Free A Kiss for Midwinter (The Brothers Sinister) by Courtney Milan Page B

and she was never burning again. Not for any man, no matter what he said.
    She got into bed and pulled her pillow over her head.
    No. She didn’t think anything at all about Jonas Grantham. And she was absolutely not angry at him.

Chapter Seven

    S HE WAS DEFINITELY ANGRY AT HIM, Jonas thought, as Lydia Charingford trooped beside him on the way to see Henry. She had thrust her fists into a muff and refused to meet his eyes. His attempts at conversation had been met with sniffs and a cold rebuff. They’d traveled halfway down Fosse Road, and she’d scarcely said a word.
    By the time the park came into view, he was beginning to lose patience. He tried again. “Miss Charingford, might I carry your basket?”
    “Was that a social grace on your part?” She stared straight ahead of her. “Doctor Grantham, I am positively amazed. Eventually, you may become fit to be let out in proper company.”
    “Only selfishness, my dear Miss Charingford.” He let out an inward sigh. “When you swing it that way, you keep hitting the back of my leg.”
    “Oh.” She didn’t say anything else, but she did stop swinging the basket.
    Henry did not live far from his father’s house. One had only to cut across the park and walk down a few streets. But that brought Jonas down the dirt path toward the stage on which stood that massive edifice of a tree. It hadn’t been decorated yet, and its branches gleamed like green poison in the midday sun.
    Somehow, he’d thought this would be…well, definitely not easy. But he’d hoped it would be at least possible. He’d imagined that he would spend time in Lydia’s company. She was always beyond fair-minded with everyone other than him.
    A friend had once told him that he was like bitter coffee—positively habit-forming, once one acquired a taste for the beverage, but off-putting on the first few sips. So he’d harbored no illusions that she would love him instantly. But she might have moved from hatred to approbation, and from there, he’d hoped that she wouldn’t grimace too much at the thought of him.
    Now, anything other than the dislike she heaped on his head seemed inconceivable.
    “So,” he tried again as they approached the tree, “your father read me another lecture today when I came by for you. If he thinks so ill of me, I’m surprised that he lets you out at all.”
    Little spots of pink blossomed on her cheek. “Don’t you talk about my father,” she said in a low voice. “And how dare you imply that about me? There’s nothing objectionable in walking in public with a man, even if he insists that he’s a doctor and not a gentleman.”
    He looked up to the sky, which answered only with clouds. “I only said—”
    “I know perfectly well what you meant, Doctor Grantham. You think that after my indiscretion, he should have locked me away, never allowing me to be in the company of another man.”
    “I do not think that.” He bit out those words. “I have never said that. I never will.”
    She wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
    “It would make no sense to think that, as I enjoy being in your company.”
    “Stop,” she said, shaking her head. “Please stop.”
    So Jonas did. He stopped walking in front of the stage, the dark green branches of the tree looming over him like a menacing creature made of holiday cheer.
    “Listen to me, Lydia,” he snapped. “If you’re going to despise me, do me the favor of hating me for the things I’ve said, rather than the ones you’ve imagined.”
    “I’m imagining things?” A wild light came into her eyes. “You think I’m imagining that you look at me like I’m a mistake that should have been put away? You think I’m imagining the way you weigh me on your scale of moral superiority and find me lacking? I know precisely what you think of me.”
    He actually heard himself growl at her. “I don’t have a scale of moral superiority. You know this is all balderdash. You can tell yourself that I’m thinking myself