"Are you tempting me to let you walk home in this storm?" he asked, his voice carrying a thread of dry amusement. "It's freezing, and with your… delicate build, I fear you might turn to ice before you make it to your doorstep. It's called being a proper gentleman, Cora."
Cora blinked, her lips parting in stunned offense when he referred to her as 'fragile' in his own so-called perfect terms.
The nerve.
But as she glanced out at the gray sheet of rain and the puddles forming along the gutter, not to talk of the temperature, her pride warred with practicality. No matter how long she'd lived in the North or how much she liked to boast about resilience, rain like this always defeated her.
It soaked straight through bone and willpower. On days like these, she longed for the comfort of a warm hearth, a wool blanket, and the musky scent of old pages between her fingers.
