"We need to discuss who we're hiring."
"You decide."
"You just dismissed the best footman candidate because of his shoes!"
"Hire someone else."
"Gabriel…"
He stood abruptly, needing distance before he did something unwise like pull her into his lap and show her exactly why Thomas Winters's cheerful voice made him want to commit violence.
"I'll be in the garden," he said.
"It's freezing."
"Good. Maybe it will improve my temperament."
"Your temperament is beyond improvement."
"Then why are you trying?"
"Because…" She stopped, frustration evident. "Because someone has to."
"Why you?"
"Because I'm the only one senseless enough to try!"
"You're not senseless"
"I'm here, aren't I? Trying to civilize a man who just rejected a perfectly qualified footman because his shoes were too shiny?"
"Would you prefer I tell you the real reason?"
"Yes!"
Gabriel moved closer, backing her against the window. Not touching…never touching…but close enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
"I dismissed him," he said quietly, dangerously, "because he looked at you."
"Everyone looks at me. It's how vision works."
"He looked at you the way I'm not allowed to look at you."
Clara's breath hitched. "How... how do you look at me?"
Like you're water and I'm dying of thirst. Like you're sunlight after years of darkness. Like I want to map every inch of your skin with my mouth.
"Like someone I can't have," he said instead.
"Gabriel…"
"Hire whoever you wish," he said, stepping back. "Except Thomas Winters and his suspicious shoes."
He left before she could respond, before the look in her eyes could break his resolve, before he could give in to the desperate need to taste her lips just once.
Just once, he thought, striding toward the garden.As if once would ever be enough.
Their rose…because he couldn't think of it any other way had apparently decided that winter was merely a suggestion. Despite the frost, despite the general death surrounding it, the cursed thing was blooming with enthusiasm that bordered on aggressive.
