Page 8 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
He spread his cloak—mink-lined and warm enough for the winter he’d spent in Oslo—over both of them, then wrapped an arm around Clarissa’s shoulders.It was a mark of how cold she was that instead of trying to strangle him, she made a little whimpering sound, then wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face in his shoulder.
It felt good to have her in his arms.It felt strangely right, as if she was supposed to be there.And, of course, she wasn’t.That was an echo of another life, one he’d been on the brink of, but ultimately, wasn’t supposed to have.The one where she was Clarissa Dupree, and she was glad to have Rupert in her life.
Ah, well.At least he could be useful to her for body heat, if nothing else.That was something Rupert liked—feeling useful.He’d managed to do it for the past two years, and it was deuced addicting.
As he drifted off to sleep, images of a world in which Clarissa actually wanted him flitted through his head.
Clarissa was having the most pleasant dream.
She was inside a confectionary shop, perusing a display case full of bonbons, marzipan, and delicate biscuits dusted with sugar.It was warm inside—probably because of the oven in back—and everything smelled delicious.The only thing marring the experience was the incessant pounding.Were they kneading some dough in the back room?Chopping almonds, perhaps?Shouldn’t they have finished that before they opened to customers?
Blinking herself awake, Clarissa found herself in the dim carriage.The pounding was someone knocking at the door.Other elements of her dream proved correct as well—shewaswarm, through some miracle, and the sweet smell?
That was Rupert Dupree, who was yawning and stretching beside her.Clarissa saw that he had brought her over to sit beside him, covering both of them with his cloak and even holding her close for good measure.She flushed as she disentangled her arms, one of which had slippedinsidehis coat, from his person.It was probably necessary that they had huddled together, as she was fairly certain she had been on the brink of freezing to death.
But it was difficult to square the fact that this gallant gesture had come from the most repulsive man she knew.
The button on her sleeve snagged on something, preventing her from scooting away as quickly as she would have liked.She drew in a lungful of air, getting another whiff of his cologne, as her nose was mere inches from his jawline.He smelled just like an almond biscuit.She would’ve expected a dandy like Rupert Dupree to slather himself in Bay Rum.Thank God he hadn’t; she couldn’t stand the pungent scent.
Sitting up, Clarissa saw that she was snagged on some sort of necklace.As she struggled to disentangle herself, the pendant popped open, proving to be a locket.A painting of a pale blue eye stared back at her within the silver frame.
Noticing her predicament, Rupert clucked.“How did that get loose?Let’s see here.”He peeled one of his black leather gloves off and went to work unwinding the chain from around her button.Clarissa was wearing gloves, too, but his fingertips brushed the bare skin on her wrist, causing her to shiver, this time not from the cold.
He managed to free her sleeve, and she scooted to the far side of the bench seat, not leaving the warmth of his cloak.She studied him out of the corner of her eye as he closed the locket and tucked it back inside his shirt.Whowasthis strange man?He seemed a bundle of contradictions.
Straightening his coat, Rupert leaned forward and opened the carriage door.The person knocking proved to be the coachman.“Begging your pardon, sir, but the wheelwright’s here.He had a wheel sized to fit, but he needs to put it on.You’ll both have to get out.”
“Ah.Jolly good,” Rupert said, rolling his shoulders.He slid out from beneath his cloak, ducking his head as he climbed out the door.
“You forgot your cloak,” Clarissa said, holding it out to him.The rush of cold air that swept under it made her immediately regret the gesture, but pride demanded that she surrender it.
“You take it,” Rupert said, holding out a hand to help her from the carriage.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.I have my own cloak, after all, and—”
“I insist.”Rupert took the cloak from her but only to wrap it around her shoulders.Ludbut that felt good—the warmth of the cloak around her, and the brush of his hands on her shoulders.
She peered at him in the dim light of the carriage lamps.A scattering of snowflakes swirled around his head, one occasionally settling in his golden hair.She saw that the temperature had dropped sufficiently that the snow was now piling up in drifts.
“But what about you?”she asked.
He waved this off.“Don’t worry about old Rupert.I just came from Switzerland, and this time last year, I was in Norway.I’ll be fine.”
“I see.Thank you,” she added hastily.
She was spared from having to make further conversation by the coachman, who called Rupert over to help lift the carriage so the wheelwright could do his work.Clarissa watched from a discreet distance.Rupert made no complaint about being asked to grasp the underside of the muddy carriage and lift.As if to prove that he was used to the cold, he peeled off his tailcoat with a good-natured remark about keeping it clean, tossed it into the carriage, and took up his position at the back corner of the carriage.He performed the task cheerfully and solicitously asked the guard if he was all right when his foot slipped in the mud.
Clarissa had to own that Rupert Dupree wasn’t what she had expected.He had somehow managed to make a good impression in spite of the fact that, in line with the rumors about him, he did not appear to be of the greatest intelligence.
An hour ago, Clarissa would have said that intelligence was the most important quality she looked for in any friend.Yet Rupert Dupree had her questioning her own judgment in this regard.In fact, were it not for the fact that she already hated him, Clarissa rather thought she would have liked him.
This was not Clarissa’s only alarming revelation about Rupert Dupree.The sun was just starting to rise, giving her an unimpeded view as he strained to lift the mail coach.The mortifying thought that her nemesis filled out his buckskin breeches rather splendidly drifted unbidden across her mind—a result, no doubt, of some combination of exhaustion and hypothermia.She knew she should avert her eyes but found the prospect strangely difficult.His posterior was not what you would call large, but nor was it scrawny.The wordtautcame to mind.An unbearable urge to reach out and squeeze it came over her, and she grasped a handful of his cloak to contain the strange urges welling inside of her.
The carriage suddenly shifted.Grunting, Rupert bent his knees, straining to hold it aloft as his muscles shifted and flexed beneath the buckskin.A warbling sound emerged unbidden from her lips, and she made a hasty attempt to disguise it as coughing.
It took around fifteen minutes to swap out the wheel.Rupert rubbed snow on his hands to rinse off the mud before he handed Clarissa into the carriage.
He frowned as he settled into his seat.“I say, I hope you weren’t overheated in my cloak.”
