Page 138 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

There were only inches between them as they both sat leaning toward each other. And every time they hit a bump in the road, his knees bumped her own and caused her breathing to hitch.

She’d caught her breath so many times now that she was starting to feel lightheaded.

There was, she knew, a certain intimacy in removing one’s gloves in front of a gentleman. Having a gentleman be the one to do the removing? Well, that was positively ruinous.

That’s why she’d resisted at first.

But then, she’d reasoned, considering she’d been pressed against him like a wanton hussy only hours earlier, it seemed a bit foolish to be fretting about respectability now.

Between riding astride in breeches and kissing him senseless, that ship had well and truly sailed.

Really, he was making a far bigger deal of it than necessary.

She watched intently as the red continued to spread across the white satin covering her palm.

They were her best pair. And now, they were completely ruined.

Her heart stuttered as Lord Stockton ran a thumb over her wrist where her pulse jumped wildly, and she could only hope that he didn’t notice.

Bad enough that her face gave away her emotions without her wrist joining the fray.

“May I remove your glove to inspect the injury, Lady Holly?” he asked, his deep golden eyes boring into hers, his voice gravelly.

“My lord, it really isn’t –“

“Call me Evan,” he interrupted. “’My lord’ seems a little formal now.” He smiled.

She couldn’t speak. Simply couldn’t say a word.

Any and all propriety had flown out the window when it came to this man, Holly thought wryly. And in only a couple of days.

What sort of woman did that make her?

Certainly, not one Grandmama would be proud of.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to insist upon refusing his request. When it came to this man, Holly felt akin to a puppet on a string.

It wasn’t an altogether pleasant feeling, this lack of control over her emotions and reactions.

Yet, it wasn’t terrible either.

It was somewhere in the confusing middle.

“Evan,” she repeated, mesmerised by the sudden flare of heat in his eyes as she spoke. “As I said, there is no need for a fuss.”

“Humour me, hmm?” he answered before dropping his eyes to the hand resting in his own.

Holly watched as he moved his hand up her arm and began to pull at the glove.

She could hardly breathe as a wicked desire unfurled inside her.

How such an inconspicuous action could make her feel as though her very blood were on fire, she didn’t know. But as his hand began its achingly slow descent, scraping against the flesh that he bared, she felt as though she were suffering the most exquisite torture.

She didn’t understand this feeling. Feeling shivery and cold, yet unbearably hot at the same time. Feeling as though her entire body were liable to turn to liquid at a moment’s notice.

Only when he slid the glove past where she’d been cut did she move. She winced slightly, and he looked up at her.

And when she saw the raw, almost anguished look in his eyes, she stopped breathing altogether.

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