Page 150 of While You Were Spying

He cupped her face, his warm hands against her cool skin. “Yes. You teach me to trust more and more every day.”

“Maybe we’ll teach each other.”

His amber eyes heated. “I’m an excellent student.”

“And I’m reputed to be exceptionally quick-witted.”

“Well,” he said, releasing her. “Let’s see if your legs are as quick as your mind.”

He bent down and scooped up a pile of snow, but she was ready for him. When he looked back at her, she hit him squarely in the chest with a snowball she’d hidden behind her back.

He glanced down at his chest and then to her, blinking. “Madam, I believe this is war.” He began to compress the clump of snow in his hands. “And I think it only fair to warn you that I intend to win.” He raised his snowball menacingly, and Francesca took off in a run.

Her feet slipped effortlessly through the feathery snow, and as she reached the top of a small rise, she whirled around. In front of her sprawled Winterbourne Hall, gleaming and majestic, and looking very much like home. Behind her lay the wilds of Yorkshire, waiting to be discovered. And striding purposely toward her, a mischievous grin on his face, was Ethan.

She beamed at him. He actually thought he could win—the rogue.

He was wrong, of course. She had him, had his love. They were both victorious.

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