Part of her was not certain if this was another of his rakish ruses. Either way, she felt responsible for his chill. She moved closer herself, hesitating for a moment before placing her arms around him.
She ground her molars against the sensation of his bare skin beneath her fingertips. He was smooth and yet contained such barely leashed power. It was a delightful juxtaposition—the sleekness of his flesh coupled with masculine, corded muscles.
“I do believe we are beyond proper,” she observed grimly. “And you are cold because of me. It is only fair if I do my part to warm you after you made certain I did not turn into an icicle.”
“I can think of other ways to warm me,” he said.
Her head snapped back so she could see his face. He was grinning at her, the rogue, revealing that lone dimple. Looking like that glorious golden god once more, the one she could not resist. He was teasing her, she realized.
“You are a scoundrel,” she returned, but her insult lacked heat.
“A terrible one,” he agreed easily.
Still, she was not sure that he actually was. At least not to the degree she had supposed when she had gone running into the snow and ice. Her reaction to his proposal earlier had been partially down to her wounded pride. Now, she was no longer as certain as she had been earlier that everything had been a lie. He certainly seemed truthful when he offered his explanation.
“You are telling me the truth about your brother, Lord Ashley?” she pressed.
Why did he have to smell so good? Feel so good? Look so good? Why did he have to be caring and considerate and tender? Not wanting him would be so much easier if he were a wretch. If his body did not feel so delicious beneath her traveling hands. And traveling they were, much to her dismay, over his back and shoulders, down his arms. Caresses, in truth. She told herself it was the best means of warming his cool skin.
“Of course I am telling you the truth,” he said, his voice a deep vibration she absorbed with her fingertips. “I have told you nothing but the truth from the moment… Fair enough. I did tell you several lies.”
She stilled. “What were they?”
“I lied about following you that day in the library,” he said, his voice unrepentant. “The truth is, I had been following you.”
Pru frowned at him. “I already knew that.”
“I also lied about Coventry’s interest in foundling hospitals,” he admitted. “I never heard him speak of them. But I would like to do penance for that lie now. I want to hear about the foundling hospital that is so dear to you, and about the one you imagine yourself running one day.”
Yet again, she searched his gaze, looking for a sign of deceit. He seemed genuine, however. Earnest.
“What do you want to know about it?” she asked.
His arm slid around her waist, drawing her more firmly to his side. She settled there, allowing the closeness, the intimacy. This time, it felt right. Natural.
Better than natural.
It felt good.
“Everything there is to know about it,” he said softly. “Tell me about the children there. What are they like?”
She smiled to think of them. “Oh, how I miss them. They are lonely, so many of them. They are desperate for someone to embrace them, to show them affection. I play games with them. Some, I have been teaching to read. Others, the infants, are the sweetest. I hold them when their wet nurses have finished their feeding if I am able.”
There was nothing sweeter than an innocent baby nestling in one’s arms. Pru loved children, and when her brother had begun the foundling hospital, she had realized just how meaningful she found her interactions with them. Knowing the children there had no families of their own broke her heart. How she wished she could take them all under her wing and claim each as her own.
“You care about them,” Lord Ashley said then, interrupting her thoughts.
“Very much so,” she agreed, her smile turning sad. “I miss them, whilst I am here in the country.”
“I admire that, Pru.” His voice was even quieter than it had been before. “More than you know.”
For some odd reason, she found herself believing him.
