Page 47 of The Boxing Baroness

To her astonishment, the starchy Duke of Staunton laughed. It was as if a bolt of sunshine had just burst through the clouds, the sound low and velvety and sinful.

“Well, yes, actually. I suppose I pictured somebody along the lines of Letty Lade.”

“Do you know her?” Marianne asked. “Dominic mentioned her more than once, but I think he disliked her for besting him in some race or other.”

“Yes, she trounced him badly and won five hundred guineas in the process.”

Marianne laughed. “How wonderful! So, I’m not like Letty, then?”

“No. You’re not like any of the women I saw Dominic with over the years. And before you ask, that is a compliment.”

“Your Grace! That’s twice in one day,” she teased, hoping he attributed her flush to the freezing wind.

He turned his far-too-piercing gaze on her. “Yes, well, I shouldn’t—”

Marianne barely squeezed Cassio’s flank and he leapt forward. “Race you!” she shouted over her shoulder.

And then she was flying.

* * *

Something cold landed between Sin’s collar and neck and he looked up; the snow that had been threatening since he’d awakened that morning had finally begun to fall.

He grimaced. He was a fool to be sitting there in the snow, mounted on the sorriest sack of bones he’d ever seen, waiting for a woman who wished him—with good reason—to the devil.

The spavined horse shifted beneath him.

“Sorry, old man—did I say that out loud?” Sin asked. He leaned forward to scratch the shaggy beast between the ears. “It seems that I pulled you out of your warm stall for nothing, Dobbin. It appears Miss Marianne is a fair weather—”

A battered hackney turned onto the street and rumbled toward them. It shuddered to a halt not far from Sin, and Marianne hopped out. She tossed the hackney driver a coin.

“I didn’t expect to see you out here this morning,” she said as she jogged toward him.

She wore a dark green knit hat pulled down over her short hair and a hideous red, blue, and yellow scarf. On her hands were periwinkle blue-and-pale pink-striped mittens.

Sin knew his mouth was open, so he shut it. But not before she noticed.

She gave him an open smile that disarmed him, looking up at him through the falling snow, flakes of which were sticking in her ludicrously long eyelashes.

Eyelashes. Hell. When was the last time he’d noticed a woman’s—

Sin squashed the thought before it could fully form. “Warm enough?”

“I know, I look quite hideous. Cecile made the set for me—she is only learning how to knit—and it would hurt her feelings if I didn’t wear it.”

“Yes, but perhaps not all at once.”

She laughed. “As mismatched as it all appears, it is incredibly toasty, so I’m glad I wore it.” She rubbed her hands together and then engaged in a series of stretches, one of which included bending over and pressing her hands flat on the ground.

Good Lord.

He’d spent almost every day with her for weeks but still was surprised by the sheer athleticism she displayed.

After a few more minutes warming up, she started to run, taking several minutes before she loosened up and fell into a comfortable stride.

The snow fell harder and the world around them turned white.

“It’s so beautiful, it’s almost worth the discomfort of being out in it,” she said, echoing his thoughts. London when it snowed was a magical place. Tomorrow, or even later today, it would be a nightmare of slush, ice, and muck, but right now it was a wonderland.