Page 47 of A Story of Love

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice rich with humor.

The blasted man knew he was the reason she was shivering. Arrogant rake.

“I will go for a walk with you,” she said. “My wrap is on my chair.”

He led her back to where she’d been sitting with Freddie—who was nowhere in sight and must be off with her charges—and picked up the lovely scrap of silk and draped it over her shoulders.

“There,” he said, offering her his arm.

Lori took it, feeling remarkably conspicuous as she walked beside him toward the French doors. No doubt that was just her nerves talking; after all, there were numerous other couples leaving the stultifying ballroom to take the air. But there was no denying that the viscount was a magnet for attention—especially the female kind—and they were attracting more than their fair share of speculative glances.

“Let us get away from the throng,” Severn murmured once they’d reached the terrace.

“You’ve been here often?” she asked as he escorted her toward a path lighted by lanterns that had been placed at enough distance to offer some privacy.

“Severn House is at the opposite end of the square—which I’m sure you know. When Percy and I were young, Lord Archer’s son was one of our playmates. We spent hours in this garden.”

“It’s beautiful out here,” she said, the air pleasantly crisp and intoxicatingly floral.

He stopped beside a fountain and turned to her. “You are beautiful.”

Lori wished her heart didn’t behave so recklessly when he said things like that. She swallowed down the nervous flutters and looked up at him.

His hard mouth softened into a smile when she met his gaze. “Why do you write for Parker?”

“You’ve asked me that before. Why do you find it so astonishing that I work at a newspaper? Because I’m a woman?”

“No, because you seem far too clever to do such work.”

She refused to feel flattered by his words. “I work for him because he pays me.” Lori hesitated, and then added, “That money allows me to write the things I really like to write. Those things, unfortunately, don’t pay.”

“Oh? What do you like to write?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, marveling at her own resistance to answering his question. Her aspiration to become a novelist was not a secret—not by any means—so why was she so reticent with this man?

“Novels,” she said, before she could lose her courage.

“What sort of novels?”

“Why do you care?”

He gave an exasperated laugh. “So very prickly! Why on earth would I ask if I didn’t care, Lorelei?”

“Who gave you permission to use my Christian name… Stand Fast?” she countered, pleased the quaver in her chest didn’t make itself known in her voice.

“Mmmm,” he rumbled, his pale eyes narrowing. “I like the sound of my name on your tongue.”

For some reason the word tongue sounded very wicked when he said it. “Your name is unusual, my lord.” It was a stupid observation, but all she appeared to be capable of at the moment.

He nodded slowly, his gaze suddenly dark and predatory.

Lori couldn’t stop swallowing, her mouth flooding with moisture as his pupils swelled. “Is it a family name? Was somebody in—Oh!” she broke off with a yelp when he reached up and cupped her jaw, the tips of his warm fingers resting on the back of her neck.

She didn’t move away. Indeed, it was a struggle not to take a step closer. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, lightly caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Do you want me to?”

God help her; she did. “Yes.” Lori worried that she’d spoken so quietly that he might not have heard her.