village.”
“What happened to ‘Let’s not bicker, Claxton’?” He raised his voice several octaves in an imitation of hers.
“I’m not bickering.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You are.”
His head pounded at her obstinacy. “Did you not see how I found you? I thought you’d broken your neck. Don’t pretend as if a fall is of no concern. As if you don’t remember—”
“I remember, thank you very much,” she shouted. Set against the bleak backdrop of winter, Sophia’s countenance blazed brilliant, with raspberry-blush cheeks and bright eyes, and just like that, desire struck him, like a kick to his gut.
“If you must know,” she added testily, “I rather skated down the incline, and so as not to fall chose to deliberately slide down on my bottom there at the end. Not the most graceful move in my repertoire, but I didn’t expect an audience.”
Valise in hand, she carefully maneuvered the frozen brook bed, her delicate boots crunching lightly on the ice. She proceeded to the far side of the ditch, a path that would take her to Lacenfleet and away from him.
She muttered, “I’m not made of eggshells. I will not break from a mere bump or shatter from cold.”
Well, good. He did not regret so much, then, the near violent urge to grab her and shake some sense into her. And then kiss her senseless again.
Damn, but he wanted to kiss her.
Something about the cold weather and the way she looked so delectable bundled up in her redingote, scarf, and hat, like a little present waved in front of his nose that he’d never be allowed to open, kindled an already smoldering fire in his chest. A consequence, no doubt, of living the life of a monk for the past seven months, two days, and five hours, trying to become a man worthy of—
He ground his teeth together. None of that mattered anymore. He had made mistakes for which there would be no forgiveness. Now effectively set free from his vows, he would have a woman as soon as he returned to London. A pair of them, perhaps—both dark haired and green eyed and who looked like Sophia, if that was what he needed to shatter the fantasy of her and forget.
Still, he would not be dismissed. Not after he’d found her like that. She’d gone down intentionally, his eye . He followed her, the frost cracking loudly under his weight to a greater degree than when she had crossed.
She twisted round and eyed him like a haughty queen. She made a beautiful, regal duchess. He’d always thought so. “Really, Claxton, your husbandly concern is admirable. But as of last night, unless you have forgotten, I am to become an independent woman. Accordingly, I would appreciate being allowed to resolve my own difficulties from this point forward.”
It had begun to snow again quite heavily. “Sophia—”
“Good-bye.” She gave him her back again.
In silence he stood, observing as she climbed a few feet up the ditch wall, only to slide, scrabbling for purchase, down again. This sequence repeated numerous times until, at last, the amusement of watching her fail played out.
Vane stepped forward over the stones and grabbed the valise from her hands.
“Ah—don’t!” she shouted.
He extended the case out of her reach.
“It’s not that you are incapable physically of achieving the feat, dear girl.” He bent, leveling his nose with hers. “Rather, the cumbersome nature of your valise unde rmines your efforts, as does the impractical style of your clothing. But if you haven’t noticed, it has gotten colder and is snowing again. Any further delay is foolhardy.”
He tossed the leather case high over the ledge, where it landed with a solid thump . “There. Now come along.”
He reached for her.
“Not with you—” She pushed his hand away, allowing him the opportunity to capture her elbow in doing so.
“Go. Up. Now.”
Leading her by the arm, he hoisted her in front of him and half pushed, half lifted her up the remainder of the ascent. Taller and heavier by
“What happened to ‘Let’s not bicker, Claxton’?” He raised his voice several octaves in an imitation of hers.
“I’m not bickering.” She jabbed a finger at him. “You are.”
His head pounded at her obstinacy. “Did you not see how I found you? I thought you’d broken your neck. Don’t pretend as if a fall is of no concern. As if you don’t remember—”
“I remember, thank you very much,” she shouted. Set against the bleak backdrop of winter, Sophia’s countenance blazed brilliant, with raspberry-blush cheeks and bright eyes, and just like that, desire struck him, like a kick to his gut.
“If you must know,” she added testily, “I rather skated down the incline, and so as not to fall chose to deliberately slide down on my bottom there at the end. Not the most graceful move in my repertoire, but I didn’t expect an audience.”
Valise in hand, she carefully maneuvered the frozen brook bed, her delicate boots crunching lightly on the ice. She proceeded to the far side of the ditch, a path that would take her to Lacenfleet and away from him.
She muttered, “I’m not made of eggshells. I will not break from a mere bump or shatter from cold.”
Well, good. He did not regret so much, then, the near violent urge to grab her and shake some sense into her. And then kiss her senseless again.
Damn, but he wanted to kiss her.
Something about the cold weather and the way she looked so delectable bundled up in her redingote, scarf, and hat, like a little present waved in front of his nose that he’d never be allowed to open, kindled an already smoldering fire in his chest. A consequence, no doubt, of living the life of a monk for the past seven months, two days, and five hours, trying to become a man worthy of—
He ground his teeth together. None of that mattered anymore. He had made mistakes for which there would be no forgiveness. Now effectively set free from his vows, he would have a woman as soon as he returned to London. A pair of them, perhaps—both dark haired and green eyed and who looked like Sophia, if that was what he needed to shatter the fantasy of her and forget.
Still, he would not be dismissed. Not after he’d found her like that. She’d gone down intentionally, his eye . He followed her, the frost cracking loudly under his weight to a greater degree than when she had crossed.
She twisted round and eyed him like a haughty queen. She made a beautiful, regal duchess. He’d always thought so. “Really, Claxton, your husbandly concern is admirable. But as of last night, unless you have forgotten, I am to become an independent woman. Accordingly, I would appreciate being allowed to resolve my own difficulties from this point forward.”
It had begun to snow again quite heavily. “Sophia—”
“Good-bye.” She gave him her back again.
In silence he stood, observing as she climbed a few feet up the ditch wall, only to slide, scrabbling for purchase, down again. This sequence repeated numerous times until, at last, the amusement of watching her fail played out.
Vane stepped forward over the stones and grabbed the valise from her hands.
“Ah—don’t!” she shouted.
He extended the case out of her reach.
“It’s not that you are incapable physically of achieving the feat, dear girl.” He bent, leveling his nose with hers. “Rather, the cumbersome nature of your valise unde rmines your efforts, as does the impractical style of your clothing. But if you haven’t noticed, it has gotten colder and is snowing again. Any further delay is foolhardy.”
He tossed the leather case high over the ledge, where it landed with a solid thump . “There. Now come along.”
He reached for her.
“Not with you—” She pushed his hand away, allowing him the opportunity to capture her elbow in doing so.
“Go. Up. Now.”
Leading her by the arm, he hoisted her in front of him and half pushed, half lifted her up the remainder of the ascent. Taller and heavier by
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