trapped inside.” She glanced at Godfrey. “Thank you for suggesting this walk—we all needed it.”
Closing his hand over hers where it rested on his sleeve, he lightly squeezed. “Thank you for consenting to come—for me, this interlude is truly a pleasure.”
Her gaze lingered on his face, as if confirming what he’d implied but hadn’t said: that the walk would not have been such a pleasure without her company.
He met her gaze readily, willing her to see that and more.
After a second, her lashes veiled her eyes, and she looked forward.
They neared the smaller stone bridge that spanned the narrow dip at the bottom of which a small stream tinkled with bell-like clarity, still running beneath a deep covering of snow.
The snow lay thicker on the bridge than on the path, with a solid layer of ice beneath. They started across, treading in Maggie’s and Harry’s footsteps. Godfrey looked ahead, but the younger pair had disappeared around the curve in the path.
“Oh!” Ellie clutched his arm.
He snapped his gaze to her as she dragged on his arm, struggling to stay upright as her galoshes slid on the underlying ice.
He planted his feet and hauled her to him; she landed breast to chest, hip to thigh, against him.
She stilled.
Gently, he freed his sleeve from her grip, wrapped his arms around her, and steadied her against him. “I’ve got you.”
Her thick coat and his greatcoat cushioned the contact, yet he still felt her warm softness filling his arms, a very welcome sensation in the prevailing cold.
After several seconds during which he didn’t think she breathed, she looked up. Her eyes met his, her gaze open and direct, and he saw in the medley of woodland greens and golds an awareness and something more than curiosity.
“Yes, you do,” she replied, her voice low and husky, and it was his turn to search for hidden meanings.
Attraction—transparently mutual, potent, and shockingly powerful—all but throbbed between them.
The tug was palpable, a visceral tightening that compelled.
He felt as if he was falling into her eyes, into her soul.
Uncertain yet driven, he slowly lowered his head.
She made a small sound, reached up and cupped his nape with her gloved hand, and stretched upward on her toes.
That was agreement enough; he swooped, and his lips found hers.
He kissed her—gently, carefully, as if she were as fragile as spun glass. His lips moved on hers in a kiss as delicate as a falling snowflake—temptation and fascination combined.
Sparks of sensation danced along his nerves, teasing, taunting, luring.
Then her lips firmed, their lush softness an unimaginable delight, and she kissed him back, her lips cruising his in a sweet, evocative savoring that sent tingles of expectation down his spine.
Then warmth flared into heat, and the kiss turned seeking, searching; she wanted more, and he met her quest with his own burgeoning need.
“Where are they?” Maggie’s piping voice rang across the snow.
Ellie and Godfrey broke from the kiss. They stared at each other and heard Harry reply, “I don’t know, but they’ll be along in a moment. Come on! It’s getting colder.”
Ellie drew in a tight breath and tensed to step back.
Godfrey set her on her feet and held her until he was sure she was steady.
Her hands resting on his sleeves, she cleared her throat. “The day’s closing in. We should get on.”
He didn’t trust his voice, or what he might say, so simply nodded.
He lowered his arms, feeling the loss as her hands fell away, then he offered her an arm, and after a fractional hesitation, she took it.
They walked off the bridge and on along the path.
Thoughts, hopes, and errant impulses flitted through his brain.
They rounded the curve and, in the distance, saw the Hall, solid and enduring in gray stone, with its pitched lead roofs, garlanded with snow, stark against the pale-blue sky. Side by side, Harry and Maggie were walking toward the house, apparently joking and laughing, and the vista was framed by winter-bare trees, their branches still thinly coated with snow.
Godfrey drank in the sight, then surreptitiously glanced at Ellie, scanning her features. Her expression was as serene as before, but there was a touch more color in her cheeks, and her eyes… He rather thought they were shining.
He looked ahead. He felt good. Not just happy but settled. And although she was the source of his fascination and attraction, that anchored feeling wasn’t solely due to her but owed much to the totality of what he had stumbled upon there, at Hinckley Hall.
A family, a household, living