“Why didn’t you tel me?”
The hooves sounded close now. A lantern bounced behind the trees.
Henry yanked the reins on his horse, turned him, and looked back over his shoulder, bowing his head, his eyes looking past her, at the ice-house.
“I bid you farewel .”
She licked her lips to speak, but his horse spun, its tail swished as if Chloe were a fly that needed brushing away, and the horse carved up clods of mud as he gal oped off. Henry was gone—
Much as she wanted Henry, she couldn’t have him! She was meant to have Sebastian.
She pressed her back against the cool wooden ice-house doors and goose bumps raced up and down her arms. In one fel swoop, Sebastian entered her circle of flickering lantern light, dismounted, tied up his horse, approached her fast and sure. He cupped her face in his warm hands, but she turned away.
“What is it?”
It was only everything. But she did have something to hang her bonnet on. “It’s Fiona. Is there something going on between you and Fiona?”
Sebastian laughed. “She’s only a kid. I think she has a little crush on me. I just danced with her. That’s al .”
“That’s not al .”
“So I flirt with her a little bit every now and then. I could say the same—or more—about you and Henry.”
“I’m so glad you joined me here.” He kissed her, and kept one hand on her neck while another hand expertly reached down—into his pocket for keys.
His mouth tasted like hard liquor. A flickering of tongue, a clinking of keys, and she practical y fel backward into the ice-house. Her reticule and fan fel to the brick floor.
He ringed her waist, steadied her, and set her down so gently, so gal antly—on an ice block covered in straw. A chil penetrated her thin silk pelisse and gown and her butt went numb.
“This is so hot,” Sebastian whispered into her ear as he dug in his pocket for something. “Isn’t this hot?”
Chloe nodded, feeling rather chil ed. How naive of her to think he would propose. She looked up at the laced brickwork, remembering Henry’s strong fingers laced together. Mostly she remembered the look on his face when he realized she wouldn’t be going back to the bal with him. She winced.
Sebastian’s fingers glided down her stocking and he slid her gown up to her thighs. And it would’ve been hot if it weren’t so damn cold! His other hand slipped out of his pocket, and in the faint lantern light, Chloe caught a glint of silver, heard a click, and a knife blade flashed dreadful y near her neck.
She sprang up and catapulted toward the doors. He beat her to them, barricading them with his wide shoulders.
She froze. She already was frozen, but she froze some more.
He smiled. “It’s just my penknife.” He held the knife in the palm of his hand and it did look smal , now.
Chloe stepped back until her calves hit the block of ice. She grabbed her elbows, pul ing her pelisse in around her.
“Relax.” He spoke and his voice was as soothing as cough drops. “I have a great idea. You’re going to love it.”
She leaned on the ice block, clenched her fists, and wondered how far this would go. No matter how attractive Sebastian was, and how he held everything she wanted and needed in the palm of his hand, she felt as if she were forcing herself. Danger, too, rippled through the air.
Sebastian edged in next to her and massaged her neck with one hand. She had to admit, it felt good. He chipped off a piece of ice with the knife in his other hand. He flung the knife to the door, where it stuck like a dart.
“Bul ’s-eye!” He looked at her with smiling dark eyes and she could see the little boy in him. Playful, but playing with things he shouldn’t have been, like knives.
“Now, where were we?” He turned her face toward him with a brush of his finger along her cheek. The piece of ice dripped in his hand.
What was she so afraid of?
He traced her jawline down to her neck with the ice. He licked his lower lip, glided the ice along the crescent moons of her breasts, which peered out from her bodice. Her nipples hardened and she began to grow warm.
He kissed away the melted ice in her cleavage. He slipped off her pelisse. Puh-lease. He was smooth, she had to grant him that.
She melted. She combed his tussled hair with her fingers. With every lick of his lips, her breath grew shorter, shal ower.
He was adept at unbuttoning her gown, unlacing her stays.
She untied his cravat, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and feverishly untied his breeches.
The drop-front pants took her by surprise. She didn’t realize Regency men didn’t wear underwear.
She was horizontal on the ice block.
