In the loft of the barn, I looked over the side at Moomoo. Felton had secured her and gotten her a nice bale of hay for her comfort. I crouched down low on the bed of straw we’d amassed. “My lord, do you think she’s comfortable?”
He stooped, dimming the carriage lantern. “Cows can stand and sleep, but I suspect your Moomoo will settle and lie down when everything is quiet.”
“She likes quiet too.”
I kept my eyes on the cow and the chatter below. The barn had people camped on blankets or in horse pens. Felton bribed a couple to have this spot. I was happy for the privacy, but unsure of things, especially with Felton and I kissing outside of the barn.
The man hadn’t lost his skill at leaving me breathless, still delicious, still something to crave.
“Cecilia, your calf is not going anywhere, but I will try to get her bathed before we start on the next leg of our journey.” He waved at me. “Off with the coat, Lady Gantry. I’m not bedding a cow.”
“But I’m already chilly.”
“I have standards, ma’am. And from what I recall, I can keep you quite toasty.”
Sitting up, I plucked button by button. Shivering, I touched the seams together and handed it to him.
Felton took it and laid it over a bale, something downwind of where we would sleep. He turned like a soldier, snappy and sharp, wrenched off his coat, and draped the heavy chocolate wool atop me.
“Thank you.” My voice was small, for I had so many questions, particularly when his onyx waistcoat fell to the side.
Then he started unbuttoning his wrinkled cuffs. The look in his eyes was a bit of a dare. I should remind him of the people below, but Felton was somewhat unleashed, definitely not sheltering behind a lantern.
Off came his cravat, leaving him in a white shirt and buff breeches, but a fireball rarely slept like that.
If I closed my eyes, my imagination would remind me of every detail—the smoothness of his chest, the rough scars covering his arms. I could paint my Roman soldier with or without his toga.
But my eyes were open.
Button after button came undone. That white shirt fluttered as he pulled it over his head, snapped it and folded it, then laid it to the side.
His hands were on his waistband.
“What if you—What if we need to leave quickly to help Moomoo?”
His laughter fell as he trimmed the wick, putting the lantern to its lowest setting. I could see his outline but not much else.
Felton dropped beside me, fluffed straw for a pillow, and wrenched off his boots. His small pistol went to the side. “Freezing, Cecilia? I do remember you’re always a little chilled.”
“Always.” I peeked at him between my lashes and missed him adjusting the blankets.
The next thing, the best thing, was lying against him. No sense of cold could douse the heat radiating from his skin. No amount of darkness could contain the fire in his eyes when he leaned over me. “Comfortable and cow-free, Lady Gantry?”
It took a second to form the simplest reply. “Yes.”
Were we doing this pattern again? Or was this something new?
Shifting away, Felton lay beside me inches away, not touching me, not sharing all his heat. “I’m here with no demands or promises, but I would have no problem with you moving closer, Lady Gantry.”
A leap of faith, that’s what it was to slide to him, but I’d pressed my luck enough, telling him the truth of my conflicted heart.
“Stubborn.” He scooted to me, making the distance disappear. Like a magnet, my cheek burrowed against his bare shoulder, which was smooth like silk.
His hand went to my thigh, high by my hip. Caressing me, cupping and touching as he dragged off my boots and placed my stocking feet on his shin. “There. I know those little digits will turn to ice blocks if left unattended. Ten months couldn’t have changed that.”
“It can change a lot.” Especially with Enna knowing how to make proper cakes.
“Nothing but fine improvements.” His fingers stroked my side, my abdomen, the space between my bosoms. “Fine like a wine, and you’re still freezing. Let me warm you up.”
