Forever Winter by Amber Daulton Page A

head. Dark, unkempt tresses swirled around her face. “Today! We will marry today if it’s the last blasted thing I do.” She clenched her fists until the knuckles whitened. She struggled to stay in control of her emotions. “No amount of snow, ice or even hail will ruin this day.” Stomping to her vanity and grabbing a brush, she forced the coarse quills through her thick mane and grunted as tangles snagged in the bristles. Her mother hurried to stand behind her and took the brush . She gently freed the tangles until locks of brown silk waved across her daughter’s strong shoulders.
    Susanna breathed deep and smiled into the vanity mirror at her mother Lady Lorican smiled in return. Her mother was right. Snow was nothing to worry about. As long as the reverend arrived safely to perform the ceremony, nothing could truly ruin her long-awaited day.
    Susanna glanced at the diamond ring on her finger. As long as she had Camden Beckinworth, she needed nothing more.

    ****
    “You are to be her husband. You tell her.” Baron Alban Lorican poured himself a glass of brandy, drained it, and refilled the glass. He filled another and cast his gaze over his shoulder. A cursing young man sat hunched over in a comfortable leather chair with his head between his legs. He rocked back and forth. Lord Lorican stalked toward him, kneed his shoulder for attention and waited until their eyes met. Resignation darkened the younger man’s brown gaze. Lorican handed him the second glass full of crisp, burgundy liquid and set the crystal bottle in front of him on the coffee table. “Drink up, my boy. You’ll need it. In case you haven’t noticed, that little lady has a temper like an ox.”
    Viscount Beckinworth’s brow rose. He drained the glass, visibly shivered and closed his eyes. Seconds passed before he grabbed the bottle for a refill. “Believe me, I have firsthand knowledge of that temper. I ever bear a scar to prove it.” He rubbed at a small mark on his cheek and smiled. The woman amazed him in so many ways. “Besides, you are to blame for that, my lord. Lady Lorican is far too kind.”
    Lord Lorican huffed in a mixture of agreement and annoyance. He reclined in his favorite winged-back chair, lit a cigar and shook his head. “As I said, you tell the filly.”
    Camden nodded. The newest problem wasn’t major in the slightest, for the men at least. The women, however, would undoubtedly make mountains out of molehills. Tunneling both hands through his hair, he ripped out the ribbon pinning his long hair respectably to his nape and considered strangling himself with it. Refastening it, instead, he refused to take the coward’s way out.
    It was their wedding day. He shouldn’t even see the bride beforehand. But, alas, what choice did he have? Send a servant in his stead? No . That poor soul didn’t deserve his woman’s temper for simply relaying a message. Besides, the manor was in turmoil. Every servant was hard at work preparing for the morning nuptials, not to mention the normal household duties. The storm couldn’t have come at a worse time.
    Spending several minutes with the baron in his immaculate study, Camden savored his second glass of brandy and a cigar before summoning the courage to speak to his betrothed. After appreciated but useless advice from the stressed baron, he headed toward the ladies’ parlor where he expected his future wife to be relaxing. Instead, he found the cozy little room empty. She must still be in her bedchamber. Biting his lip, he contemplated visiting her there. While engaged, they were not yet married. It was completely unacceptable.
    But rakes were expected to ignore propriety— even reformed ones, from time to time.
    Bypassing several rushing servants chatting about the cold and winter plants, he headed upstairs as if he belonged. And he did, somewhat. The Loricans treated him like family even without marriage vows. He was forever grateful. His parents died five years earlier while he