Page 32 of The Marquis, the Minx, and the Mistletoe
She thought him far more effective warmth than any scarf or cowl. That question alone, innocent as it might have been, had shot through the core of her body like a molten wave, leaving every nerve in her body singing with want. Without thinking, she whispered back, "I want you to show me everything."
He groaned, releasing her hand and cupping her cheek, tilting her face upward to look into his eyes. The large hand on the small of her back pulled her flush against his body, and with a dizzying flush, she realized that she could feel his arousal, even through her woolen skirts. That part of him, that mysterious part that she had only heard spoken of in snippets and whispers, strained against his trousers, as though it were reaching for her, longing for her.
"Do you make a habit of playing such dangerous games, sweet Tatiana," he rasped, his voice deep and strained, "or is it only me you have chosen to torment?"
"I assure you, sir," she replied, her own voice breathy and wanting, "the torment is shared between us."
"Christ," he muttered, dragging her onto her toes to the hot demands of his mouth, giving her no choice but to cling to him as the world without wailed and shook the walls, apparently sharing in the tempest that brewed between them.
She opened her mouth, demanding the attentions of his tongue, pressing the soft curves of her body into the hard lines of his and wishing desperately that she could get closer somehow, so much closer. Her cheeks burned from the scouring of the cold, but within, she was ablaze, just on the cusp of something that promised endless warmth and undeniable pleasure.
It was the sound of glass shattering that broke the spell, startling them both enough to separate, panting and dazed. She struggled to catch her breath, the freezing air burning in her lungs as Lord Moorvale laid a steadying hand on her shoulder and frowned at what was visible of the sky, between the slats of wood above them.
"We had better get inside," he said, his voice returned to a sensible timbre, as though he had immediately recovered from what had just transpired between them. "If windows are breaking already, I fear how bad this might become."
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and allowed Sheldon Bywater to guide her, hand in hand, back into the safe confines of Somerton.
Chapter 16
It had been a good long while since Sheldon had barked orders at anyone, and even longer since he'd commanded civilians.
With the viscount away, and the rest of the Somers clan trapped alongside him in the township, there was no one left to direct the staff as the storm continued to build outside. The house was full of Northern lads and lasses, all of whom had been through at least one dire blizzard in their lives, so at the very least, they were able to take orders and execute them with an efficiency born from experience.
"Do you think they will attempt to return in this storm?" the housekeeper asked him, wringing her hands. "Surely they have sense enough to wait it out in the township."
"I'm sure they will," Sheldon replied, casting a glance to Miss Everstead, who had just reappeared from abovestairs, her expression more alert than anxious, her hair tousled and pulled back into a messy bun, quite ruining the effect of the elegant style she'd worn that morning. He watched from the corner of his eye as she descended the stairs to join them. "Between the inn, the church, and the clinic, there is no need for them to risk returning in such conditions."
Tia had immediately rallied to assist the maids with the shutters and latches, discarding much of her fur-lined finery and rolling the sleeves up on her heavy dress the instant that Sheldon had begun issuing instructions. She approached him now, giving a respectful nod to Mrs. Laughlin as a contingent of footmen hurried past with a temporary barricade for the shattered window in the kitchens.
"Is this something that happens often in the winters?" Tia asked, her brow furrowed as a rumble of thunder sounded without. "I have always thought snow to be a gentle thing, but this is all rather terrifying."
"Every few years, we'll get the full rage of winter," Mrs. Laughlin replied, pausing to send two of her maids to their next task. "It has been a good while since one has come on so sudden, though."
"It is certainly more than a squall, in any event," Sheldon said grimly. "I hope Gideon has kept the trees trimmed well back from any of the buildings. The last thing we need is an oak trunk crashing through the ceiling."
"Is that what happened to the window?" Tia asked, startled as the other two nodded.
"A smaller branch, though, to be sure," added the housekeeper.
"I'm going to bring the dogs in," Sheldon told the women, "and ensure the stable workers are all returned to their cottages once the horses are secured. I will return anon."
"How else can I help?" Tia immediately asked of the housekeeper as he turned on his heel and made haste toward the servants’ exit.
He did not bother to bundle himself up, knowing it would only waste precious time. He hurried to the kennels, which sat a small ways off from the stables, and wrenched the door open despite the best efforts of the wind. Echo was already safely inside the manor, but the pups and Gideon's terriers were howling and trembling in fear inside the kennel, which had only just been built not a year past, and was far from finished.
"Come on, then," he urged them, herding the dogs forward and out into the snow. He bent an arm over his face to shield his eyes and stood in the doorway, ushering them all in, one at a time, last of all that damned Jack Russell, who tossed him a smug look as he sauntered into the warmth of the Somerton kitchens, the little rakehell bastard.
The stable workers were a bit more of a challenge, as it was almost impossible to shout louder than the storm. The horses were unsettled, which of course made their keepers wish to stay with them, but Sheldon would not hear it, and using mostly emphatic gestures, he did manage to send them all into their quarters in the end.
By the time he returned to the manor, he was crusted in ice and numb from his nose to his knickers. The dogs had formed a large pile near the kitchen fire, much to the dismay of the old mouser cat, who was used to having this particular domain to herself.
"Lord Moorvale, please, come warm yourself," urged Mrs. Laughlin, her dark eyes wide with worry. "You'll catch your death if you don't."
He allowed himself to be ushered into the sitting room and hastened into a chair in front of the fire. The maids had none of their customary deference, insisting he stay put and brandishing a large, warm towel with which to clear the melting snow from himself and soak up some of the damp that had begun to cling to his clothes.
"Give us ten minutes and we'll have dry clothing for you to change into," Mrs Laughlin said, "and warm broth to quicken your blood. Do not move from that spot!"
He nodded, grimacing at the feeling returning to the tips of his fingers as the women hurried away, leaving him alone to defrost. Of all the things he thought might stop him from seducing the delectable Tatiana Everstead, the weather had never crossed his mind. An hour ago, he had been ready to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to bed without any further ado, and now he was wrapped in a towel with his teeth chattering, cursing the existence of his toes as his feet stabbed and stung back to life before the fire.
