And she could not argue with herself over the reasoning.
“Grace,” he said again, striding toward her once more.
But she did not want to hear anything he had to say. And neither did she wish to linger in his intoxicating presence for another second more. To do so would be foolhardy.
She turned on her heel and fled, rushing through the snow-covered path with such haste that she slipped and nearly fell. She caught herself just before she went careening into a holly bush, and almost slammed into her brother’s tall, imposing form as she rounded a bend.
“Grace,” Dev said in his familiar, comforting baritone. He gripped her by the elbows, steadying her lest she topple over as another strong gust of winter’s wind hit them with full force.
How cold the night was, and yet, she had scarcely noticed the frigid temperature mere moments earlier, when she had been in Aylesford’s embrace. Belatedly, she realized her toes were nearly frozen within her slippers. And Aylesford, the scoundrel, had assumed she had been meeting another suitor.
Good heavens, she had not even wanted the one, feigned suitor.Er, betrothed.Er,feignedbetrothed. This was growing more confusing by the moment.
“Dev,” she said, out of breath from her flight.
And guilty. Guilty as sin.
She could only hope the darkness of the night—in spite of the full silver moon hung overhead—would hide her flushed cheeks from her brother’s all-too-knowing gaze. The last thing she wanted was for her brother to force her into nuptials with Viscount Aylesford.
“What are you doing out here?” her brother demanded. “You will catch your death if you do not take care. Or at the least, you will find yourself hopelessly compromised. Since your betrothal was only just announced this evening, I cannot help but to point out how foolhardy and reckless such a lack of care on your part would be.”
She knew her brother well enough to understand he was suspicious.
“I was overheated in the wake of the ball,” she said, which was only one-half a prevarication. “I merely came out here to cool off. To get some much-needed air.”
“Much-needed,” he repeated, his tone grim.
Oh dear. This did not bode well.
He offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to shepherd her back inside the sprawling manor home of Abingdon Hall. The door he chose entered into the study. When they were safely back inside, a wall of warmth hit her, emanating, no doubt, from the merrily crackling fire in the grate.
She could not deny the pleasure of the heat on her icy cheeks, or the bliss of it curling around her frozen fingers and toes. Her gloves had been donned for the elegance of a ball, not for the fierce cold of the winter.
The door clicked closed behind them, and she could not help but to think of the viscount, moored out in the gardens, all alone. Cold in the frigid winter’s wind. He would find his way back inside. Of course, he would. But some part of her she had not previously realized existed had emerged, fretting over him.
After all, he had given her his coat.
Dear God, Aylesford’s coat.
She was wearing it now…
Dev glowered down at her in the low light of the study. “Would you care to explain your foolishness tonight, sister dear?”
She cleared her throat, hugging the coat about her. A hint of his scent—amber and bay rum with that elusive tinge of musk, clouded by the tang of tobacco smoke—washed over her. She could not help but to inhale slowly.
The man smelled as delicious as he looked, curse him.
But her brother was towering over her, fierce and forbidding, demanding answers. Where was the calm, collected influence of her sister-in-law when one needed it?
“Where is Lady Emilia?” she asked, all too aware that her voice emerged as a squeak.
“In her chamber, preparing for a night of rest,” he snapped, raising a dark brow of recrimination. “Just as you ought to be, Grace. Tell me, why are you not in your chamber?”
Briefly, she wondered—nay, hoped—that perhaps he had failed to notice the coat hung about her shoulders. “I already told you, Dev. I was far too warm after the ball, and I ventured into the gardens to seek some fresh, restorative country air.”
“Indeed?” His nostrils flared as he posed the one-word question.
“Yes,” she managed.
