He’d promised his sister he’d be home tonight, after a month away. Instead, he was stuck.
Feeling was slowly returning to his body, if not warmth. He covered Lady Amelia in his coat and then staggered to the bench that ran along the edge of the room. There was a kettle filled with water, sloshy and semi-frozen.
He dumped a small amount of tea inside, grabbed two mugs with his other hand and staggered back to the fire.
The intensifying flame was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.
He hung the kettle from an iron hook and turned back to his biggest problem.
She couldn’t stay on the floor.
There was a large, worn armchair in the corner. He moved it in front of the hearth, as close as he dared. What she needed was heat—and fast—but the fire hadn’t taken a chink out of the bitter shroud of the room.
There was one thing he could do, but damn she was going to flay him alive when she woke. He took off his jacket, pulled his shirt over his head, and picked her up off the floor.
He settled into the armchair, holding her against his naked chest, his bare arms resting along the length of hers. His body heat had to work.
The cold air was whiplike against his skin, and goose bumps covered his arms.
Think warm thoughts.A steam engine furnace. A hot bath. A warm brick under his bedsheets. A warm woman under his bedsheets…
He looked down at the chit on his lap. Lady Amelia Crofton. Diamond of theton. Leader of the fashionable set. Cold as the ice shards on the window. And Wildeforde’s bloody fiancée. Damn, this was a mess.
He exhaled hard, trying to steady his shivering through slow, even breaths.
“That’s not what I asked for.” Lady Amelia’s eyes flickered but failed to open. “I said blue.”
His laugh was shaky. “Well, tonight’s not what I asked for either. And I’m partial to grey.”
Her eyes fluttered open. The deep jade green caught the light of the fire.
“Put it under the horse.”
He snorted. Even half-dead, she was giving orders. But he would take them, if it meant she would live. Her eyes closed again, the long dark lashes resting against pale skin.
“You’re welcome, by the way.”
Her grunt was accompanied by a soft sigh—as innocent as a babe. If you were fool enough to believe it.
“Why the devil were you traveling alone?” The snow had been so deep around the broken-down carriage that only a glint of metal from the wheel had given any hint that someone might be in trouble.
There was no response, just a twitch of her nose.
After a long few minutes, warmth finally traveled up his legs. It was a superficial heat, not the bone-deep warmth that came from a hard day’s work, but hopefully it was enough to warm her.
“Lemonade.”
She put a hand on his thigh and pushed herself up, faltering on her weak legs toward the fire.
His heart leapt to his throat as he lurched up and grabbed her dress, jerking her backward before she could fall into the flames. A dozen buttons popped free and scattered across the floor.
“You will be the bloody death of me.” He maneuvered her back to the chair, slumping her over it, her limbs sprawled like a green boy’s after his first trip to the pub. Not taking any more chances, he dragged the chair farther from the flames.
“I’ll get you your damn lemonade,” he muttered, turning back to the boiling kettle. Using the tongs by the fire, he poured tea into the two mugs.
She was every bit as high-horsed as he remembered. Although at least she’d deigned to speak to him—an improvement upon their last encounter.
The first few gulps burned a satisfying trail down to his belly. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
