Page 39 of Atone, Adonis

“Oh!” Julianna exclaimed, leaning over his shoulder to see. “Look! Poor dear.”

She knelt beside him then, her skirts brushing his coat, her smell wafting into his nostrils. Then she tugged her gloves more snugly onto her hands and reached into the narrow space. The bird gave a panicked flutter and pecked at her fingers, but she only murmured, “Hush, little one,” before cupping it gently between her palms.

Fred edged his way closer, careful not to bump her or the bird. Any sudden movements would injure it, or cause it to panic and injure itself. He pressed his shoulder to hers and eased himself down until he was laying on the snow.

He was so close to her now their cheeks were nearly touching. He inhaled and blew, his breath a warm stream over the ice still catching the bird’s wing.

“Do it again,” Julianna said, urgency sharpening her voice, and Fred ignored—very deliberately—how those words might have sounded in another, more intimate context. Instead, he inhaled and blew again over the frozen knot of ice. He did it once more, until the ice gave a faint crackle in reply.

“It’s working,” Julianna said and the bird fluttered its free wing in reply.

Fred removed one glove and reached his bare fingers between her cupped hands. “This will be better.”

“He’ll bite you!”

“He will.” He tried not to flinch. “He already did.”

But he’d gotten his two fingers flush against the ice that trapped the bird’s wing and the heat of his hand was warming it. He pressed a little harder until, finally, the ice broke and the delicate bird was free.

“There.” He leaned back as Julianna pulled the thrush out from beneath the hedge and opened her hands.

Her face broke into a wide, unguarded grin as the bird darted into the air. Snowflakes scattered in its wake as it flew away.

“We saved him,” she said and Fred could hear the pure joy in her voice.

“We’re heroes,” he agreed and offered her his hand. “To thrushes at least.”

She let him pull her to her feet. They stood too close, her hand still caught in his. Smiles still plastered across their faces. And then, as if they both realized at the same moment they could not stay that way, they each took a step backward.

“Well.” Julianna’s voice sounded strange to him and put him on edge, even before she said the next words. “Never fear. I’m certain you’ll be back to being the Darling of Dorset soon enough.”

Her words felt, absurdly, like she’d slapped him. He took another step back. “I’ve no wish to be the Darling of Dorset. I never did.”

She studied him, her head tilted to the side and her gaze searching his face. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know why I did, Fred. I’m sorry. That boy’s been put to bed for a long time.”

“It no longer matters. We should get back.”

“In a moment,” she agreed but did not move. And when she asked her next question she phrased it quite differently. “You know they still call you the Local Adonis?”

“I’m aware.” He wasn’t aware though, what she was trying to ascertain now.

“And does it still fit?”

Ah. What she meant to ask was: are you still the reckless, feckless dunderhead you were at ten and eight years of age? He certainly hoped not. “I don’t think it ever fit.”

She gave a small, thoughtful hum. “No. Perhaps not.”

“Let’s get back, Jules.”

He turned to walk away before she could see his discomfort. He didn’t want to have this conversation mostly because he loathed contemplating the kind of person he’d been. The kind that wrecked lives. He was no longer that young fool, but nor was he as far away from it as he’d like to be either.

He held out his arm to her once more and she gave him her hand. They continued on, just as he suggested, but he found the Manor rose before them more quickly than he wanted it to. He slowed his steps, searching for any excuse to prolong their time together.

“Jules—” he began.

“Yes?”

She turned toward him, her arm still threaded through his. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and from laughter, and for a moment he forgot entirely what he had meant to say.