Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The irritating thingabout leaving a ball after only one dance was that one’s coach had only just been stowed, and the horses given their rest. Justin had no choice but to wait outside while the grooms and coachman prepared to convey him home. He considered walking the distance himself, but that would only be more awkward to explain later.

He paced back and forth, his boots crunching over a thin coating of frost on the drive. With every step, the damn waistcoat jingled, reminding him that he might as well be the court jester.

What a fool.

He stopped and stripped off his gloves and coat, tossing them onto a nearby bench, and began tugging the buttons of the wretched vest. The sooner he had this thing off, the better.

Unfortunately, the waistcoat was as vexing as the woman who’d tricked him into wearing it. The buttons refused to yield to his will. Damned tassels. For God’s sake, tassels. How had he been so stupid as to wear the thing? He lost all powers of rationality where Chloe Garland was concerned.

He spat a vicious bit of blasphemy into the night air.

“Lord Cheverell?” The light, familiar voice came from behind him.

Chloe.

He cursed again, silently this time, and turned.

How was it possible for a woman to be even lovelier in the dark? There were no glowing candles to illuminate her pretty features or her tempting figure. But the moonlight turned her skin to gleaming silver satin, and even though shadows cast by the lanterns obscured her upswept hair and the finer contours of her features, nothing could hide her wide, lovely eyes, nor her lush, deep red lips. Those lips that teased and tempted.

She looked at his hands, which remained frozen in the act of tassel-wrestling. “Do take care not to rip out the stitching. I worked hard on that.”

“You made this?”

“Of course. I didn’t trust that anyone else would make it sufficiently hideous. Asymmetrical snowflakes are surprisingly difficult, and adding the fifth leg to the reindeer took time. The hardest bits were those pompons.” She nodded at the fuzzy red balls sprouting from the right lapel. “I pricked my finger more than once.”

“Good.” He renewed his attack on the stubborn buttons.

“Come now. It’s only a waistcoat. I didn’t know it would injure your pride so deeply.”

“My pride is intact.”

“Well, I seem to have wounded your feelings in some way.”

“You have no idea of my feelings.”

“Perhaps not.” She smiled impishly. “You do keep your emotions rather close to the vest.”

With a growl of frustration, he abandoned his struggle with the waistcoat buttons. “This is impossible.”

“Here. Let me help.”

Working from smallest finger inward, she loosened her left elbow-length glove and slid the red silk sheath downward. Slowly. Revealing her forearm. Then her wrist. Then her hand and delicate fingertips.

As she repeated the process with the other glove, Justin’s pulse went wild. He’d seen burlesque performances in some of Covent Garden’s most scandalous establishments, and none of them were this arousing.

Gloves removed, she closed the distance between them. As she reached for the waistcoat buttons, he made the mistake of glancing downward. Good God, her low neckline served up her bosom like two dishes of cream.

“Wait.” He retrieved his coat from the bench and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Before you freeze.”

Before I go mad.

He yanked the lapels together over her bosom. There. Better, in theory. In actuality, it was little help. He had four other senses eager to aid his downfall.

She’d been drinking mulled wine. Her lips were stained a deep claret red, and the scents of cloves and cinnamon hovered in the air between them. Her kiss would taste like Christmas.

As she set to the task of persuading the first button loose, her hand brushed his chest. His knees went weak. Apparently even layers of dreadful needlework, velvet lining, and starched shirt still weren’t armor enough against her touch.

He drew in a sharp breath.

She tsked. “Be still, you.”

“Miss Chloe—”

“I know, I know. This is forward, familiar, and horribly improper. Scold me if you like, but you will waste your breath. I will not be intimidated.”

He clenched his hands in fists at his sides. “I’m sufficiently acquainted with your character to know that much.”

“I got you into this situation. It seems only fair that I should get you out of it.”

Very well, Justin concluded. As ordeals went, this was a minor one. He should take it like a man. Well, he should take it like a significantly less virile man. He steeled himself and did his best impression of an unfeeling rock as Chloe undid the buttons one by one.

A sense of irony did not escape him. Over the past several months, he’d entertained many fantasies that began with her helping him out of his clothing. And then continued with him ripping hers to shreds. However, of all the settings and occasions he’d imagined, he didn’t recall any of those fantasies taking place in the front drive of her house on a frosty winter night. And none of them, absolutely none of them, featured reindeer of any kind.

When she’d undone the last button, his waistcoat hung open, exposing the front of his crisp white shirt. The shock of frigid air could not quell his hammering heart.

“There,” she said. “You are free of it.”

Free of the vest, perhaps. Free of her? Never.

“Thank you,” he said. “Now return to the party. It’s cold.”

Unsurprisingly, she ignored his directive. “I owe you an apology. I should not have lied to you about the waistcoat. I’m sorry.”

“There are no apologies necessary. It’s nothing.”

“It’s clearly something. Something enough to drive you away.”

“I am not driven away. I simply recalled I have another engagement this evening.”

It wasn’t an untruth. Justin had a pressing appointment with a decanter of whisky, and he needed to leave for it now. Before he did something rash, like seizing Chloe in his arms. She was standing much too close, and still wearing his coat around her shoulders. She was wrapped in him, and he couldn’t take it much longer.

“You were right,” she went on. “I think I did want to humiliate you, just a little bit. And not only in recompense for the pond incident.”

“It was a reflecting pool.”

“Yes, yes. You are always correcting me.” She huffed out a breath. “We are two very different people. So much is obvious. But our families are connected now. Even if you don’t like me, can you at least make an effort to tolerate my presence?”

Damn his eyes. She believed he disliked her. Worse, she believed he found her company intolerable. The fulcrum shifted in his chest, and the decision was made. He could not allow her to think such things.

“As difficult as it is to admit,” she went on, “it hurts that you have rebuffed my every overture toward friendship.”

“If I have hurt you, I swear it was unintentional. I would heap pain on myself before I would cause you the slightest discomfort. But much as I know you resent my corrections, I must correct you at least one time more. “

“What is it this time?”

“The truth of the matter is, I do not dislike you. I do not find you intolerable. Nevertheless, I have never desired your friendship.”

She blinked several times in rapid succession. “Consider me corrected.”

She turned to leave, but he caught her by the wrist.

“Chloe, I have always wanted more.”