She was a child eleven years younger than he was, and she was making him burn.

«If you’re chilly, Lady Jessica, next time wear a gown that covers more of your flesh.»

The coolness in Wolfe’s voice startled Jessica. He called her Lady Jessica only when he was angry with her. Perplexed, she looked down at the modest decolletage of her gown. No other woman in the room was so well-covered.

«What are you talking about, Wolfe? Lady Victoria was quite put out by the lines of my gown.»

«A rare show of good sense on her part,» he retorted.

Jessica laughed. «You mistook me. She wanted the neckline lowered, the waist drawn tight, and a much greater girth of crinoline. I preferred the French fashion, which lacks all those bothersome crinolines.»

Wolfe remembered Jessica running toward him when she first spotted him across the room. He had seen quite clearly the feminine curve of hip and thigh beneath the filmy cloth. It had been an unwelcome reminder that his elf was grown…and soon to become a lord’s wife.

«I didn’t want a huge weight of petticoats or pearls or diamonds,» Jessica continued. «Lady Victoria thought the dress and the jewelry too plain. She said I looked like a stick fetched by one of the hounds.»

«A stick,» muttered Wolfe, looking at the velvet shadow that lay between Jessica’s young breasts. «Your guardian is in need of spectacles.»

If another man had looked at Jessica in that way, she would have found an excuse to end the dance. But Wolfe was different. He was a man with no title, no need for heirs; he was not looking for a brood sow for his get.

Wind bellowed and hail scattered like shot across the glass. Shuddering with a fear whose source she remembered only in dreams and forgot before waking, Jessica tried to get closer to Wolfe. Even the reduced skirts of her modern ball gown prevented it. She stumbled for a third time, and again was caught by hands that were both powerful and gentle.