Page 3 of Three Weeks with a Princess
But to Lia, Jack was the entire world.
When the small orchestra launched into a new set of dances, they both glanced toward the party below.
“You’d best go down before you’re missed,” she said softly.
“I’ve a few more minutes and you’ve not yet told me howyouare.” His gaze traveled over her form. “The hem of your pelisse is soaked.” He reached out and took her hand. “And your fingers are freezing.”
Though she was indeed freezing, she didn’t care. Not when she could spend time with Jack. “I’m fine.”
“Did you cut through the back garden?”
“It’s the best way to get here without being seen.” It meant she’d had to tramp through a foot of snow before she could sneak into the house through his lordship’s library.
He gave a disapproving shake of his head. “We’ve got to get you warm before you go back or you’ll catch a chill.”
“Really, Jack, it’s—”
He forestalled her objection by practically dragging her over to the staircase at the other end of the gallery.
“What are you doing? Someone will see us,” she hissed.
“Only if you keep making so much noise, you goose.”
Lia huffed a bit, pretending to be offended by his high-handed manner. But, actually, she loved it. She’d follow Jack Easton across the River Styx if he asked her.
They crept down the narrow, winding staircase to the corridor below. It ran from the great hall to the east wing, where the library, the breakfast room, and one of the smaller drawing rooms were located. Because no one would be in those rooms at this time of night, the corridor was deserted.
But Richard popped up before them, making Lia gasp.
“Oh, there you are,” Jack said in an easy tone. “Miss Lia rather soaked her pelisse on the way to the house, so I’m taking her to the library to warm up before she returns to the cottage.”
“Very good, sir. I took the liberty of lighting a fire a few minutes ago, so the room should be nice and warm by now.”
Lia wrinkled her nose at the young footman, who carried himself with a dignity beyond his years. “How did you know?”
“Did we not previously agree that Richard always knows?” Jack said. “Now, come along before you catch your death of cold.”
As he hauled her along the corridor, Lia cast a thank-you smile over her shoulder. The footman shook his head with disapproval. Richard was another one who worried about her getting into trouble, although she couldn’t imagine what sort of trouble she was supposed to get into with Jack. In his company, she was always safe.
They slipped into the library, their footfalls muffled by the thick Axminster carpet that insulated them from the chill of the old stone floors.
Jack led her to the fireplace and pushed her down onto the thickly padded seat of a club chair. With a sigh of pleasure, she stretched her feet toward the merrily leaping flames, luxuriating in the heat that washed over her.
“Good Lord,” he said, crouching down before her.
“What is it?”
He felt her foot. “Your boots are soaked through.” His hand moved up to her ankle. “And so are your stockings.”
His warm fingers marked her like a brand, even through her thick woolen stockings. Cheeks flaming, Lia jerked away and tucked her feet under herself on the chair. Jack muttered an oath and tugged them back out, propping them against the firedogs.
He inspected her boots with disfavor. “When was the last time you had a new pair?”
Now even more embarrassed, Lia simply shrugged. The boots, hand-me-downs from her grandmother, were perfectly fine for puttering around in dry lanes in mild weather, but the soles had lately sprung a leak. Even lining them with scraps of wool and linen had failed to keep the moisture out.
Jack let out a sigh as he came to his feet, his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs backlit by the fire. She swore he’d grown two inches since she’d last seen him and had certainly filled out very nicely.
“When was the last time you had a new pair of boots?” he insistently repeated.
