Because he was the most deliciously handsome man she had ever beheld. And because he was also the most fluent kisser. She could well understand Lady Penhurst’s defection. Though thoughts of the woman stung—the notion of any other female in Blade Winter’s arms did, in truth—Felicity could acknowledge that much.
In what was mayhap a futile action, she retrieved her discarded pelisse and stuffed her arms into the sleeves. Frantically, she began fastening the seemingly endless line of buttons. If she were fully clothed, mayhap she could blunt the scandal’s blow…
Oh, who was she fooling? There would be no blunting. The blow of scandal, however it came, was always felling for a lady. And for a lady such as herself, needing to make a match to save her sisters’ futures, it would be a societal death knell, pure and simple.
Felicity reached the top of her pelisse, only to realize she had misbuttoned. One mooring remained, but no buttons. The entire affair was off. A glance down her person confirmed she had begun with the second button instead of the first.
“Blast,” she muttered, as she began to unfasten them with as much haste as her trembling fingers could muster.
The door opened and her heart fell for the second time.
But only Blade Winter sauntered through. The portal closed behind him. He looked as if he had been kissing someone, she thought to herself. And then she realized he had.
Her.
What a cursed disaster. What had she been thinking?
“Who was it?” she whispered.
“The footman sent to tend the fire,” he said smoothly. “I have assured him I will stoke the flame for him. He is returning to the main house now, none the wiser that I am not alone.”
Relief fell upon her with so much force, she nearly swooned.
Here was a reprieve, she hoped.
“My lady?” he asked, reaching her, seizing her arms in a grip that was gentle but firm. “You are pale. You are not going to swoon on me, are you?”
She inhaled slowly. “No.”
But she swayed. Listed to the left, then the right. Everything swirled. Even his handsome face and his well-kissed mouth. It had only been a servant, she reminded herself. Not anyone who might cause them trouble. Thank the sweet heavens above. It had not been anyone who might have stormed past Mr. Winter, entered the chamber, and saw her there with her misbuttoned pelisse and kiss-swollen lips.
He steadied her, proving the anchor to her storm-tossed ship. “Calm, Lady Felicity. No one shall ever be the wiser that you were here alone with me. The servant is on his way back to the main house.”
It could have been worse.
So much worse.
And she had been selfish to conduct herself thus, with him.
So desperately, foolishly, stupidly selfish.
She had not been thinking of her sisters when she had been in Blade Winter’s arms. She had only been thinking of herself.
“I must go,” she managed to say. “This… I cannot…We cannot… What happened between us was a mistake, Mr. Winter. One I cannot afford to make again. I have far too many people depending upon me to allow myself to make such an egregious error, regardless of how much I may enjoy it in the moment.”
Because shehadenjoyed it, hadn’t she?Oh dear heavens, how she had.
“What happened between us was not a mistake,” he denied softly, releasing her to trail a finger down her cheek. “You kissed me. That was not a mistake.”
“Yes,” she hissed at him, finally managing to get her pelisse buttoned in the proper order at last. “It was. One which cannot—must not—be repeated.”
“Cannot why?” he asked.
“Because it is wrong.”
“So you have said.” He eyed her calmly. “But you have not spoken a word of why.”
“I have already told you.” She glared at him, hating herself for wanting him so much. Hating him for being so deuced handsome. The inking of the blade atop his hand mocked her. So, too, his visage. Perfectly masculine. Perfect, in every sense.
