Page 6 of Lady Elizabeth’s Winter Stranger

Tom stopped and regarded Elizabeth with a searching attention that she felt to the soles of her feet. “I don’t know. Are we?”

“Would you rather ignore it?”

“That depends.” He continued to eye her uncertainly. “Are you in a mood to slap my face or have hysterics?”

“I’m not the hysterical sort.”

“No, I’ve noticed that. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to tear a strip off my hide for taking such a liberty.”

“I’m not angry,” she said in a neutral tone. She wasn’t, although perhaps she should be. Instead she was curious, intrigued, beguiled. Edgy with suspense about what might happen next.

Nor was she afraid. She’d believed almost from the first that she could trust him. His manner reeked of benevolence. Cyril had clearly felt the same.

“That’s good.” He subjected her to another of those disturbing surveys that seemed to pierce through to her soul.

“I hope you’re not frightened. I did promise to keep you safe, after all.

Please believe me when I say my intentions were only of the purest. For the first five minutes of our acquaintance anyway. ”

She told herself that if she laughed, it would just deliver her over to his attractions. She wasn’t quite there yet. Nor did she want him making assumptions about her willingness to surrender her virtue.

Elizabeth liked Tom. She liked him as much as she’d liked any man she’d ever met. But she didn’t intend for her uncharacteristic recklessness today to have drastic consequences.

“I don’t in general kiss strangers,” she said.

“I don’t either.”

“Then?”

When he looked abashed, the impression charmed her. Society was full of dominant, endlessly confident men. It was nice to be in the company of someone who wasn’t convinced that he had all the answers. “That was a deuced tall oak tree and Cyril was a long way up.”

“Yes,” she said, not sure where Tom was going with this.

His shrug was equally charming. “I didn’t want to break my neck without kissing you first.”

“Oh,” she said, taken aback and captivated at the same time. Something melted inside her. The same something that had become all hot and confused when Tom had remarked on the color of her hair, as if he’d discovered a treasure at the bottom of a deep well.

A self-deprecating smile curled his lips. “When a man’s just met the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, it would be a cruel fate indeed that decreed he die without kissing her.”

“That’s…” She was definitely blushing now. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I have a feeling that when I’m an old man breathing his last, I’ll smile to remember the snowy Christmas Day when I kissed a beautiful stranger in Hyde Park.”

Elizabeth goggled at him, as she struggled to come up with some adequate response to the extravagant compliment.

It wasn’t as if men had never said ridiculous things to her before.

At the recent house party, her most persistent admirer had likened her eyes to sapphires and her lips to rubies and claimed that angels sang when they danced together.

Elizabeth had had trouble holding in her laughter.

She didn’t feel like laughing now. When she studied Tom’s face, what she really wanted to do was fling herself into his arms and beg him to kiss her again. And take his time on this occasion. That last kiss had ended before she had a chance to settle in and enjoy it.

She couldn’t do that. Despite today’s larks, she retained that much awareness of propriety.

He smiled at her with such sweetness that her innards turned to syrup. “I’ve shocked you.”

“Yes.” They started to stroll toward the gates that she could see in the distance.

“I can’t believe nobody’s told you you’re beautiful before. That would mean every man in London needs new spectacles.”

“The difference is that you sound like you mean it.” She only realized how vain that sounded, once the words had left her mouth. “I mean…”

His smile broadened. That smile was jollier than puppies and dancing a waltz and Christmas. That smile made her realize that she was on the verge of more trouble than she could handle. “There’s no need for false modesty. If the gentlemen of Britain don’t shower you with praise, I despair of them.”

In what had been an awful day full of inconvenient travel, starting in the cold predawn hours with a cranky, ill maid, and crowned with her father’s humiliating letter, this time with Tom stood out as remarkably pleasant.

Elizabeth wished she hadn’t been so insistent on leaving, although every rule asserted that she bring the encounter to a close as soon as she could.

Tom’s mind must work along similar lines because his footsteps slowed.

When he bent his head to her, his soft purr made every hair on her body stand up with awareness.

“Do you really have to go so soon? I feel Cyril has dominated our time together, and I’d love the chance to get to know you better. ”

Elizabeth couldn’t help thinking that if she dallied a little longer, he might kiss her again.

She liked that idea. She was caught between the Scylla and Charybdis of Stanton Morley-Bridges and Great-Aunt Agatha.

The prospect of this handsome hero seizing her in his arms and taking her mind off her dilemma was dangerously appealing.

“I could probably stay for a little while.” The family weren’t due back for ages yet, even without the heavy snow that was likely to delay them. Another hour with Tom wouldn’t make much difference to the risks that she’d already taken, although it would make a difference to her.

He rested his gloved hand on hers where it curled around his elbow. Through two layers of leather and with the air so sharp, heat shouldn’t flood her. But his touch filled her with summer.

“However…” she said, not sure how to explain that this concession didn’t mean she conceded altogether.

Another sweet smile that made Elizabeth wish she could stay out here with Tom forever. In his company, she forgot her troubles. Instead she found endless understanding and kindness and admiration.

But of course, a life in Hyde Park wasn’t practical.

For a start, it was too cold in December to set up residence.

Not to mention that she knew nothing about him.

That was part of the appeal: they were true strangers, owing each other nothing.

But presumably like her, Tom had a family and obligations and a life beyond rescuing small boys and flirting with random damsels.

“I assure you, I’ll continue to treat you with all due respect.” A glint of devilry entered his eyes, turning them bright silver. “Unless you’re interested in more kisses. I wouldn’t be averse to those.”

Wry humor turned her mouth down. “In the most respectful fashion, of course.”

“Of course.” He regarded her with a question in his eyes. “So you’re not going to rush off and abandon me to the icy wilderness?”

“Like the ending of Frankenstein?”

Pleasure lit his expression. “I couldn’t put that story down.”

“Neither could I. I felt the most delicious shivers when I read it. And I couldn’t sleep afterward.

” She’d read the novel shortly after it came out last year.

It had been published anonymously, but society was abuzz with rumors about the author’s identity.

Most people she knew assumed it was the scandalous Lord Byron.

“I’m all for delicious shivers,” Tom said and much to her dismay – and reluctant delight – a delicious shiver ran through her at his suggestive tone. “Although speaking of shivers, perhaps it’s time I tried to warm you up.”

She’d been blushing on and off since she met him. Now her cheeks stung with heat, partly because a wicked part of her responded to that idea with a resounding yes. “Tom…”

He gave a soft laugh. “I meant I know a man who sells hot chestnuts at one of the gates a little further on. I know it’s Christmas Day, but let’s see if he’s there. One of life’s luxuries is a hot chestnut on a cold day. May I treat you?”

The tension flowed out of Elizabeth, even as she felt a shameful pang of disappointment. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

He turned away from the path that led back to Piccadilly and Lorimer Square and all her problems and set off across the snow.

The fitful sun chose that moment to emerge and transform the park into a sparkling fairyland.

In this man’s company, Elizabeth couldn’t help feeling that her vexing day turned enchanted as well.

“After that, I should come up with some entertainment for you. What on earth does one do on a snowy day in London?”

“Stay inside and toast one’s toes at the fire?”

Another grunt of amusement. “I’m happy to take you back to my rooms, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

She rolled her eyes at him, which made him laugh again. “On second thoughts, perhaps we should stay in the open.”

“Perhaps we should.” He looked around. “We could have a snowball fight.”

“That would attract too much attention. And anyway, I don’t fancy getting wet and cold.” And drenching Mrs. Dawkins’s cape so she’d know someone had borrowed it. “Call me horridly unadventurous.”

“Never,” he said with theatrical emphasis. “So making angels in the snow is out, too?”

She gave an exaggerated shiver to match his tone. “Even wetter and colder.”

“We could build a snowman?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “That also sounds rather cold and wet.”

“That’s the problem with snow.” Tom tucked her hand more firmly into his crooked elbow. “In that case, it’s chestnuts and conversation.”

She cast him a quick sideways smile. “That sounds perfect.”

“Doesn’t it just?” The warmth in his voice set up a corresponding warmth in her heart, despite the frosty weather.