His skin came alive with primal, raw hunger, as well as bewildered gratitude. The sensible man he’d been before he walked into the ballroom was gone.

This new Hugo pulled his lady into his arms so suddenly that her eyes flew to his in surprise. There were snowflakes caught on her eyelashes, melting on her lips. He covered her laughing mouth with his, dazzled by the flash of cold followed by heat. Her mouth was sweet and wet, and threw him instantly into a flush of sensual hunger such as he’d had—

He pushed that thought away.

No comparisons. Ever.

The world had given him so many blessings, and he had thought never to have one of this magnitude again.

She tasted like snow. Their tongues met and twisted around each other, danced an ancient measure. His heart thudded in his chest, making his breath shudder and his hands tighten around her.

Ophelia had kissed him in the carriage. But now, with the snow swirling over their heads, she was fire and ice at once. She submitted to him and owned him all at once. When she drew back, moments later, he felt remade.

As different from his usual self as the white trees, the white carriage path, the white mound that was her little carriage. The one he would beg her to give up because its perch was too fragile to carry such precious cargo.

Tomorrow, he told himself.

She was smiling up at him, still arched against him, allowing her hand to rest in the hollow of his back.

“I’m happy,” he said, hearing wonder in his voice with a touch of embarrassment. “Gentlemen aren’t supposed to experience an emotion so juvenile.”

“Happy Hugo?” she asked, laughing.

He snorted. “My given name is reason enough for never admitting to such a foolish emotion.” He let her go and turned to the horse. Bisquet had cut the lead to use as reins and thrown a blanket over the animal. A layer of snow already covered the blanket.

The coachman had also left a brass lantern hooked to the bridle. Hugo checked, but it was no more than pleasantly warm against the horse’s shoulder. The gelding snorted and twitched its ears.

“I’m going to pull off that blanket and put you straight up on his back before snow settles.”

At her nod, he whipped off the blanket and lifted her up, taking care to make sure that she was well-seated, her cloak tucked around her skirts. “Sidesaddle is absurd,” he muttered. “Not that we have a saddle.”

“I have too many skirts to sit any other way,” she pointed out. “Are you going to snuff the torch and lantern?”

“No, I’ll leave them burning, in case someone tools along in the snow and doesn’t see the downed vehicle until it’s too late.”