He grinned at her. “Is that what you tell yourself whilst you lie alone in your virginal bed, thinking of me?”
How did he know she had thought of him when she had lain in bed last night? She was flushing quite furiously, she was sure. Giving herself away.
“I do not think of you at all when I am in my bed or otherwise,” she lied. “Indeed, I had completely forgotten your entire existence until you came running to me through the snow today.”
Another horrid prevarication.
No one could forget Blade Winter. Especially not after he had kissed her. But the conceited scoundrel did not need to know that.
He lowered his head, his warm breath fluttering over her lips. “You are bluffing, Lady Felicity. The pretty pink on your cheeks tells me so.”
The ache within her blossomed and grew. This was foolishness. Dangerous. Reckless. They were halfway across the park, in plain sight of anyone who strolled past a window in the library of Abingdon House. She should not want to kiss him more than she wanted her next breath.
But she did. Of course, she did.
“You wish,” she taunted him, aware she should not.
They had reached the place where she should tell him she would continue on to the house herself. That if they were seen, alone—Felicity with a torn and stained gown—her chances at securing herself a husband not just at this house party but ever would be utterly dashed.
Those words would not come. All that did was longing, fierce and intense.
His head dipped a bit more. His lower lip brushed over hers in a fleeting prelude to a kiss. “You are the one who wishes, love.”
“Here now, you two, wait for us!” called Miss Winter. “Demon found the dagger.”
The moment was effectively shattered. Mr. Winter straightened to his impressive height without giving her a true kiss. Felicity blinked and turned to find his brothers and sister emerging from the woods and starting toward them.
She told herself it was just as well they had been interrupted.
That no good could come of kissing Blade Winter again.
Only a little voice inside her remained.
Why not enjoy yourself before you sell your body and soul to save your sisters?
Why not indeed?
“And then,” Christabellapronounced, reaching the dramatic pinnacle of her story, “Lady Felicity returned with them all, with a torn dress and looking as if she had taken a tumble. Apparently, they were having a knife-throwing competition, and it went awry.”
“You told poor Lady Felicity to go for a walk in the woods, knowing theotherWinter clan was already there?” Gill asked as he plucked a pin from her hair.
Christabella pursed her lips and considered her handsome husband in the looking glass as he went about dismantling her careful coiffure. The Duke of Coventry occasionally enjoyed playing lady’s maid for her, and she had to admit, she loved his long fingers running through her hair. He had a special fondness for her red curls, and Christabella? Well, she had a special fondness for the duke himself.
Still, when her husband put it thus, Christabella could not deny encouraging Lady Felicity to go for a walk where her half siblings had been gathered sounded quite irresponsible of her. However, she’d had good intentions at the time. She most certainly had not intended for Lady Felicity to return, bedraggled and with a slice in her gown. Looking quite as if she had been compromised. Thank heavens none of the rest of the company had been about upon that merry band’s return.
She sighed. “First, please cease referring to them as the other Winters. We areallWinters, Blade, Genevieve, Gavin, and Demon included. Second, I hardly expected them to be throwing knives about!”
He chuckled. “Do you not know them by now, Belle? I daresayanythingis possible.”
“Well, I most certainly do know that they are all rather…eccentric and unique. Indeed, I shall endeavor to never forget that one must cease all matchmaking efforts when a group of Winters wanders into the woods. Heavens, I suppose it is a miracle they were not shooting pistols instead.”
“Or worse.”
She shuddered. “I have no wish to imagine worse.”
“Making babies cry,” Gill suggested, removing the last of the pins from her hair.
“I hardly think so.” Christabella frowned at her husband. “Grace said Blade held Lady Gwendolyn as if she were fashioned of porcelain.”
