“I do not care.”

He had the countenance of an angel, a man so handsome he seemed almost unreal. It made a woman’s brain stumble to see those jaded eyes and hear that husky, earthy voice from an otherwise ethereal masculine creature.

And he was definitely male, regardless of that perfection.

White stockings clung to firmly muscled calves, and she could not help but wonder what activities he engaged in to bear the form of a laborer. A build she admired on Simon, but even more so on St. John, who lacked Simon’s softer edge.

“Why, then, are you traipsing through the forest?” he asked.

“Why are you?” she tossed back.

“I am a man, I do not traipse.”

“Neither do I.”

“I noticed,” he murmured. “You, my Lady Winter, were too busy spying.”

“What do you call what you are doing?”

“I have an assignation with a lady.” He pushed away from the tree in a dangerously graceful movement and she resisted the urge to step back.

“Is she a bit…icy, perhaps?”

His gait was slow and blatantly seductive. She admired it even as she marveled at his daring. Her stomach fluttered, but she hid her response.

“Chilly enough to lure men who enjoy a challenge. But I think it’s a façade.”

She laughed. “Has she given you any reason to doubt?”

St. John came to a halt before her. A warm, gentle breeze blew past her, carrying with it a faint hint of the bergamot and tobacco she remembered from his embrace in the theater. “She is meeting me here. As an intelligent woman, she knows what will happen if she seeks me out.”

“You made sure I would come,” she said softly, her head tilting back so their gazes stayed locked together. In such close proximity she saw the lines that bracketed his mouth and eyes, signs of a rougher life than his immaculate garments would suggest. “I’m certain you noticed that I did not come alone.”