Page 43 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

She thought about fighting him just for the fun of it, but there was very little fun in trudging home with icy toes that might shatter if they got any colder. “Fine.” She climbed the step. “But don’t get any ideas, Lord Blackburn—I cannot marry you,” she said, echoing his words from the night she pilfered the betting book.

For some reason, his jaw clenched. She fancied she could hear his molars grinding together.

She felt quite cheerful after all, despite the cold.

He had hired a hackney, no doubt while still cursing her name. Bates had already come to claim the horse. The carriage was warm and cozy, and with Keir, it felt considerably smaller. He propped his boot against the door with a raised eyebrow, referring to the fact that she had run away the minute his back was turned the last time he had popped her into a carriage. “You don’t trust me?” she asked.

“I know you.”

But why should he mind that she had slipped away from the Willoughby ball, aside from a bit of concern? She had done him a favor, surely. He was not fond of messiness, and she was nothing if not messy.

But he did not look inclined to let her go at the moment.

And she did not want him to.

That was a problem.

She bit back a sigh, could not bite back a shiver. The snow had melted through her coat and her stockings, clammy and chill. The warm brick at her feet was absolutely heaven but not quite enough to battle the weather she had dragged in with her.

Keir scowled. She was no doubt dripping all over the floors, staining the seats, which, at least, were not the fancy ones of his personal carriage. There was mud on her boots. Why was there always mud all over her when he was around?

“You’re still cold,” he said darkly. As if it offended him to his very soul.

“I’m not.” Her teeth chattered around the lie.

He cursed. “You’re soaked through, you little liar.”

“Just a bit.” When he reached for her legs, she blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you warm, since you seem incapable of staying out of the cold like any reasonable person.”

“I had a job to do.”

“Catch your death?”

“No, stop a wedding.”

He pulled off her boots and then undid the buttons at the knees of her breeches, while she watched, not knowing if she should do it herself, not wanting him to stop. His hands were big and warm and exceedingly gentle as he rolled down her wet stockings. He cursed at the sight of her bare calves, mottled pink with cold. The scars on her ankle looked angry. She tugged away slightly, embarrassed despite knowing better than to care about such things. Her head knew the scars were just scars. Other parts of her wanted to be warm and smooth and pretty when Keir was looking at her.

“Stay still,” he ordered her. He stroked his palms up and down her calves, rubbing very gently to warm her up. He did not seem satisfied with the results and plucked her out of her seat instead, as though she were a great deal smaller than she was, tucking her into his side. “Take off your coat.”

Dazed, she obeyed. He pulled her under his coat, against his chest, the place she loved the most even when she wanted to poke him repeatedly with a sharp stick. He was so warm and sturdy and smelled so nice, with a hint of snow. “Why is it you’re always warming me up?”

“Why is it you don’t know better than to traipse around London in the dead of night in winter?”

“Extenuating circumstances.”

“I am beginning to think your entire life is an extenuating circumstance.”

She smiled softly. “Sometimes it does feel that way.”

“You have to have more care.” He said it softly, less a command, more a plea. As if it truly did matter to him.

“I’m not fragile, Keir. It’s just a bit of cold.” But it wasn’t, not since the cellar. She had come too close to that kind of cold again, the one that clawed icy fingers into her chest and would not let go.

Except Keir made it let go.

Somehow, he made it let go.

It wasn’t just that he was so solid and exuded warmth like a bonfire. It was something else. Something purely Keir.

And for now, it was hers.

A single, quiet moment in a carriage trundling through quiet snowy streets. Warmth and darkness and safety.

And Keir’s mouth.