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Rosalind clutched her shawl tightly about her shoulders as Ashton offered to lift her down from the coach.
“Come on, darling,” he teased. “Don’t be frightened.”
“I’m not.” She held out her hand, but he stepped closer and caught her waist, lifting her down. Beyond him the lights of the house bathed the front lawn in a soft golden hue, a lovely contrast to the heavy darkness of the midnight hour.
“I’ll have a footman bring us a bottle of wine. By the looks of it, we’ll need it.” He was chuckling as he helped her up the steps. The butler opened the door for them, and Ashton took him aside to speak to him while a footman collected her shawl.
“Ready?” Ashton asked as he returned to her.
“With you I doubt I’ll ever be truly ready,” she said as Ashton led her up the grand stairs. Risking
