“It’s only a kite, Mr. Sommersby. Come along, don’t be shy.” It seemed an eternity passed before his arms circled her and his hands came to rest on hers as they clutched the wooden spindles of the reel that Beast had carved for her so it was easier to control the length of string that kept the kite tethered to her—in much the same manner that Mr. Sommersby was now tethered to her. She’d not considered how his strong, muscled arms would bracket each side of her, how his chest would press lightly against her back. She felt like a caterpillar in a cocoon going through a transformation, although she wasn’t quite certain what would emerge at the end of it. Never before had she been so aware of a man. In spite of the fact that he was layered in clothing—shirt, waistcoat, coat—the heat from his skin still managed to mingle with hers. So much heat that she felt as though she were candlewax and melting. Her knees threatened to give way at any moment. She was at once grateful they both wore gloves and tempted to jerk them off so the silkiness of her hands could brush against the roughness of his palms.

Her mind was devoid of thought, as the acute awareness of his nearness overwhelmed her in a most pleasant manner. “Are you enjoying Dick Turpin’s adventures?” she heard herself ask.

“Very much so.”

He’d dipped his head, his mouth near her ear, his low voice causing distant areas of her body to react as though he’d pressed his lips there, his warm breath skimming over her ear, across her cheek, sending pleasure spiraling through her. She had to get a hold of herself, was giving a lesson here. “I’m going to slowly slide my hands out from under yours—”

“I rather wish you wouldn’t.”

How very much she wished the same but being held in his arms like this was so terribly inappropriate. “I thought you might like to grip the spindles, so you can have a keener experience.”

She felt his hands close more securely around hers. “I’m perfectly content with the experience.”

Oh, that voice. Rough and raspy. She thought no orchestra in the world could play a tune that would rival it in creating a deeply enamored response within her breast. If she carried on with these unsuitable thoughts, she feared she might swoon, when she’d never swooned in her life—although the finishing school she’d attended had held a lesson on how to do it gracefully. She’d considered it a silly waste of time, but how was she to have known then that a man’s nearness could make it feel like one’s stays were slowly shrinking, making it difficult to breathe? Time to concentrate on the reason she was now locked within his arms. “Can you feel the breeze buffeting the kite?”