Surprised, she obeyed without argument. She stilled as he peeled off her thin white evening gloves, one finger at a time. It might have been erotic if her fingertips weren’t on the verge of frostbite.
He placed her hands between his large ones and rubbed them. They began to warm as did the rest of her in a disturbing fashion. “Where is Spot tonight?” she asked to distract herself from their closeness.
“He is at home in the stables standing guard over a new litter. Spot is now a father with responsibilities.”
She laughed. “At least you are no longer the focus of his attention.”
He grinned. “I don’t expect it to last. Put these on.” He handed her his leather gloves.
“Oh no, I cannot.”
“Please. Otherwise I’ll feel guilty.”
“If we are beset by robbers, I shall be sure to remind you of how guilty you are,” she said, pulling on his gloves.
She had to lace her fingers to hold the large gloves on, but her hands were warmer. The road seemed endless, winding away through the trees. How long until dawn? Her stomach growled.
“You’re hungry. I should have thought of that,” he said.
“Yes, we could’ve had a picnic.”
“Hunger does not improve your disposition,” he observed.
“I missed dinner at the Cannings,” she said, her voice laden with regret. “It would have been delicious.” Visions of venison, oysters, and champagne made her salivate.
Amusement softened his voice. “I’ll see if I can rustle up a chicken leg when we get to the inn.”
“It’s grown so late,” she said. “I doubt they’ll even admit us.” She gasped. “Thereisa light!” She grabbed Montsimon’s sleeve. “See!”
“I do believe you’re right!”
They increased their pace in the direction of a faint, flickering light, which vanished then reappeared through the swaying trees.
A farm building emerged out of the dark, nestled amongst bushes. Lamplight shone from a window. Montsimon stopped to loop the reins over the low branch of a fir tree. “You wait here. I’ll go and see who it is.”
“Oh no, Montsimon! You are not leaving me here alone.”
“I need you to mind the horse.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “I think the horse can look after itself.”
He grinned and looked her up and down as if judging her small stature. “And I wouldn’t advise you to ride away on him.Ifyou can mount him. He’s close on seventeen hands.”
She hitched up the gloves sliding off her fingers. “Are you casting aspersions on my lack of height?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. I very much approve of how you’re put together.”
She reddened. “How audacious! You’ve lost your manners entirely.”
“We are not at a ball, Lady Brookwood. I would prefer to find the animal here when I return. And that goes for you, too.”
“You don’t trust that I will be, evidently.”
He eyed her. “Not for one moment. You are most dreadfully stubborn.”
“I am not the stubborn one here, my lord.” She opened her mouth to give him a further dressing down, but clamped it shut when he strode away.
There was some sense to his reasoning. Who knew what might lie behind that light? His having to protect her hampered him. For not entirely selfish reasons, she hoped he’d return soon, and in one piece. She leaned against the tree’s rough bark and watched him break into a powerful run across the moonlit meadow. Maddening man, she would bet nothing ever penetrated his self-assurance. She would like to be the one to do it, just once!
