Page 72 of Snowbound Surrender

Finally Callum stepped inside on a swirl of snow. He shrugged off his greatcoat and jacket, hung them on pegs by the door, and then turned to her. His cheeks were reddened and his eyes bright. The tight smile he wore faded into a slack-jawed shock as he took her in.

“Is your horse well?” she asked.

“She’s snug for the night.” His voice was rough.

“Just like us, eh?” She tried on a teasing tone and gestured around them.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said inanely.

“You left it for me to put on. Don’t you remember?” Maybe there was nothing at all wrong with her. Maybe the cold had addledhisbrain.

He picked up his dressing gown and crushed it in his fists. “I left you this too.”

“I know, but I don’t want to wear it. I’m quite content.” She turned to stare into the fire and rubbed her hands from under her breasts to her hips and back again, the hem of the shirt riding up a few inches to her upper thighs. “Your shirt feels so good against my skin.”

“But… But…” He sounded like an imbecile.

“But what? What on earth is the matter?” She stood, faced him, and put her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who commanded me out of my wet things.”

His face was a picture of shock and awe, his gaze traveling up and down her body, lingering in places that left her tingling. “Are you sure you’re well?”

A splinter of doubt made her suddenly self-conscious. Was it her hair? It was probably a mess from the snow and the ride. Or was it her body? Was there something unpleasing about the way she was assembled?

She looked down, touching the various body parts from her collarbones over her breasts to her hips. “Is something wrong with me?”

“There is nothing amiss with your aspect.” He stepped closer and took her hands. His were chilled. She had heat to spare and linked their fingers so she could warm him. She wanted him to feel as good as she felt.

“Then why are you acting so strangely?” she asked.

He choked out a laugh. “The punch you drank at the festival?—”

“Was delicious. I must get the recipe from Lady Westhorpe.”

“There was something added that should not have been.” He rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs. His calluses rasped pleasantly.

“Some sort of spirit?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

She jerked her hands from his. “I have been sozzled before. I can assure you I am not sozzled.”

The smile that came to his lips crinkled his eyes and made him appear younger. No, not younger. Less care worn. More like the lad she remembered. Without hesitation, she traced her fingers from his temple to his lips. His smile faded, and it made her sad.

“I miss your smile,” she whispered, running her thumb along his lower lip.

He shook his head but with a ruefulness that she didn’t understand. “You are not yourself, Eleanor.”

That was balderdash. In fact, she felt more like herself than she had since she was a child. Once she had had to start wearing long skirts and putting her hair up, she had also had to put on a facade. She hadn’t been allowed to be silly or say what was on her mind. Why had she caved to society’s expectations when society had turned its back on her without another thought?

“I disagree. I am more me than I have been for too long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that…” She groped for a way to describe the way she felt. “I’m lighter. The weight of derision and insults are gone.”

“What? Who has insulted you?” His outrage was sudden and hot.

“Will you call out the entirety of the ton?” Her laugh held none of the bitterness she had borne for the past six months. Suddenly it mattered less what everyone else thought.