Page 14

T he following day, after going through a morning’s worth of correspondence and other business matters, Jonas left his study, grabbed his cloak and gloves, and marched to the stable.

He had already checked on his horses this morning, but he needed to be out in the fresh air again to clear his head.

“Silas,” he said, striding toward his head groom, who was leading several of his horses to the nearby paddock, “how is Avalon faring?”

Avalon was his prize thoroughbred, a beautiful beast with speed and endurance enough to win all of his races at Newmarket.

“He’s a bit restless, Your Grace. I thought to let him out for a run along with the others.

Snow’s piling fairly high, but the horses I took out earlier have trampled it down for these others.

He’ll be fine. A bit of snow won’t hurt him.

And look at Sheba,” Silas said of Jonas’s prize filly, who had red bows in her hair to keep her white coat from disappearing against the white of the snow. “She’s loving this cold weather.”

Jonas remained with Silas and the horses for a full hour, enjoying the bracing cold and gently falling snow as much as his horses did.

But as the snow began to thicken again and mix with ice, he blinked away the icicles sticking to his eyelashes and knew it was time to seek shelter.

“Let’s get them back into the stable, Silas.

The snow’s turning to sleet now. Can’t have them slipping and damaging a leg. ”

Silas called over two young grooms, and they all hurried into the field to lead the horses back to their stalls.

Jonas was covered in snow and little shards of ice by the time he returned to the house and stomped in through the kitchen. Mrs. Fitch hurried forward to take his cloak and gloves. “Your Grace, your hair’s soaking wet,” she admonished him, because he had not worn a hat.

He raked his fingers through it and felt the icy crystals melt in his palm. “No cause for alarm,” he teased. “It’ll dry.”

“Shall I bring some tea for you into your study?”

“Make it a pot of hot cocoa, and bring it up to my bedchamber. Cups for me and Miss Temple. I want to look in on her. She looked a bit pale for much of yesterday.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He climbed the stairs and marched down the hall toward his quarters, his mind on Ailis and his foolishness in showing off to her with that kiss designed to make her melt. He knew she was a novice and would have no idea the impact a scorching kiss would have on her.

And kiss number three had been scorching. Blazing hot.

Even he, despite his cynicism and experience, had been singed by the heat of it.

Perhaps this third kiss would not have worked had she been an icy spinster, but she was warm and caring, an untapped font of passion.

All she needed was someone to draw it out of her, to stir those fires hidden inside her.

Blessed saints.

What a sweetly hot response he’d elicited from her. But to what purpose? Simply to prove to himself that he could conquer her?

He ought to have realized that kiss would change the game, for he now knew he had the power to break her heart.

He cursed himself for a fool and resolved to make amends as soon as possible.

The door stood ajar, so he did not think to give it a knock before peering in. “Martha, how—”

Heat roared through him and seared his lungs.

His heart stopped pumping and the breath rushed out of him.

“Temple, why is this door open?” he said with a growl, hardly hearing himself while lust roared through him.

He struggled to regain his breath and steady his pounding heart.

“What are you doing in here?” she cried. “You weren’t supposed to come up here before midday.”

Realizing he was gawking, he immediately turned his back on her. But the glorious vision of Ailis wearing nothing but her chemise, one sleeve dangling off her shoulder and slipping to the point of almost revealing one round, firm breast, could not be expunged.

Almost.

But he’d seen the lush, creamy swell of it.

Martha had obviously just given Ailis a sponge bath and not thoroughly dried her off, because in addition to the chemise being half off her, there were wet patches on the fabric that were transparent in the most indelicate spots.

Her arse, for one.

Gad, what a perfectly rounded bottom on the girl.

Martha must have also washed Ailis’s hair, because it was wet and unbound, the droplets sliding down her silken skin and clinging to her delightful curves.

More visions of her glorious breasts and backside flashed before him.

Not only was his heart pounding wildly out of control, but his hands were trembling.

Trembling.

Him, of all people. He’d been through hell. And this slip of a spinster had him trembling?

“It is almost midday now,” he said, hardly hearing himself because his traitorous heart was still pounding through his ears. “Where’s Martha?”

“She went downstairs to fetch needle and thread. My gown had a small tear in it from my fall, so I wanted it fixed before I put it on.”

“Why?” His eyeballs were still throbbing. “You are not going anywhere today, and likely not tomorrow, either.”

“But I must leave the moment the snow stops falling,” she insisted while grunting and huffing because she was trying to slip his robe on and it was three times her size and unmanageable.

“Why are you in such a rush to leave? Because I kissed you? Is this what your sudden desperation is about?”

She let out a breath. “Yes.”

He felt awful about oversetting her with that kiss.

Truly, he had not thought it through as he should have done. Giving her a thrill, and proving to himself that he had it in him to give her that thrill, was not harmless.

Ailis felt the raw heat of it, the passion. Ailis felt everything. This was part of her charm, was it not?

“Shall I stop kissing you and simply give you the donation, Ailis?”

He felt the crackle of air between them as she pondered the question. Clearly, she wanted her ten kisses. Just as clearly, she was afraid of what might happen if they were as hot as kiss number three.

He stepped outside into the hall and closed the door between them, because he was going to sweep her into his arms and do more than merely kiss her again.

And that would be disastrous.

“I do not need your answer today, Ailis. Give it some thought. Nor can I leave you just now, because I asked Mrs. Fitch to bring us up some hot cocoa to share.”

He heard her soft footsteps as she scurried to the door. “I love hot cocoa.”

“I thought you might,” he said, smiling in relief. Yes, bribe her with hot cocoa in order to make amends for the kiss both of them were still feeling. Not that gaining her forgiveness would really be that simple, but it was enough for now.

He heard more of her soft grunts as she tried to don his robe and obviously struggled because every slight movement had to be causing her pain.

“Temple, have you managed to cover yourself yet?”

“No. The robe keeps sliding off my shoulder.”

“Shall I help you put it—”

“No! I’ll wait for Martha to return. She won’t be a moment. Just wait outside the door and do not dare come in.”

He hadn’t taken orders from anyone since he was in the army, and even then he was the one usually in charge. But he did not mind this snip of a thing telling him what to do, so he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall while awaiting Martha’s return.

Mrs. Fitch was the first to come up, bearing the pot of cocoa and other embellishments on a silver tray. “Your Grace?”

He took the tray from her hands. “Miss Temple requires assistance dressing. Help her into my robe and those garish red stockings. I dare not go in until she is presentable.”

He said this for Ailis’s sake, not to prove to anyone that he was a gentleman.

His thoughts were not gentlemanly in the least.

He’d gotten a dose of Ailis scantily clad, and his heart was still pounding. An intolerable heat was still thrumming through his veins.

How could one inexperienced spinster have him in such a roil? Had she somehow bewitched him with her enticing attributes? Shapely bosom, slender legs, graceful neck. Softest skin.

He was not liking the profound effect his Miss Temple of Virtue was having on him.

Why was she becoming so important to him? Could he see her in his future?

Standing in the hallway holding a tray of cocoa while his housekeeper assisted Ailis in making herself presentable was not the time to think more deeply about his life, about his bachelorhood, and the stark loneliness he would feel once Ailis was gone.

“Your Grace! I am not wearing those red stockings!” she called from the other side of the door, breaking his tension and making him laugh. “I shall put on my own when Martha brings them up.”

“You are awfully demanding for a little elf who has usurped my bedchamber. Are you decent yet? May I come in?”

His housekeeper opened the door and took the tray out of his hands. “Miss Temple is now at home to visitors,” Mrs. Fitch said with a mirthful air. She placed the tray on the small table and busied herself setting out their cups and pot.

Jonas approached Ailis, trying hard not to grin at the adorable sight of her.

She was securely tucked in the robe that was impossibly big for her. The sleeves alone fell to her knees. But the rich black of the wool seemed to bring out the lush gold of her hair, still unbound as it dried in the warm air.

She looked so pretty in that ill-fitting garment.

Perhaps it was the mix of impertinence and sensuality that he found irresistible about her. But these unexpected feelings were what had sent him out into the cold this morning. He could not run outside into the snow every time she heated his blood.

“Let me do up the sleeve, Miss Temple,” he said, struggling not to take her in his arms again.

“All right.” She studied him, her big green eyes wide as she watched him roll it up and then clip it in place. Her injured arm had remained in the sling, so the other sleeve remained empty and just flapped at her side.