She unbuttoned it, but struggled to free her arms from the wet confines. Then Andrew was behind her, his hands helping pull the sleeves down. His fingers brushed her wrist as he grasped the edge of the coat, and a ripple of warmth tiptoed its way up her arm. She stared at the spot in wonder. It must be that her skin was so very cold—contact with anyone even a degree warmer, was certain to elicit such a strange reaction.
He took the coat, draping it over a stand near the fire, then crossed to the chair that sat in front of the large desk. Grasping the back, he pulled it over to her.
She hesitated. Her skirts were more than a little damp, and she was certain the water would mar the wing-backed chair, but he stood there, watching her expectantly with those blue eyes of his, so she lowered herself into it. He began to shrug from his jacket, but she lifted a hand.
“No, I cross the line at making your clothing as wet as mine.”
His eyes held a challenge, but she was certain hers did as well, and after a drawn-out moment, he relented, crossing to the fire. He stoked it, then leaned against the mantle, seemingly at his ease, though his gaze was pointed and rather intense.
In only a minute, maybe two, he’d taken care of nearly everything except the wet clothing she was forced to keep on her person. All while she stood by, acting the damsel in distress.
She might have found it humorous if she weren’t so cold that she struggled to even fist her fingers.
Andrew’s jaw seemed to clench. “I cannot imagine you will be able to get warm in that state. I will call you a hackney so you might return home to some dry clothing.”
“It is a deluge out there; call me a hackney, and you will be forced to return with me for your own change of clothing.” Her teeth clacked together embarrassingly as she spoke. She inched to the edge of the chair, reaching her stiff fingers out to the fire’s flickering embers.
Andrew shook his head. “But you cannot stay here.”
“I am terribly sorry to intrude on your day—I intended to do you a—”
“You are not intruding; that is not the issue. It is that you are catching your death by cold.”
“I hardly believe it is that severe,” Sophie tried to laugh, but it came out stilted and forced.
Truly, she’d only been in the rain for a handful of minutes. How had it managed to soak through to her very bones? And why did the warmth of the fire not seem to reach her? She was about to plunge her hands into its flickering depth, if only to feel something.
Andrew shook his head again, seeming to fight back words. After a moment, he asked, “What is the most cold?”
She nodded to her hands. “My fingers are ridiculously frozen. I should have brought my muff.”
He strode forward, reaching a hand out for them. She obliged, placing hers in his. If he were half as warm as he’d been minutes before when he’d brushed her wrist, this may work as well as the literal baptism by fire she’d been considering.
His hands engulfed hers, covering them in both his own with ease. She’d never before thought her hands overly petite, but they were nearly minuscule in comparison to Andrew Langford’s.
His fingers tensed around hers. “Blast, Soph—these are ice.”
She would have liked to say something witty, but the cold seemed to have altered her mind. “I know it.” And as his warmth transferred to her, the tips of her fingers began to ache.
He focused on their hands, rubbing his on either side, a furrow between his brows. His eyes lifted to hers, his hands slowing. She did not want him to pull away; the warmth was too wonderful, beginning to twist up her arms now. She leaned closer.
“Why were you bringing me lunch?” he asked, his voice pitched low.
“Your housekeeper said you’d forgotten it.”
“She might have sent a maid.”
“I asked if I could help.”
His hands had stopped their movement, but he did not pull away. “Why?”
“I wished to repay some of the kindness you are giving me in letting me stay.”
His jaw worked. His gaze bore into her. Then he gave a small shake of his head. “You do not need to do that.”
“It is because the lunch is ruined, isn’t it?” she asked in a mock whisper. “You would appreciate my efforts if your victuals had actually made it here in an edible state.”
He breathed out a chuckle, clasping her hands tighter, then releasing them and stepping away. “Yes, exactly. Some favor you have done me now.”
