“Come along!” Thomas ripped off his beaver hat so it wouldn’t blow away and grasped her gloved hand in his; together they bolted through the deluge.
Chapter Four
Fisting her sodden skirts in her hands, Nora did her best to keep up with Thomas’s long strides as they ate up the distance between the restaurant and the Bexton London home. Her hat finally broke free from its pins and was cast into the path of an oncoming carriage. She should have been upset with the loss, but she could only toss her head back and laugh as her chestnut hair fell loose around her. Thomas glanced back at her, his face splitting into a wholly unguarded grin at the sight she made; Nora’s fickle heart thudded wildly at his dark hair shot through with silver plastered to his face, accentuating the glitter in his unnaturally blue eyes. The outsides of his eyes crinkled with mirth, counterintuitively making him appear boyish rather than his four decades.
Fat raindrops hammered down upon them as they charged laughing through the streets of Mayfair. Members of thetongaped from their dry homes and splashing carriages as they dashed by, but Nora and Thomas couldn’t have cared less. Theywere focused only on reaching their destination and the warmth of the other’s hand in theirs.
Finally, Thomas guided her up the stairs to his home and shoved open the door before his butler could open it for them. The poor wide-eyed older man gaped at the scene they made, but Nora couldn’t find it in her to care.
Thomas shook the water droplets from his hair before slicking it back from his face, making him appear dangerously rakish. “Have the fire in the library stoked and bring hot tea and warmed brandy.” Thomas looked Nora up and down, causing a fiery tingle to break out on her flesh, contrasting sharply with the chill of her sodden clothing. “And some toweling. Miss Nora and I were caught unprepared by the weather.” He turned to her. “Here.” It took some work, but he was able to help her remove her spencer before handing both it and his own cloak and hat to his butler.
“Right away, My Lord.” The butler spun away to do Thomas’s bidding, not so much as batting an eye at Nora’s presence.
Nora wrapped her arms around her body as the chill set in. Thomas was slightly more well-off than she as his cloak had been thicker and protected him better against the weather; he wasn’t nearly as soaked through as she was. Noticing her movement, he cupped her elbow and began to guide her toward the library. She winced when her shoes squished across the floor and her heavy skirts clung and smacked against her legs with every step. There was nothing graceful or dignified about her first visit to the viscount’s residence in nearly two decades.
The staff had worked quickly and the fire was already roaring, rapidly filling the room with comforting warmth. Thomas guided her toward the hearth and she stretched her hands to the licking flames. Her eyes ran along the familiar carved swoops and dips of the marble hearth. It had been along while since she’d set foot in Ivy House—so named for the ancient wall of ivy that held fast to the iron fence and brick facade of the home—and there was something comforting about seeing the same sea-blue papering, the bottled ship that Thomas’s grandfather had assembled perched upon a table, the oil painting of stormy waters raging below the cliffs of Dover. As children, the rich wood tones and blues of this room had provided the backdrop for many childhood literary adventures she and Beth had shared during the occasional foray into London. It wasn’t often that Beth’s mother had allowed her daughter to undertake the strenuous trip to London, but traveling to London for a new wardrobe couldn’t be helped at least once per year when one was a growing girl. Nora had been fortunate enough that her own mother—quite occupied by her passel of other children and growing brood of grandchildren—had viewed it as a boon that there was someone to ensure Nora’s own wardrobe didn’t suffer. Naturally, Thomas was present during those trips. Even when he was away at school, not a visit to London went by that he didn’t make at least one surprise appearance to escort the girls to the park or a museum, take them shopping for something other than clothing—usually an overabundance of books from the illustrious Thorpe Booksellers—or indulge them with an overabundance of ices at Gunter’s.
Nora was lost in those memories when Thomas wrapped a sheet of toweling around her shoulders and guided her to a chair. She hadn’t realized he’d dragged it over from the far corner of the room so she could sit and enjoy the fire’s warmth.
It wasn’t lost on her that it was also her favorite overstuffed armchair with its worn navy velvet on the arms and cushion that was just the right firmness for an afternoon spent curled up reading. Thomas began to seat her in the chair, but she resisted.
“I couldn’t! I am positively soaked. I shall wreck the upholstery.”
“That is hardly on the top of my priorities. I’d much rather you be comfortable and dry yourself by the fire.”
Nora glanced down at her sagging skirts. “A change of clothing would be far preferable,” she muttered.
“I can have a maid see if Mother may have left a few items behind after her last visit—”
“No,” Nora grabbed his forearm to stop him from leaving the room. The solid ropes of muscle beneath her palm gave her pause and she momentarily forgot what she’d been about to say. She suddenly didn’t want him to leave; nor did she want to stop touching him. “It’s fine.”
They stood frozen like that, both staring at the point where she touched him as if an old fuse had been once more reignited, and burned all the more quickly because of its age.
Thomas cleared his throat and began to shrug from his coat. “You don’t mind, do you? My cravat and collar got a bit drenched.”
“By all means. It is your home.” She could already see where the melted starch was beginning to redden the skin of his throat, so she knew it wasn’t a mere ploy to divest himself of some clothing in her presence. “Lord knows I’d do the same if I could.” Her mouth snapped shut with an awkward squeak as soon as the words passed her lips. She’d only meant that she’d have removed some of her sodden layers were she in the privacy of her own home, but it certainly hadn’t come off like that.
Especially not since she’d said it in the presence of a man who’d once known every intimate detail of her heart and her body.
His blue eyes practically glowed with fire…and Nora’s shiver was from more than just the chill of her clothing.
One. Two. Three heartbeats passed before Thomas tore his gaze away from hers and resumed untying and then unwinding his cravat from his neck. Tossing it over the backof another chair, he began twisting in an effort to remove his coat. Unfortunately, the dampness at the collar and between his shoulders tightened the fabric, making it markedly more difficult than simply slipping it from his frame.
“Here,” Nora said, standing as she clutched the toweling around her shoulders. “Allow me.” She didn’t wait before she helped Thomas tug his arms free and then carefully laid the garment across the back of a sofa. By the time she’d turned again, Thomas had already removed his waistcoat and stood before the fire in only his white linen shirt. The hard lines of his body were visible in the silhouette cast by the crackling flames. Nora was hard pressed to swallow past the lump in her throat.
Even more so when he held his hand out to her, beckoning for her to join him.
Nora did so, experiencing a shock of lightning when their palms touched, and he positioned her between his body and the fire. His large hands chaffed her arms again and again, rubbing warmth into them with friction while the heat of his body a scant breath’s distance from hers heated her back nearly as much as the fire did her front.
She was so absorbed in the sensations that she hardly noticed when a maid entered and left the tea tray and warmed brandy on the table as Thomas instructed. Nora was tempted to close her eyes and lean her head back to rest against his broad chest; it would have been so easy to do, so comforting. She nearly gave into the urge when he stepped away—almost whimpered at the loss—but he quickly returned with a steaming cup of tea for her. The efficient staff had already steeped the brew in the kitchens and it had been prepared just as she preferred it by Thomas’s own hand, with the addition of a healthy splash of brandy, of course.
She accepted it gratefully, enjoying the way the drink’s warmth seeped through the china and into her hands.
“Thank you,” Nora whispered before inhaling the warm, fragrant steam into her lungs.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Thomas asked, his voice so low and his body so near that she swore she could feel its thunder-like rumble in her chest.
Nora shook her head and turned her eyes to the window. “It seems we were caught in the worst of it.” Indeed, the rain continued outside, but it was at a much more reasonable rate than before.
