dangerous.

More dangerous because of the fiery feelings he drew from her breast, even then.

But that was over. It was forgotten. She'd buried those feelings deep. Buried them alive.

She'd told Matthew she was a little person who lived an ordinary life. Which was all true. Before and after. Saving those nights she spent with Richard and all that came because of it.

"I don't want to be a nuisance," she remembers saying to Richard, in a small voice. And she said it again, much later, to Matthew. The echo had resounded in her head terribly but she swallowed back all that it might mean.

She loved Matthew. Richard was…something else.

"What's your plan then?" Richard had asked her, not pushing the marriage idea further.

"I'll go to my cousin's house."

"Is she discreet?"

"Do you think I would go to her if she wasn't?"

"If this becomes public knowledge—"

"My ruin would be far greater than yours, Richard. Please remember that."

The brusqueness in her voice caught his attention and finally, something stirred in his expression. His mouth went a little slack but he failed to say another word. He reached for her hand and their eyes met for the briefest, headiest of moments.

But then she shook him off and fled his office, not wanting him to see her tears.

She was too weak to shake him off now. And, God help her, she didn't want to. Matthew was gone and Richard was here. Richard held her in his arms and she held on as tightly as her fever-assaulted limbs would allow, hearing heavy doors scrape against stone, the prattle of astonished servants, the flurry of activity that followed.

"Do you trust me, Lavinia?" Richard whispered to her. Or maybe that was memory too.

Do you trust me, Lavinia? He'd said those words right before he kissed her the first time, her breath catching on the idea of what he was about to do. She didn't answer then, she didn't answer now. She just let him do what he wanted.

What she wanted.

The room was hot then. It was so cold now.

Cold.

The sensation of cold water hit her fiery skin as she realized that she was being lowered into a tub of water. Richard was there too, stepping into the tub in his suit and shoes, sinking down with her in his arms. He held her and she clung to him, trying to escape the onslaught of cold. Cold, cold, cold. The servants had brought in chopped ice and were slowly adding it to the bath. Her body shivered in the cold.

"Slowly, slowly," Richard cautioned. "If the water is cooled too quickly, she'll go into shock."

Oh, what more could you do to shock me tonight, my love? Lavinia found herself thinking.

If she was stronger, she might have laughed at herself, at the odd endearment she found herself giving this man who held her. A man she'd hated for so long.

But a man she loved once too.