“I suppose that makes sense, but I’ll always be on the colt’s side.” Cornelia swallowed. Burnell’s mouth was very close to hers and he smelled so good—of spice and shaving soap and leather. There was a faint scar above his brow and a bump near the top of his nose, as if it had once been broken.
I can’t help it. No matter what my head says, my body is a slave to its passions and if he doesn’t kiss me now I shall—
There was a sudden whinny from the horses. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of orange fur against the stark white snow—a fox, it looked like, dashing madly across their path—and then the world spun sideways.
Cornelia screamed as they were both flung forward.
“What happened?” Cornelia sat up with a groan.
“Something frightened the horses.” Burnell touched his forehead and grimaced. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”
“It’s not your fault.” Cornelia twisted in her seat, moving from the uncomfortable position she’d ended up in. She winced as pain lanced her ankle.
Burnell’s concern was immediate. “You’re injured?”
“No, really, I’m fine.” But she sucked in her breath as she attempted to stand.
“Stop trying to move.” Burnell frowned. “It’s your foot is it? Here, let me look.”
Before she could protest, he’d raised her boot to his knee and pushed her skirts out of the way. With careful hands he unknotted the laces and eased off the shoe.
She did her best not to flinch as his fingers passed gently over her toes, pressing the sole and then the instep. His hands were surprisingly heated and his touch was firm.
It was worst luck that she was wearing her grey wool stockings rather than pink silk, and this old pair had several darns.
Only when he reached the nub of her ankle did she bite her lip.
“That pains you?” He stopped dead, placing a palm either side of the bone. “Flex it if you can.”
Gingerly, she did so, then wiggled her toes. There were no more shooting pains, but an undeniable ache.
“Just bruising, I think, but we won’t risk walking on it.” Swiftly, he pulled the scarf from his neck and began wrapping her ankle.
The fine wool was still warm, and there was his scent again—so very masculine. Cornelia found herself looking at the tanned skin of his nape. He wasn’t pale, as English gentlemen were. His time in Texas and Mexico had seen to that—and his neck wasn’t the only part of him burnished gold from the sun. She’d seen far more, of course. She’d seen everything.
As he knotted the fabric, drawing her foot further into his lap, she gave a small whimper.
He looked up gravely. “Are you feeling faint?”
She was—but she didn’t think it had anything to do with her ankle.
“I’m really alright.” She sighed, yearning for him to touch her some more or, better yet, to put his arms about her.
He was a self-satisfied rogue and he was going to waltz out of her life in the blink of an eye. She’d never see him again. There were a hundred reasons why this was a bad idea but, still, she wanted to bury herself in his warmth.
He drew back a little, a crease appearing between his brows. Smoothing her skirts down so her ankle was covered again, he cleared his throat. “With the sleigh buried in the snowbank like this, it’ll need digging out. I’ll unharness the horses and you can ride back if you feel up to it. It’s not so easy without a saddle, but there’s not far to go.”
She heard the words but was no longer listening.
Staring at his lips, she was awash with desire, with the need for there to be no more distance between them.
Last night, he’d taken her unawares. She’d been vulnerable and upset. But this time… she wouldn’t be able to call it an accident. She knew what she was doing, even if it did feel that she was hurtling towards something she couldn’t control.
Burnell pushed his hand through his hair. “Otherwise, I could carry you. Once we get you back, I can ride out to fetch the doctor. I should be able—”
Grabbing the lapels of his coat, Cornelia kissed him.
Did she feel how his heart was beating?
He should never have placed her foot in his lap. She was injured but, being the selfish bastard he was, he’d been thinking all the while of how much he wanted to get his hands further under her skirts—right to the top of those godawful stockings, where he knew how silken her skin would be.
All he’d done was swathe the ankle in his scarf and she’d looked at him like he was some kind of saviour.
Never mind that it was his fault she’d crashed the sleigh in the first place, leaning in to kiss her like that. She’d have been paying attention otherwise, or he would have been, and they’d have had a chance to pull up the horses, maybe.
But it seemed her mind had been on the same track as his, for the way she was kissing him right now had nothing meek or mild about it. Her mouth was melting soft and velvet smooth but eager in a way that showed she wanted him, and badly.
Reaching around her waist, he pulled her as close as he could get, letting her feel his responding hunger. She made some small noise as he stroked his tongue in her mouth, and twined her arms about his neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss.
God, she was beautiful, and kissing her was making him wish they might stay like this forever, wrapped up in one another, joined in a kiss that had no end, and the rest of the world far off.
He was no saint of course. He wanted her kiss, but a whole lot more besides and, if it weren’t for the temperature out here shrinking his balls to the size of peas, he’d have slid her down on the blankets to give her what was on his mind.
With a groan, he cupped her breast but there were far too many layers between them to make the caress satisfactory. He’d need to unbutton her coat for that. Only then would he be able to weigh the yielding softness in his palm, and rub his thumb over her hardening nipple. He’d bet every dollar he owned that she tasted as good there as her sweet lips promised. He’d bet she tasted good everywhere.
Dear God! Thinking about that made him hard—getting her under him and running his tongue every place a man could give a woman pleasure.
As if reading his mind, she leaned into him, pressing her breast against his hand and biting his lip gently.
“Cornelia.” His voice dragged out gravel rough, filled with need.
Opening her eyes, she met his gaze, her pupils liquid dark, pulling him into a hidden place.
He wanted badly to go there with her, but she was hurt and it was bitterly cold.
Pushing back, he rested her injured foot on the banquette and lowered the other to the floor.
They couldn’t stay here; they couldn’t do this.
Little more than a yard separated them but when he looked at her again, the distance was unfathomable.
Chapter 13
Three days later…
The doctor had declared Cornelia was suffering from a sprain. The foot was to be elevated as much as possible. Very kindly, the duchess had placed one of her personal sitting rooms at Cornelia’s disposal, located on the same floor as her bedchamber. Comfortable as Cornelia’s bedchamber was, she had no wish to be confined there altogether and, using the wooden cane the duke had unearthed, she was able to navigate the corridors without any trouble.