Chapter Two
Edward woke at dawn. He listened for rain against the windowpanes, but heard only silence.
He climbed out of bed. His leg was stiff, as it always was in the mornings. He limped across the room and opened the shutters. A gray sky and bare winter trees met his eyes. Everything was sodden—the trees, the straggling lawn, the sweep of the driveway dotted with puddles—but it wasn’t raining. A few more hours, and he could leave. In fact, even if it did start raining again, he was leaving. He’d rather endure a march over the Spanish Alps than a second night at Creed Hall.
Edward shivered. His breath hung in front of his face, mist-like. There was no ice in the water in his basin, but it was still too damned cold. You’re getting soft, he chided himself.
He looked at the fireplace. N
