“Why not? So far, it’s working.” He returned to collect the skates from the bank. “And don’t think of moving.”
“You’re such a bully,” she said without heat.
He smiled. “You just don’t like anyone else giving orders. Are you going to let me put on your skates?”
“If you insist.”
“Good.” Taking off his gloves, he dipped to his knees. When he lifted her foot, it looked absurdly dainty in his hold, despite the sensible half-boot. He took a moment to admire her shapely ankle in its black woolen stocking. Deftly he buckled on the skate. Then he repeated the action for the other foot.
“Stay there,” he said, his voice gruff as he fought the urge to bury his face in her lap. It was cold enough to freeze the balls off a polar bear, yet Joss felt so hot, he could explode.
He sat beside Margaret, and this time was cautious enough to keep his distance. All this agony was to no purpose, even if she said yes—and that was as likely as that freezing polar bear dancing a gavotte. He could hardly seduce the girl on a snowy bank.
Once his skates were on and he’d replaced his gloves, he stood and launched into a powerful glide across the ice. He came to a stop and twirled several times before facing her. It seemed he did want to show off.
Her face was alight with admiration. “My goodness, you look at home.”
He skated in and held out his hands. “Come on. You’ll like it.”
Inevitably his mind focused on something else she’d like. To his relief, she wobbled so badly on her skates, he had to put his licentious thoughts aside and concentrate on saving her from toppling over.
“Go slowly,” she said, at last finding a tottering balance.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
Devil take it, did everything he said have to sound like an invitation to bed sport?
He stared into her eyes and waited for her to stand up straight and steady. Very slowly, he backed out onto the pond.
As he’d expected, she soon found her feet, and her grip on his hands loosened from the deathly clutch. “Better?”
She nodded, although the tense line of her lush mouth told him she wasn’t yet at ease. “Yes.”
“Can I let go of one hand?”
Shakily she released his hand, and for a few moments, they skated side by side. With every minute, she gained in confidence. Gradually he built the pace, until they glided smooth and graceful across the ice and the wind lifted his hair.
He glanced at her face and was delighted to see pleasure had replaced terror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her remarkable eyes were bright. He drew her around in a great swooping arc that sent her skirts belling out.
“You’ve remembered how,” he said, as she stopped beside him with breathtaking skill.
“I’d forgotten what fun it is.”
“We’ve hardly started,” he said, wanting to show her every pleasure in the world. And for once, he wasn’t thinking about what he wanted to do to her in his bed.
Right now, in her dowdy winter clothes, she was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen. He’d met society’s beauties, and none could hold a candle to Margaret Carr on this hidden, icy pond in the depths of wildest Yorkshire.
He caught her free hand and turned around fast, surprising an excited laugh from her. Then he caught her waist and skated swift as an arrow down the pond. And damn him, if she didn’t
keep up. When they reached the end, she pulled away to skate free. For breathless minutes, he pursued her as she swung off, laughing. When he reached her, he spun her into a wild waltz.
He’d always remember these blissful hours, dancing across the pond with Margaret. Meeting. Parting. Meeting again. Touching. Breaking away.
The short winter day drew in around them, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the ice.
Until finally he caught her by the waist and deliberately overbalanced into a thick snowbank rising above the edge of the pond.
Laughing, she tumbled down beside him, gripping his hand tight. “Oh, that was a rotten thing to do.”