“Humor me,” he whispered in her ear as he moved toward the staircase.
“How?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“By listening,” he told her, planting a small kiss on her all-too-cold forehead. “And perhaps a warm bath.”
She should have considered the implications before she agreed to a bath. The logistics one required as well as what would happen if she relinquished her admittedly soaked garments to Marguarite. That was all Rebecca could think as she stared down at the shirt Roger had loaned her to wear.
With nothing else beneath it.
Her cheeks heated at the expression of the man, who was now sitting across the room, fully dressed, his gaze on her legs as she warmed them by the fire.
“I don’t see why I couldn’t wear your trousers,” she told him, rubbing her arms over the large sleeves she needed to fold halfway just to gain use of her hands.
“Because they would drag on the ground and then be ruined?” He raised a brow, the corner of his lip curling upward, and Rebecca had to catch her breath.
Why did he have to be so foolishly handsome? It truly was not fair. Not at all. Especially when one was forced to debate with him. As no matter what happened after they spoke, if he thought she was going to meekly allow him to boss and carry her about, he had another thing coming to him.
“I thought funds were immaterial to you,” she couldn’t help but retort.
“I thought you detested waste,” he countered, rising and sauntering toward her, staring down at her from his indecently impressive height.
“Are we truly going to quarrel?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
“Perhaps.” He stared down at her, his arms folded, though his lips tipped into a smile, making her heart skip just a touch.
Truly, it ought to be illegal to look as good as he did in a jacket and cravat. And out of them.
No—no. She shook her head. She would not be distracted by such thoughts. She frowned. What were they speaking of again? Oh right, “quarreling,” as he termed it.
Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps?”
“We do it well,” he told her, taking another step toward her. “And it usually ends rather favorably for us.” He reached out, encircling her waist with his arms. “So what did you need so desperately that you raced over here in the snow like that?”
What was she—oh right. What she’d confessed to the women. She needed to tell him. No matter what occurred. Though it would be a great deal easier if her mind ceased working so slowly when he was near.
“I had to see you,” she breathed, resisting the urge to melt into him.
“You might have waited for better weather,” he pointed out.
“I might have,” she admitted, searching her brain to find the right words for once. “But sometimes when you realize something rather important, life-changing—transforming, as you seem to favor that word so much—you can’t wait to share it with…”
“With…” he prompted.
God, she wanted to kiss him. So, so badly.
But she couldn’t. Not until she said her piece.
And he accepted it.
She pressed her lips together.Please let him still want, well, us,she prayed, taking a deep breath. “You were right.”
At that he smiled. “Naturally. I usually am. That’s not news,” he told her. “Now, you admitting it, as well as the fact that you might potentially have been wrong…”
“I was,” she said. Oy, this was more difficult than she’d thought it would be. Everything in her mind seemed, well, inadequate.
“What about, pray tell?” he asked, cocking his head once more, as if he didn’t know.
“You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?” she asked, pouting a little. Not that such had ever worked for her before. But if there was ever a time to attempt it…
