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“You declared war upon me,” he replied, and there it was, that rare, low amusement she had heard only a handful of times, dark and quiet and far more dangerous than anger. “I see no reason to fight honorably.”

He began walking toward her. Marina backed away, scooping more snow. Not so unfortunately for her, he was faster, dodging every attack. In no time he stood directly before her, his height even greater at such close range.

She refused to surrender. With a spark of defiance still bright in her eyes, Marina bent to gather another fistful of snow, determined to make sure her blow landed properly this time. However, her movement was too swift, and her foot slipped against the melt before she could help herself. Her smile faltered.

Ambrose threw out an arm at once, capturing her waist securely. The sudden contact stole the air from her lungs. She found herself pressed to the hard line of his body, the heavy coat she wore doing nothing to shield her from the heat of him. For a moment neither of them moved. The garden had become unbearably silent, with snow falling softly around them. Her gaze was fixed on his, and his eyes held hers. The snow in her fingers was forgotten, and for a moment, it slipped her mind that she was meant to be playing.

But then, the mischief returned. She lifted her hand, and his gaze dropped toward it immediately.

“Do not,” he warned, voice soft, yet roughened at the edges.

She smiled. They both knew she was not going to listen to that. She tried anyway. Ambrose’s response was immediate and deliberate. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer, so close she could feel the hardness of his thighs through her thin nightgown. Then, without warning, he shifted his balance so that they both tumbled to the soft ground.

Marina landed on her back in the cold powder with a soft gasp that soon turned into helpless laughter. Ambrose came down half over her, his weight carefully balanced so that he did not crush her. It only made her laugh even harder.

She could hardly remember the last time she had laughed like this. Every Christmas, she had watched her neighbors play with their children before her glasshouse. She had always longed to join them, yet feared that her presence would frighten the children away. And now she was here, playing in the snow with a duke whose face appeared permanently carved into brooding shadows.

She turned her head toward him, still giggling. However, when she looked upward, the smile on her face faltered. The sky was no longer entirely dark. Somehow, they had talked through the night and had lost sense of time. She noticed the faint orange glow that was beginning to tinge the horizon. The sight made her heart sink.

She turned back to Ambrose at once and whispered, “The sun.”

Twenty-Three

For once, Ambrose had forgotten to count the hours. He had spent the entire night talking to Marina, listening to her laughter, answering her endless questions, and engaging in a ridiculous snow fight. Somewhere in the midst of it all, he had lost track of the time. That had not happened to him in years.

Beside her, he did not feel like the Duke of Griffin, the beast. He was simply Ambrose, lying in the snow beside a woman who had somehow made him forget, however briefly, the one thing he had spent his life fearing.

But when Marina’s gaze flew toward the brightening sky, the spell broke.

“Ambrose, the sun is about to come out.”

His stomach tightened.

He turned toward the eastern horizon. The sky had grown alarmingly pale beyond the trees. How had he failed to notice? He had always known precisely how much darkness remained. He had never permitted himself the luxury of forgetting.

“We must go inside,” he said, already pushing himself upright.

Marina rose beside him, brushing snow from her nightgown. He should have stood at once. He should have taken her hand and hurried toward the house. Instead, as she turned toward him, her foot slipped upon the snow.

He caught her wrist before she could fall.

She landed against him with a startled gasp, one hand pressed to his chest, directly above his heart.

For a moment, neither moved.

Her face was so close to his that he could feel her breath against his neck. The faint pressure of her body against his made every muscle tighten. He had never held a woman like this. He had certainly never wished so desperately for the moment to last.

“Ambrose?” she whispered.

He loosened his hold upon her wrist, but she made no attempt to move away.

“We ought to go,” he said.

Yet even as he spoke, his gaze dropped to her lips.

He knew better than to linger. He knew what waited beyond the trees. But she was looking at him with such unexpected tenderness that, for one foolish instant, the thought of stepping away seemed almost unbearable.

“What about the sun?” she asked.