Page 26 of In With a Chance

A tall man. A warm man, she could tell even through his greatcoat as she splayed her hands against his chest. He was warm, and she was warm, a most inexplicable burning heat shooting down her limbs to her nether regions.

Her most netherest of regions. Her fingers and toes were tingling, and as Gwen looked up into the startled eyes of Ernest Quintrell, Baron Frasemere, it was to discover quite to her horror that she was unsure how she was still standing while her knees quivered so.

Dear Lord, what is this?

“Sorry,” said Baron Frasemere with a wry smile.

Gwen tried to laugh. “You appear to be saying that to me a great deal recently.”

“Yes, I do, don’t I?”

Was it just her imagination, or was the man’s breathing somewhat…fluttering?

It had to have been her imagination. She was merely filled with lingering longing for Lord Ravenshurst, Gwen told herself decisively. That was why she was enduring all these strange sensations that made absolutely no sense.

After all, here they were, Lord Frasemere and herself, standing almost arm in arm in the doorway and he had done nothing but be there, pressed up against her, and yet she was feeling all sorts of…

Well. Heat.

“Well, I am sorry again,” the baron said with a grin. “For apologizing again.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “That’s just ridiculous.”

“I suppose it is.” The man did not move, did not retreat from her into the house or attempt to step around her to leave.

In fact, Gwen now realized that she did not quite know how to remove her hands from him. Here they were, pressed up against him, and she was rather enjoying it, in fact, though she would not allow herself to think such a thing—and she had no idea how to separate from him.

What, she was supposed to just…release him?

That didn’t sound right.

“Was your afternoon a pleasant one?”

“Very pleasant,” Gwen said instinctively, staring up into the man’s face and finding much to her dissatisfaction that she was unable to lie to him. “It was fine.”

Lord Frasemere raised an eyebrow. “‘Fine’?”

“Yes, fine.” After all, she did not have to explain anything to him. He was a guest of her parents, nothing more. A friend of her brother whom Michael had mentioned once or twice, hardly a confidante of the family.

He was hardly her confidante.

The baron’s smile was warming parts of her that had never been warmed before. “I am glad. You deserve a fine day.”

Now why on earth did that make her… Make everything…

Gwen removed her hands from Lord Frasemere’s chest. “Yes, I do.”

“And I am glad that you are finding that with Lord Ravenshurst,” he continued.

Gwen blinked. “Who?”

For some reason, the man was smiling. “The Marquess of Ravenshurst. Your betrothed.”

She blinked again. Her what?

All too late, the memory of the tall, moderately aloof gentleman who smiled curtly whenever he saw her rushed back into her mind.

Oh. The Marquess of Ravenshurst. Him.