Lamps spilled warm puddles of golden light across the wet cobblestones. The coach stood in the courtyard, the horses weary, their breath smoky against the shadows. The rain had intensified in the last hour. Lord d’Arenville waited to hand Tallie down. She emerged stiffly and stumbled as she landed on the wet and slippery cobbles, but a cold, strong hand caught her and she was safe. Her husband pulled her hard against his body and allowed his greatcoat to drop over her, shielding her from the rain. The sensation was overwhelming. His body radiated warmth and strength and power. And an odour —not at all unpleasant, she decided— of horse, damp wool, leather and fresh male sweat. Tallie allowed her body to lean against his, knowing her behaviour was indecorous and that there were grooms and other people watching. She was too cold to argue, too tired to pull away —and in any case his arm was wrapped around her like a warm steel band, and she could not have moved away if she’d tried.
