Her presence unsettled him. Always had. She asked sharp questions, pushed every button he possessed, and had the infuriating ability to see straight through him even when he wanted to remain inscrutable. And in York… in York she had unraveled him so completely that he still woke remembering the sound of her breath against his neck.
Now, in the stillness of this forgotten room, with dusk creeping in and cold seeping through the walls, he became acutely aware of every inch of space she occupied.
She was bent over the bolt, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted the wooden pole they had found. He moved next to her, reaching to steady the other end, and as they adjusted their grip their hands brushed.
It was nothing. But it was also far too much.
She stilled. He stilled. Their heads turned in the same instant.
Her eyes lifted to his.
Something deep inside him—something he had suppressed for years with near-military discipline—strained toward her.
If he kissed her, it would feel inevitable.
If he touched her, it would feel like a promise.
If someone found them this way, it would be the end of everything they knew.
He forced himself to step back. It felt like ripping out a vital piece of himself.
“We must focus,” he said, his voice rough.
She nodded, though her expression remained flustered, her breath uneven.
They spent the next stretch of time attempting increasingly desperate escape strategies. None worked. The bolt refused to budge. The panels would not shift. They were trapped.
As the minutes passed and the room darkened, Miles found himself increasingly aware not only of the danger to Jillian’s reputation but of the far greater danger to his self-control.
Because offering for her, should they be discovered, would not feel like duty.
It would feel like surrender.
And that terrified him more than anything Arabella Hartington could devise.
Chapter
Nine
The first hour trapped with Miles had been spent in determined, increasingly futile efforts to escape. The second had been spent in arguing—quietly, irritably, pointlessly—over which one of them bore more responsibility for their predicament. By the third hour, however, the cold in the abandoned East Wing had forced a desperate suspension of hostilities. The stone walls held the winter chill with ruthless efficiency, and even Jillian, usually impervious to drafts, felt her fingertips growing numb.
They had eventually given up and settled against the far wall where old draperies hung from a half-forgotten storage cabinet. Miles, after much reluctant fussing, had removed his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, ignoring her protests with the sort of quiet stubbornness that suggested even he was beyond caring about propriety now. She had accepted only because refusing would have been idiotic—and because the room, long unused, had a fireplace that—had they possessed the necessary firewood and tinderbox appeared to be in no real condition to work. It would offer them no hint of warmth except what the two of them could share.
Which was how she found herself leaning—albeit reluctantly, resentfully, and with great internal turmoil—against Miles’s side, her head tucked against the curve of his shoulder as though she had somehow chosen comfort over dignity. She would never have done such a thing by choice. Absolutely never. She was certain of this. Mostly. Entirely. Well… perhaps notentirely,but nearly enough for argument. There was no other option, she told herself firmly, no matter how her pulse jittered every time his breath stirred a loose curl near her temple.
Miles was warm—infuriatingly so. He radiated heat like a banked hearthstone, and she hated that she noticed. She hated even more that she was grateful for it. Each time she shifted, even slightly, she felt the line of his body against hers, steady and unyielding beneath the layers of clothing, and it sent a strange, uncomfortable awareness spiraling through her.
“This is absurd,” she murmured into the dim room, her words soft but trembling with pent-up tension. “We will be discovered. It is inevitable.”
“Most likely,” Miles replied, turning his head just enough for his cheek to brush her hair. The contact was fleeting but entirely too intimate. “Someone will notice eventually. Perhaps they already have.”
She exhaled slowly. “And when they find us… they will assume the worst.”
“They will not be wrong,” he said, though his tone carried no heat. “We are alone in a secluded wing for hours. There is no version of this discovery that ends without expectations.”
Jillian closed her eyes, trying to summon her usual sharp retorts, but none came. Her voice was quiet when she replied. “It was Arabella. She locked me in. I doubt she ever imagined you were here.”
“I know,” he said, shifting just enough to draw her closer in unconscious protectiveness. “You know. They know. But there isno world in which they would own their schemes in a way that would leave us blameless—not matter that it will cost them. I’m infuriated that they’ve placed you at such risk…were you in here alone Jillian you could well have frozen.”
