His hands were warm and large, easily dwarfing hers. Capable too. She liked the way his skin felt against hers. And so, she allowed him to lead her to the far end of the cavernous library, to where the fire had been banked for the evening.
He walked backward, their fingers entwined, entering a portion of the chamber that seemed a whole different world compared to where she had left her brace of candles. This was a world, instead, of shadows and informality. Though he was very much a stranger to her, aside from their encounters at this house party, a sense of familiarity swept over Pru as he guided her across the room.
And not just familiarity, but comfort. Anticipation curled through her. Although she knew she should extricate herself from not just Lord Ashley’s grasp but from this entire situation—indeed, this room—her body moved of its own accord. Her feet followed, step after step on the thick carpet as he led her deeper into darkness.
He maneuvered them past a desk and chairs, past some marble busts observing like silent sentinels over their midnight folly. How he navigated them so fluidly and effortlessly, she would never know. But suddenly, she found herself before the fire.
He released her hands at last and set to work upon it, adding a lone piece of wood and stoking the red-hot coals. Crackles echoed merrily through the space. He was still dressed in his breeches and shirt, but bereft of his coat, waistcoat, and cravat, lending the scene a whole new layer of intimacy.
She was all too aware she wore only her night rail and wrapper, slippers still on her feet to keep them from the chilled floors during her journey to the library. She had learned over the years that there was no more unpleasant sensation than a winter’s floor in the depths of the night, for she was often plagued by restlessness and an inability to sleep.
Pru watched now as he bent and tended to the fire. How broad his back was, how long his torso, how strong his shoulders. When he lowered to his knees, she could not keep herself from admiring his haunches. Good heavens, his bottom was… Words and coherent thought deserted her. Was this why coats always kept a gentleman’s full form hidden from view?
She could understand, ogling him now as she was—much to her shame—why. The man was positively indecent. His breeches hugged him lovingly, delineating every part of him. It was entrancing. She was helplessly in his thrall, forgetting all the reasons why she must not be here, forgetting the repercussions should anyone come upon them at this hour of the night.
He rolled back his shirtsleeves one by one, revealing long, strong forearms. She felt as if she had committed a sin merely by looking upon him in this low light, in this dangerous space where she could so easily fall into the forbidden.
She had to look away.
And she would, she promised herself. Just as soon as he finished prodding at the coals with the fire poker. Just as soon as he stood and turned to face her. She would stop looking. And she would also flee, as was wise.
But the fire was rising in the hearth, in an eerie echo of the heat rising inside her, filling her with a rich, striking warmth. Her face was hot. Still, she watched Lord Ashley working it, stoking the coals and wood to roaring flame.
Yet another eerie echo, it would seem, of what she felt within.
He replaced the poker and stood at last, apparently pleased with his work, turning to face her once more. Although he stood in shadows, her heart beat faster at the sight of him. He was so handsome. So disarmingly large and masculine. As a tall woman, not many men could make Pru feel dainty. And yet, this man did.
“Are you warmer now?” he asked softly.
She could not tell him the truth, that within, she was a fire to rival the flames crackling from the grate.
“Warmer,” she repeated, feeling as if her tongue was heavy. Or perhaps her mind was sluggish. Stupefied by him. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said, staring at her, his gaze intent.
She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. The reflection awaiting her in the glass was always the same: hair the color of mud, without the sleek natural curl her sisters had inherited, eyes the same uninteresting hue, limbs too long, mouth too wide, hips too full.
All her sisters were beauties, perfectly feminine. But Pru was a head taller than Eugie, Christabella, Grace, and Bea. Horrid enough to be a reviled Winter whose family fortune had been founded in trade. But then to be a woman taller than most gentlemen…
But she must not linger over thoughts like that. Instead, she dismissed all such worries over her inadequacy. Instead, she felt as if she ought to remind him of how untoward this unguarded, unchaperoned moment between them was. She had long considered herself the most practical of all her sisters. Being alone with a rakehell like Lord Ashley Rawdon certainly suggested the opposite.
“I fear I must tell you another rule of proper courtship is that you should never remain alone with an unchaperoned lady in the library at midnight,” she said. “Nor should you build her a fire and invite her to linger.”
His lips twitched into a smile. “Ah, but the fire is for myself as much as it is for you, Miss Winter. It is deuced frigid in this cursed mausoleum, and my feet are cold. As for lingering, the choice is yours. I have not barred the door. You are free to go at any moment.”
Of course she could not go. Not when she was enrobed in darkness with Lord Ashley.
Ash, whispered her impulsive heart.
“I am quite cold as well,” she fibbed. “I shall remain long enough to warm myself before seeking my chamber.”
“Come nearer, Miss Winter,” he invited her.
She blinked. Surely he did not think she would be foolish enough to stand closer to him and tempt fate.
“I am perfectly fine here, thank you,” she said coolly.
“Is standing near to a fire to warm one’s self also against the rules of proper courtship?” he asked, raising a brow.
