Miss Isabella Thaws a Frosty Lord(21)
“Aye,” he answered as quietly as she had but with more urgency, unwilling to rouse any nearby guests yet not wanting to dally lest the snowfall come to an end. “Get dressed and bundle up. There’s something I would show you out—”
“Show me?” He saw the curve of her inviting mouth when she turned to speak through the crack.
He laughed softly. “My apologies, but what can one expect from a cork-brained simpleton? Experience with me, then. Please?”
“A ‘please’ from the man who issues the order to bundle up? This must be serious indeed.”
He growled. “Serious punishment if you do not comply, woman. Now attire yourself properly and let’s be off.” She opened the door a fraction more and he realized what he’d thought a dressing gown was in truth day dress. One sans chemisette, he was pleased to note, giving him an exceedingly enjoyable view of the top of her bosom. “Good. Very good. Now—”
“What manner of punishment, my lord?” The odd inflection in her voice drew his gaze upward to find her evaluating him, her glinting eyes banked for once. There was no possibility she knew where his had settled, was there? “I’m most curious,” she continued, and her tone conveyed her seriousness, “would you banish me from your presence? Exile me to a convent, an institution? Or merely lock me in my room with neither food nor water?”
“Only if I locked myself in there with you.”
Her cheeks flamed. “For shame.”
He stood there, taking in her blushing response to his pert reply. Appreciating her pert nose and farther down, her pert br— “Ahem. Yes…well, that’s me. A shameless, experienced rake. Or so you’ve indicated a time or two—which is not entirely accurate, by the way. But if you insist on debating word choices and decline to accept my invitation—for that’s what it is, you know—alas, I shall be forced to enjoy the dancing snowflakes alone. What a pity, do you not—”
“Snowflakes?” Her eyes once again sparkled like rain-drenched holly.
“Mind you, they weren’t respectably large nor plentiful when I saw them just now so I cannot guarantee how long they’ll last, but yes, snowflakes. Meandering down from yon clouded sky this very moment.”
As if that knowledge lent steel to her spine, she smartly came to attention. “Wonderful! You wonderful man!” Her smile made him feel ten feet tall. “I’ll be but a trice!” And she snapped the door shut against his nose.
Ow!
Damn. He’d have a bruised conk by nuncheon.
It was no more than he deserved, though, given how he’d peered over her head and into her room, seeking more information about the intriguing, interesting, exceptionally enchanting Miss Isabella.
“What a glorious beginning to a new day!” Isabella didn’t care that her hair was stuffed haphazardly into the nearest bonnet at hand and her ears were fairly freezing, didn’t care that she’d exhibited no decorum whatsoever when Lord Frostwood came knocking upon her door—now that had truly been a glorious beginning!—didn’t care that she’d made no effort to disguise her excitement in the unexpected outdoor excursion…
Didn’t care that she was falling for—had already fallen, if one took into account her meeting with the ground yesterday—a completely inappropriate man. Inappropriate not because of who he was, but because of who she was. Inappropriate because of where her future lay. But for once she didn’t give a fig for that either—not now. All she cared about at the moment was the powerful man at her side with his strong arm about her back, guiding her over the manicured lawn, “Crisp and brown, complements of Old Man Winter,” he’d just told her.
“I don’t care if we trod within a muddy ditch,” she said truthfully, feeling the thin layer of moisture seep inside her slippers with every crunching step. “Don’t believe I’d care if my feet turn to blocks of ice—this is worth it a thousand times over!”
“I promise to whisk you inside ere your feet freeze in truth. I don’t need another mishap of yours laid at my doorstep. The ones I was responsible for yesterday are quite enough, I assure you.”
“How you go on, Lord Frostwood. No one blames you for my clumsiness.” While she spoke, a flurry of wind blew a flake or two past her lips and into her mouth. Isabella was instantly reminded of the sensation of his tongue gliding toward that same destination the night before. She ducked to hide her increased awareness of him.
“Yes of course, because everyone can easily see what a gummy gollumpus you are,” he chided with no little irony, gently leading them in another direction. “Miss Isabella, clumsy you most certainly are not!”