“It’s not difficult.” She poked at the fire with a stick. The aroma of a campfire brought back memories of all those summers at camp out on the East Coast. She lifted her stick from the fire and watched a flame flicker around the end of it. “I never liked hot dogs. Or baseball. I liked my grandmother’s crumpets. She was from England, you know. I liked the song ‘God Save the Queen.’ As for fireworks—well—”
Henry tossed a small log into the fire and it crackled and snapped.
“I love them. You can never have enough fireworks.”
“It must be a little conflicting to be an American and an Anglophile all at the same time. Is that why you’re here at the ice-house at this hour?”
Chloe’s legs turned to white soup. She stood up and leaned against the wooden doors of what she thought was a smokehouse. “Ice-house?”
Henry kicked mud on the fire to put it out. “Yes. Whatever are you doing here? I didn’t even get a chance to dance with you.”
The fire dwindled under clumps of mud. Chloe looked behind her at the hinged wooden doors. Her torn ball gown and muddied boots flashed in the last flickers of firelight. Sebastian might show up any minute. “This is the ice-house?”
“Yes. Yes. Now, why not go back to the ball?”
Chloe stepped back from the wooden doors and picked up her lantern. Limestone blocks surrounded the wooden doors.
She caught her breath. “I thought this was a smokehouse.”
Henry lifted his lantern and splashed the ice-house doors with light. The doors shone a lacquered red that Chloe hadn’t noticed until now. He pulled a ring of keys from his coat pocket, unlocked the doors, kicked them open, and a wave of cool, earthy air spilled out and over Chloe. What was he doing with the ice-house keys, anyway?
“Come and see,” Henry said, his voice echoing.
She looked over her shoulder into the forest, but Henry’s words lured her in.
“Look, they built the inside with laced brickwork more than a foot thick.” He held the lantern up to the ceiling and Chloe could suddenly see him, years from now, decades even. He’d point out things like the friezes at the Parthenon or baguettes in a Parisian bakery window to his wife, somewhere in the fuzzy future.
As Chloe ventured into the domed, beehivelike cove, the sad smell of melting snow enveloped her.
Henry tipped his lantern toward great, huge blocks of ice covered in straw. A trickle of water went down a drain somewhere within. The cool floor penetrated her calfskin boots and her legs grew cold.
Henry nudged the wooden doors nearly closed. “You would think they’d have used the ice-house to keep their meat and fish, but they didn’t. They would cut ice from the ponds in the winter, cover it in straw, and then use it to make ice creams, cool drinks, and syllabubs during the summer. If a house could offer such luxuries during the summer, it raised the owner’s social status—”
And this little history lesson would’ve been interesting if Chloe weren’t wondering when Sebastian would show up. She pushed the wooden doors back open and Henry dropped his arm, his lantern falling to his side.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry to bore you—”
“No—no—you’re not boring me. Not at all! It’s just—”
“Allow me to escort you back to Bridesbridge.” He held the doors open for her, then locked them behind her and slipped the keys back in his greatcoat pocket. He untied his horse and walked him over to her. “Let me help you up on the horse.” He bent down and laced his fingers together, offering her a step up. The horse bent his head down, and his mane flopped into his eyes, as if he, too, agreed she should go back.
But Chloe didn’t step up. “No! I mean—no, thank you.” She curled her fingers around the lantern handle.
She thought she heard the sound of hooves in the distance. The fire barely glowed now. Henry bent to pick up his lantern and held it up to the dark forest. He heard a horse, too. He mounted his horse and looked down on Chloe. “You’re meeting Sebastian here, aren’t you?”
A breeze rippled around her. She looked into the orange-and-black embers of the fire. She had to think of Abigail and William.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The hooves sounded close now. A lantern bounced behind the trees.
Henry yanked the reins on his horse, turned him, and looked back over his shoulder, bowing his head, his eyes looking past her, at the ice-house. “I bid you farewell.”
She licked her lips to speak, but his horse spun, its tail swished as if Chloe were a fly that needed brushing away, and the horse carved up clods of mud as he galloped off. Henry was gone—poof—into the blue moonlit darkness.
Much as she wanted Henry, she couldn’t have him! She was meant to have Sebastian.
She pressed her back against the cool wooden ice-house doors and goose bumps raced up and down her arms. In one fell swoop, Sebastian entered her circle of flickering lantern light, dismounted, tied up his horse, approached her fast and sure. He cupped her face in his warm hands, but she turned away.
“What is it?”
It was only everything. But she did have something to hang her bonnet on. “It’s Fiona. Is there something going on between you and Fiona?”
Sebastian laughed. “She’s only a kid. I think she has a little crush on me. I just danced with her. That’s all.”
“That’s not all.”
“So I flirt with her a little bit every now and then. I could say the same—or more—about you and Henry.”
Touché. She didn’t want to blow this chance with him, and a squiggly smile skirted across her lips.
“I’m so glad you joined me here.” He kissed her, and kept one hand on her neck while another hand expertly reached down—into his pocket for keys.
His mouth tasted like hard liquor. A flickering of tongue, a clinking of keys, and she practically fell backward into the ice-house. Her reticule and fan fell to the brick floor.
He ringed her waist, steadied her, and set her down so gently, so gallantly—on an ice block covered in straw. A chill penetrated her thin silk pelisse and gown and her butt went numb.
“This is so hot,” Sebastian whispered into her ear as he dug in his pocket for something. “Isn’t this hot?”
Chloe nodded, feeling rather chilled. How naive of her to think he would propose. She looked up at the laced brickwork, remembering Henry’s strong fingers laced together. Mostly she remembered the look on his face when he realized she wouldn’t be going back to the ball with him. She winced.
Sebastian’s fingers glided down her stocking and he slid her gown up to her thighs. And it would’ve been hot if it weren’t so damn cold! His other hand slipped out of his pocket, and in the faint lantern light, Chloe caught a glint of silver, heard a click, and a knife blade flashed dreadfully near her neck.
She sprang up and catapulted toward the doors. He beat her to them, barricading them with his wide shoulders.
She froze. She already was frozen, but she froze some more.
He smiled. “It’s just my penknife.” He held the knife in the palm of his hand and it did look small, now.
Chloe stepped back until her calves hit the block of ice. She grabbed her elbows, pulling her pelisse in around her.
“Relax.” He spoke and his voice was as soothing as cough drops. “I have a great idea. You’re going to love it.”
She leaned on the ice block, clenched her fists, and wondered how far this would go. No matter how attractive Sebastian was, and how he held everything she wanted and needed in the palm of his hand, she felt as if she were forcing herself. Danger, too, rippled through the air.
Sebastian edged in next to her and massaged her neck with one hand. She had to admit, it felt good. He chipped off a piece of ice with the knife in his other hand. He flung the knife to the door, where it stuck like a dart.