Page 25 of A Midwinter Wager

Chapter 15

Seeingthe expression of shock on Francesca's face, Fitz forced himself to stop exulting and tried the door. It wouldn't budge.

He strode across to the window, opened it and looked out, and down, at the frozen snow. Then Cesca's arms were around his waist, and the exultation returned.

"No, Fitz. You can't possibly be thinking of climbing out the window!"

He'd rather hoped she'd say that. He might break his neck, or freeze—and there was no way of knowing how long it would take for someone to respond to his knocking when he tried to get back into the inn. Not to mention the fact that he was only wearing his evening clothes. Closing the window, he turned and took her in his arms, pressing her against his body, his hand cupping the back of her head.

"Don't worry," he told her. "We'll find a way to save your reputation. I had my own room for tonight, and no one's going to know I didn't sleep in it. I can hide when the maid gets here in the morning, then slip out before anyone sees me."

"I'd rather have a ruined reputation than let you climb out of a high window on the coldest night of the year," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.

"Yes, but your papa would be none too pleased if you were ruined in the eyes of Society." He wished it weren't true. Since Alicia's attempts to trap him into marriage, he was ceasing to care about the mores of Society and was tempted to deliberately flout them, as they seemed to fly in the face of everything good.

In fact, he could break those rules right now, and damn the consequences. Kissing the top of her head, he said, "You should get into bed—this room's still chilly."

"Perhaps it's the ghost." She shivered.

"Right," he said, releasing his grip. "Let's get you into bed and warmed up. They've done you a hot brick or put a warming pan in, I trust." He strode to the bed and pulled back the covers. Yes, there was the warming pan. He moved it up to heat more of the mattress.

"My skirts are still damp from the snow. I'll have to sleep in my chemise."

He'd be sleeping in his shirt. Everything else was still damp. Was there a truckle bed he could sleep on, and a spare blanket? "We'll dry our wet clothes in front of the fire. Remove your gown, and anything else that's damp, and hang them up while I set up my bed." He maneuvered her toward the fire, then turned his back while she undressed, and peered underneath the canopied bed. Damn. Nothing but a pair of chamber pots. He'd have to sleep on the floor. Still, he was a soldier. He'd slept in far worse places, under more dire circumstances.

"No truckle. Never mind." He straightened up. "We'll manage. Are you done?"

"The bed’s big enough for three, so I imagine they didn't think it necessary to provide an extra one. You can turn around now."

He did. And his mouth went dry. She had her back toward him, and the light of the fire filtered right through her thin chemise, gilding her sumptuous pear-shaped figure in glorious gold. His loins tightened, and he swiftly turned away. He'd known temptation would assault him tonight. He'd overestimated his ability to resist it.

A good dose of cold air would dull his ardor. Leaning against the bedpost, he stripped off his outer clothes, then padded across to the hearth in bare feet to see what drying space was left. Cesca had turned toward him, and now he could see the rich swell of her breasts beneath the chemise. Deuce take it!

"Get into bed before you freeze," he growled.

She blinked at him, then scurried past, flushing. Had she been watching him undress? He suspected she had. He hoped she had. He slid the coverlet off the bed, wrapped himself in its folds, and lay down in front of the fire.

"Good night." He rolled over so he could face the roaring flames and lose himself in their mesmerizing dance. Anything to take his mind off the fact that the love of his life lay just feet away. It didn't help. Sleep, he feared, would be a long time coming. Besides which, there was a good deal of rustling coming from the bed.

"What are you doing?" he asked eventually.

"I've been trying to take the pins out of my hair. I don't want to stab myself in the eye while I sleep. And I keep trying to get comfortable without burning myself on the warming pan, and I'm trying to double up the blanket, so it's hotter. It seems silly, us having to divide the bedclothes when we could be sharing them."

Really?Sharing them how, exactly? He got to his feet, wrapping the counterpane around his shoulders. She was sitting up in bed, her hair half hanging down her back, the rest in tumbled disarray about her ears. He would have laughed if his male member weren't telling him to think about something far more critical.

"Shall I help with the hairpins?" He was eager to help with a good deal more than that but needed a proper invitation. "I'll take the warming pan out if you'd rather, or we could wrap some of our less damp clothing around it, so you don't burn yourself."

Don't get into bed with her,his conscience shouted. Don't even touch her!

"Yes, please, but my hair's the most important." She tugged ineffectually at a tangled coil.

With a sigh, he settled on the edge of the bed and began plucking out the hairpins. When he’d freed it all, he was barely able to resist running his hands through her hair so he could watch it cascade like golden silk between his fingers.

"Now slide under the covers and get warm," he commanded, feeling for and removing the warming pan. "I'll deal with this."

He was already halfway across the room before she said, "I don't think I can sleep after all the excitement. And there's still the problem of the ghost. Can't you sit beside me for a little while? We can talk until I fall asleep. There’s so much to discuss."

It was the invitation he had been hoping for, but also dreading. Thank heaven he had his back to her as he placed the warming pan in front of the hearth. The play of emotions across his face would either have terrified her or made her laugh outright.

He could do this. He could hold her in his arms and talk about the future, and they could enjoy the benefit of shared warmth. So long as they enjoyed nothing else, her reputation could be salvaged.

The restoration of his equanimity, however, was probably a lost cause.