She pulled her arm from his and faced him. “Oh you poor thing. You must try it. Just stick your tongue out and try to catch the flakes. They don’t taste like much, but when the cold hits your tongue it’s just, well, it’s triumphant!”
After smiling at him, she tilted her head again and chased after the snowflakes with her tongue.
He looked at his footman, who was better trained than to watch the sight of his wife looking into the gray sky. Shrugging his shoulders he tilted his head and stuck out his tongue. He didn’t exactly chase after the white powder, but when a snowflake landed on his tongue, he understood what she meant. There was a ridiculous sense of accomplishment in the small achievement and before he knew it, he was counting how many he caught.
So intent on his count, he didn’t see the ball of snow coming until it hit him on the side of his hat, knocking it off. “What?” He looked about to see his wife grinning at him.
“Surely you’ve thrown snowballs before.” Her arm lifted and another came his way.
He ducked, then turned with a grin of his own. “I am by far the best snowball thrower of this family.”
She laughed. “You mean youwere.”
Another snowball hit him on the shoulder, half the snow sprinkling his face as it burst on contact. “You imp!” He should have known. Quickly, he gathered up a snowball, but another of hers hit him on his arm. She must have created them while he was catching snowflakes. With her head start, there was only one way to win this.
He headed for her, and she laughed as she threw another, hitting him squarely on the chest. She was less than twenty feet away and started pummeling him with snowballs. When he reached her, he knocked her over, to keep the next snowball from hitting him.
She shrieked as they fell to the snow-covered ground, and he twisted in mid-fall, so she lay on top of him.
“I win.” He smiled at her rosy cheeks and the touch of cold upon her nose.
Her laughter filled the air even as their clouds of breath mingled together. “You certainly did.”
Yes, he’d won her heart and his happiness. Cupping the back of her head, he kissed her. This time it wasn’t the chaste kiss he’d given after the ceremony as they signed the parish registry. He wanted to warm her from the inside out until she wished to be as naked as he had been in her studio. His tongue demanded entrance into her sweet mouth, and she opened willingly, her hands in her gloves holding his head as if she were afraid he would stop.
As their tongues entwined, a small moan came from deep in her throat and he felt himself growing hard. He grabbed her rounded arse and pulled her tighter against him, oblivious to everything but the woman in his arms who squirmed to get closer.
It wasn’t until the snow beneath his uncovered head began to melt down the nape of his neck that he recalled where they were and the dangers of the cold to his new bride. Forcing himself to retreat, he broke the kiss, only by turning his head.
She proceeded to kiss his neck, causing ripples of excitement to run up his spine. He whispered in her ear. “Amelia, we must go inside if you wish to take your clothes off and sate the fire building inside you.”
She stilled as if she too suddenly recalled where they were. She jerked her head up. “A fire? That’s an excellent idea.” She rolled off him to sit in the snow.
Quickly, he gained his feet and helped her stand. Then as if nothing untoward had occurred before the coachman, footmen, and no doubt some of his house staff, he escorted his wife up the steps to her new home.
His wife. Just those two words had his heart beating harder.
The door opened before them. “Welcome home, my lord and lady.” Pratt stood to the side as they entered and helped Amelia with her outwear.
The butler then assisted him with his great coat, looking pointedly at his head for his hat.
“It’s outside.”
Pratt raised one eyebrow at that news, but refrained from further comment on it. “The staff have been given the day off as you requested. The stable master will inform the coach attendants.”
“Very good.” He wished to have Amelia alone as soon as possible.
Amelia smirked at him, amusement glittering in her eyes. Pleased that she found his decision acceptable, he started to lead her past Pratt.
“Excuse me, my lord.”
He halted and turned. “Yes.”
“I had cook put together a cold dinner for you. You’ll find it in the kitchen if you so desire it.” The older man didn’t exactly smile, but his usual stoic countenance had disappeared. “I think you may require it later.”
“Very forward thinking of you, Pratt. That will be quite acceptable.” Pleased that his butler had thought further ahead than he had, he led his wife up the stairs.
When they reached the landing, she finally spoke. “If we are not to need the servants, whatever will we do?”
