Biting back an oath, Kendall did what needed to be done.
“Here now.” Crouching, he crossed to her. “The night will only become colder. Let us combine our body heat.”
“Y-yes.”
Kendall settled against the wall beside her, feet stretched in front of him.
“My s-skirts can be a b-blanket for your legs,” she stammered.
Smart woman.
“And my frock coat is wool and wide enough for us both,” he added.
She nodded, her head shadowy in the moonlight slipping underneath the door.
With a shaking hand, Lady Isolde set her skirts on his thighs. Kendall pulled the bulky, voluminous weight of them across his legs, instantly grateful for the extra warmth.
Gritting his teeth, he spread his right arm behind her shoulders, holding the side of his frock coat open in invitation.
Before that moment, Kendall would have said Lady Isolde was as loathe to touch him as he was to touch her. That she would lean against him tentatively, avoiding as much of his body as possible.
But he should have known that this woman would never behave as expected.
With a hiccuping sigh, she melted onto his chest, the weight of her body sagging into his as if boneless. Her cold nose pressed into his collarbone, as she reached to pull the tails of his coat around her hips and shoulders.
It was at that moment Kendall realized the gravity of his mistake.
Bloody hell.
The delectablefeelof her, soft and pliant against him. His body lunged at its leash, his hands tingling with the desire to explore the fine texture of her cheek, the curved nip of her waist, the silken weight of her hair.
Torture. Plain and simple.
Swallowing, he tentatively allowed his right hand to rest on the most convenient place—her right hip bone.
“Thank ye,” she murmured against his pectoral, pulling her knees to lean against his thighs. “Ye be so warm.”
He nearly laughed at that.
Warm? He was in Hell. His skin was afire, each point of contact pulsing like hot coals. Could blood actually boil?
He held impossibly still, terrified that if he moved, the heat scouring his veins would lick outward and compel his hands to move, to caress.
Take strength, man!he encouraged himself.Think upon your goals. Of the life to which you aspire.
Lady Isolde stirred and Kendall had to fight the impulse to hold her firm, to snarl that she should not—could not—move.
Instead, she adjusted her head, pressing her ear against his chest.
“Your heart beats so fast,” she whispered. “Surely that cannot be healthy.”
Kendall couldn’t stem his mirthless laugh this time.
Healthy? No, indeed it was not.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered instead.
She gave that snuffling snort he liked far too well. Worse, he felt it as much as heard it.
