“What?”
“You said earlier I was just like Cyclops.”
“Oh.” Blast it. Had he? He loved the ugly, dribble-drizzling mongrel but wasn’t sure sharing that would get him out of the doghouse or not. Hard to shrug lying down, but he made the attempt. “Rescued him. That’s all.”
“Hmmm.” The eyebrow lowered, the lush lower lip pouted out, and Daniel was afraid he was about to be severely taken to task.
“I never knew,” she began, suddenly shy, “there could be such tangible evidence of passion. Both before…and at the culmination.”
He’d heard tell of it but doubted. Until now. Until her glorious release. Praying he didn’t butcher it, Daniel said, “You were, are…beau…tiful.”
That shy smile blossomed wide and she snuggled against him once more. For about thirty seconds. Then she popped up to one elbow. “Did you know—Mrs. Samuels made peach cobbler earlier.”
So he was forgiven for comparing her to his dog?
“Peach. Cobbler.” Thea repeated as though the very concept was akin to flying to the moon. Perhaps, to her, it was. After all, fresh fruit was a rarity for most. “I didn’t smell it on the tray she brought. Dare we race to the kitchen? Winner claims the biggest piece?”
Race a mistress to the kitchen?
After the most intense sexual experience of his life?
Daniel considered the time. He considered all he had to do the next day. He considered his empty bed at home. “By all means.”
Thea woke alone.
Warm and snug beneath the thick coverlet in her rose-adorned room, her face and the one arm that extended beyond chilled from the morning air. Sufficient light streamed from behind the curtains, telling her morning was well underway.
Regrettably, she had no recollection of Lord Tremayne’s departure. She did, however, possess the sated, sore and sublime sensations of a well-loved woman.
Even better (or possibly not better; how could anything be better than how her body felt at this precise moment?), she had the memory of sharing peach cobbler in the deserted and dark kitchen, of feeding each other, of his mock complaint over where was her reply to his last missive?
“For I long t-to read your p-poetry.” He’d laughed when she stuffed the last of her cinnamon-spiced bite in his mouth, giving him no time to swallow before she was kissing him, and he her. Wiping crumbs off his lips as he swept her into his arms and carried her up to her room, to her bed, where he lay down and pulled her against him, cuddling her close until Thea drifted off…
Only to wake this morning with a smile on her face. One that faltered when she sat up to be confronted yet again with her dress, laid out over one of the chairs in the corner. Dear Mrs. Samuels—the woman was a marvel. She must’ve snatched it from the dressing room floor and cleaned it during the night because the hem was clear of mud, the skirt freshly pressed. If wearing the same thing again didn’t thrill Thea to the core, then the clean underthings stretched out beside it certainly did.
She pushed back the covers and braved the cool air, feet hitting the floor and stretching against the rug, reluctant to cross cold wood over to—
“What’s this?” Stacked boxes on the circular table obliterated any reluctance and she fairly bounced across the room, where she paused. Savored. Gifts.
Drawing out the anticipation, she inspected the boon. There were four in all, ranging from one that nearly covered the entire table, to three smaller ones atop. Simple boxes, devoid of any wrapping save soft green bows tied around each.
Heart hammering, she watched as her arm reached out to caress one satin bow. The delicate fabric yielded beneath her touch. Her stomach dipped. Had she ever been this happy? Felt this secure?
For a certainty, not since her mother was alive.
Unsure where to start, she chose the second-largest box, and in moments stared, to the accompaniment of her astonished gasp, at a pair of quality half-boots. Made of dark leather and lacing up the front, they were the most fashionable boots she’d seen since childhood. New stockings were rolled and tucked inside. As though seeing another perform the actions, her chilled feet were tucked inside the stockings and then the boots in a flash, toes turning toasty.
Moving the box aside, she heard something clank. “More?” She riffled through the paper. “Oh, Tremayne…”
Shock nearly held her immobile as she spied the metal and wood pattens he’d thought to include, ready to be attached to the bottoms of her new boots any time rain made sludge out of the roads.
Blinking back amazement, she numbly opened the largest box which yielded a lined cloak. A stunning, hooded garment with a matching pelisse. Fairies to Flintshire, she must be in a magical land herself, for surely she would sprout wings and fly. As she tugged on first the pelisse and then the cloak, she doubted her feet would ever return to earth.
The sleeves were only slightly too long, she realized, as she sat there cozily wrapped, staring down at her booted toes, all manner of delight and disbelief coiling through her.
Not to be forgotten, the smallest two boxes seemed to dance on the table, drawing her gaze.
“What else could he have sent?” Saving the smallest for last, she retrieved the remaining box. “He’s already done so much.”
Reverent fingers slowly untied the bow and lifted the lid. “Gloves!”
Thrusting her hands inside, she closed her eyes. The supple leather and fur lining stole her breath as surely as her protector had stolen her wits. Dorothea, he’s surely secured you now, bought and paid for.
Trouble was, she didn’t seem to mind. Not any longer.
After basking a few seconds more in her newly reduced and wondrous “lowered” status (ironic, as she’d never felt her spirits soar higher), she roused herself to open her eyes and her remaining gift.
Which contained an unmarked jar.
What commanded the largest smile yet, as she sat at her table bundled to the gills in her new winter
