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“I am freezing, Layton.”

Now it was his turn to be stunned.

That assuredly was not the response he had anticipated or hoped for at all.

Although he had expected her to argue about one or two points, at least—she would not be Lilly if she didn’t—he had prayed she would throw herself into his arms and declare her love for him too.

She did love him, didn’t she?

She must.

Layton’s joy plummeted to his frozen toes and perished.

“Let’s go inside, shall we?” She slipped her icy hand into his.

What is this?

A kernel of hope flickered to life.

As Lilly led him toward the drawing room’s terrace doors, she slid him a siren’s smile. “I am certain we can find a clever way to warm ourselves.”

The kernel sparked and became a low-burning flame.

Did his prim and proper headmistress imply what Layton thought she did?

Please, God. Let it be so.

Once inside, Lilly slipped her hand from his and removed her cloak, draping it across a nearby armchair.

His breath hitched.

God help him.

She wore that incredible red gown she had bought in the village with him that day. The one that enhanced every one of her luscious curves.

Desire, scorching and untamed, tunneled through Layton’s veins, putting the crackling fire in the hearth to shame.

Wait.

A fire?

Lilly only allowed fires in occupied rooms and even then, only small blazes. Barely enough to keep the chill at bay.

He veered a glance toward the door.

As if she had read his mind, she gave him a naughty smile.

“I locked it before coming outside to meet you, Layton.”

Had Lilly expected to come in here with him, the little vixen?

“Lilibet Granger?”

He stalked nearer to her, delighted when her eyes rounded, and she licked her lower lip.

“Have you been playing hard-to-get, minx? Did you hope to make me grovel, for I shall? Without hesitation or reserve.”

Layton dropped to his knees, then clasped her icy hands.