He settled his hands at her waist. She was still, looking at him with surprise, but no nervousness. There was nothing shy about Daisy. She was impossibly soft and curved. She moved, settling her weight against him, and he could not help but remember the night she’d asked for help with her wedding dress. He’d tried not to stare, but he could still recall the shape of her body under the fabric. Now he could feel it: the indent of her waist, her hips just below his hands, flared like the body of a violin.

“You’re so cold,” she whispered, looping her arms around his neck. Her voice shook slightly. She settled more closely against him, her hand stroking the back of his neck. He was helpless to stop his hands; they smoothed up and down her back, on either side of her spine. Her breasts were round and firm, pressed against his chest. He could tell she was wearing nothing under the chemise. He could feel the arches and hollows of her, and every touch seemed to unravel another strand of the thin thread of control binding his good sense. Blood pooled, hot and low in his belly. The fabric of her nightgown bunched up in his hands. His fingers curved over the shape of her, brushing the silk of her bare thighs, sliding up—

Something echoed through the house.

It was the doorbell ringing. James quietly cursed himself for having a doorbell put in at all. He heard hurrying feet, and cursed himself for having hired domestic staff too. He and Cordelia would have been better off alone, on top of a mountain perhaps.

More footsteps, and voices now, coming from downstairs.

Cordelia was scrambling off him, off the bed, smoothing down her hair. Her cheeks were flaming red. The little globe necklace he’d given her bounced as she moved, sliding down under the neckline of her chemise. “James, I think we’d better—”

“Get dressed,” he said mechanically. “Yes. Probably.”

She hurried out of the room, not looking at him. He scrambled to his feet, furious with himself. He had lost control of himself, and quite possibly horrified Cordelia. Swearing viciously, he slammed the window closed so hard that a crack spidered across the glass.

Despite feeling like her whole body was blushing, Cordelia dressed hastily and raced downstairs, where she found Risa in the foyer, looking puzzled and worried. “Oun marde ghad boland injast,” Risa said, which translated roughly to “The very tall man is here.”

Indeed, Thomas was hovering uncertainly on the doorstep. In the summer, Cordelia had thought him nearly blond, but she realized it had been sunlight, bleaching the strands of his hair. It was nut-brown now, rather straggly and damp with snow. He was breathless, seeming almost frozen, as if he could not think of what to say.