My Merry Marquess (Wallflower's Christmas Wish #3) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,47

left or was he yet laying in the snow? Buried alive?

He might never get up if he stayed out there much longer.

Noelle didn’t allow herself to reconsider her actions as she tiptoed out of her room and down the front stairs. She was almost surprised to find her aunt’s butler absent from the door. Of course, Mr. Clark was in bed. Of course, he was asleep. Normal people slept at this time.

Drawing in a deep breath to fortify her courage, she decided she would help check on him herself. If she couldn’t rouse him, then she’d wake the household up.

Finding a dead man in the town center, Noelle supposed, would likely be the sort of event for which a lady might wish to wake a few people.

She unlocked the door and opened it and when the wind blew inside, the cold sent a shiver traveling through her small frame. Undeterred, she clutched the scarf around her head and ducked outside into the dark, wretched storm.

Oh, but the snow was deep, and cold, and wet. Curling her spine against the wind, Noelle kept her head down and barreled headlong in the direction she’d thought she’d seen him fall. What if she couldn’t find him?

What if he was a murderer and this was all just a ruse to lure an innocent girl like herself out of her bed chamber and into his clutches?

She did her best to dismiss such pessimistic thoughts and glanced up to get her bearings, half hoping she would see him and half hoping he’d already made his way back to wherever he’d come from, inside where it was safe and dry.

Both parts of her were to be rewarded, or disappointed, depending on how she cared to think about it, when she caught sight of the dark figure on the ground just a few steps away. Ploughing her way through the snow, she dropped to her knees at his side purposely ignoring the cold now seeping through her coat and night rail. A man’s life was at stake, for goodness sake!

“Sir!” She leaned forward to get a better look at him. Even in her panic, in the middle of a blizzard, she couldn’t help but notice that he had beautiful, thick, dark lashes. So thick that they’d captured a few sparkling snowflakes and appeared almost magical against the pale skin just above strong cheekbones.

“Sir! Wake up!”

And then her gaze settled on his mouth. Framed with dark stubble above his upper lip and jaw, his lips looked soft but also firm. The word “kissable” flitted through her brain.

She shook her head. Men’s lips weren’t kissable! Were they?

“Oh please, wake up! Don’t be dead!” Not wanting to wake the entire village, she realized she was whispering. She didn’t wish to be too loud. It would be dreadfully embarrassing and scandalous if anyone discovered her outside by herself like this.

She removed her gloves and slapped his face a few times as an alternative. He was far too handsome to be dead. “Please!” Her fingers inadvertently threaded themselves through silky, thick, black hair. “You must wake up.”

Her fingers continued combing through his hair—strictly to remove the snow, that was.

And then his chest began shaking and she jumped guiltily. Which was ridiculous. She was saving him, for heaven’s sake!

“Are you cold?” He must be.

But when that kissable mouth of his stretched into a wide smile, a dreadful feeling rolled through her. He smelled of an all-too-familiar aroma, one she easily recognized as she’d caught the scent on her father’s breath often enough.

This blighter was foxed! And he wasn’t shaking from cold, he was shaking with laughter now.

Those annoyingly gorgeous lashes of his fluttered and opened to gaze at her sleepily. “Are you an angel, love? Because if you are, I should have died years ago.” Hooded and drunken eyes gazed at her as he reached up to touch her face.

Noelle brushed it away and shook him. “You have to get up, sir. You can’t stay out here in the cold all night.”

“Come down here and join me. We can keep one another warm.” His voice sounded low and inviting, sending a deep rumble of delicious sin vibrating through her, despite the freezing snow.

Good Gravy. Jug bitten for certain! “You must get up!” Noelle took hold of his shoulders and made a valiant attempt at pulling him into a sitting position. If his arms hadn’t wound about her, she might even have succeeded.

Instead she found herself laying atop the bounder.

“Kiss me first. Kiss me and