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“I do not feel the cold. These,” he said, holding out his pair, “are lined and the stitching is waterproof, and they could be yours for your name.” Then, in a gentler tone, “Don’t make yourself suffer for your pride.”
Charlotte looked at the gloves with longing. Her woolen mittens weren’t up to the journey. They were fine for a stroll in the village but could not stand against the cutting north wind that swept across the prairie. She could have her pride, or she could have frozen fingers. It was not a choice at all when it came down to it.
She snatched the gloves from his outstretched hand. “You may address me as Madame Wodehouse.”
Some expression other than irritation flickered across his face, but he quickly settled back to his default of annoyance. “Madame Wodehouse. What do I need to trade to get your first name? My scarf? It’s not as fine as the gloves, but it is warm.”
“Just information. How did you know my destination?”
“It is everyone’s destination. There is no other reason to be in Sweetwater Point.”
“So the military moves on the Aerie?” The mountain fortress had once been under military control until Draven seized it. That was basic history.
“Every few decades, some general has aspirations of reclaiming the Aerie,” he said, sounding almost bored. “I cannot imagine how they justify the expense when every campaign before has failed. Now, your first name, Madame Wodehouse.”
“Charlotte.”
He repeated her name like it was a morsel to be savored. She didn’t appreciate the way he looked at her like she was a morsel to be savored.
“Don’t you want to know my name? Then we will no longer be strangers, but friends,” he said.
Charlotte twisted the fine leather gloves in her mitten-clad hands. She should throw the gloves in his face. In no way did she want to be this man’s friend. “You’ll forgive me if I worry about the price you’ll demand in trade for your name. I am content with our acquaintance as it is.”
“You make an excellent point. A more respectable gentleman would bid you good day, but alas, I am not that gentleman. Take my coat.” He removed his greatcoat and tossed it at Charlotte.
She caught the bundle, the fabric surprisingly heavy in her arms. “Sir! What are you doing?”
“Giving you my coat so you don’t freeze. What do you think I am doing?”
“I cannot accept this. I do not need you to outfit me.” The gloves were more than generous.
“A city lady like yourself? You most certainly do. You’ll never make it up the mountain. Now put that on.” He spoke in an authoritative tone that suggested he was a man used to giving orders and being obeyed.
“Since I doubt this is charity, what do you ask in trade?”
That predatory gleam in his eyes came back, flashing red in the sunlight. “Perhaps it is enough that I want such a pretty woman to smell like me.”
Charlotte laughed, loud and harsh, at the bold lie. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth. Well-bred ladies did not laugh like they were three pints into the evening at the tavern. “Forgive me, but you need to be subtle with your lies.”
His gaze swept over her. When his eyes met hers, the hunger in them removed any doubt that she was a morsel. “I’m sorry you think that, and I humbly request the names of the scoundrel who mistreated you so badly that you hold such a low opinion of yourself.”
A blush flooded her cheeks. Charlotte dropped her gaze, refusing to answer. Instead, she said, “Your price? I’ll toss this to the ground if you refuse to tell me.”
“A kiss,” he said, without hesitation.
“Sir!” Charlotte clutched the coat to her chest, following a well-worn script. Ladies did not speak with strangers in the street, and they certainly did not barter away kisses, even as tempted as she might be.
“I’ll collect the next time we meet,” he said. With a tip of his hat, he stepped back and vanished back into the fog.
Charlotte sat stunned. When she was certain he was gone, she lifted the coat and sniffed. The smell of woodsmoke and bright, citrus-spiced soap clung to the fabric. It was wild and refined at the same time.
Like him.
That man, through sheer arrogance and hubris, made her forget herself.
“There you are. I couldn’t find you in all this fog,” Luis said, slapping the side of the cart. “I found a cartwright to reinforce the axle, but they won’t be able to do it today.”
Miles appeared over Luis’s shoulder. He looked pale and exhausted. “Which is ridiculous. I could make the repair in no time.”
