Listen to the Moon by Rose Lerner

undid the buttons of his greatcoat. “Here now. Say something.”
    I can see your nipples , he thought. The greatcoat’s fitted sleeves wouldn’t come off unless he removed his gloves. The soaked leather clung to his fingers.
    Sukey was examining her own pelisse. Assessing the damage, he supposed, as she lingered on a dry patch in the lining, but then she lifted it up over his head and rubbed his hair dry. He was so startled that he let her.
    When the coat went away and he could see again, she was smiling. “It’s a good thing there aren’t any mirrors here. I think you’d have hysterics.”
    He sighed and worked his gloves free, spreading them over a bale of hay with his wet greatcoat. There was a hard object in one pocket. He pulled it free, puzzled, and recognized with dismay the slim second volume of Count Julian . He’d slipped it into the coat on Sunday, in case it rained and he needed to linger in church. The edges were soaked, already rippling. He pressed it flat between his hands for a moment before he could resign himself.
    He tried to wipe his coat down with his handkerchief, but the square of linen was quickly soaked and the coat little improved. He knew already that the weave would never look as crisp as it had.
    “I’m sorry,” Sukey said quietly.
    He wasn’t. If she had fallen, without him—“One ought not to fret over trifles.” He could do nothing now for his possessions. What could he do for their health?
    Sukey had sat on a bale of hay and tucked her bare feet into her petticoats. Probably that would suffice to warm them. Probably what he was about to do was entirely unnecessary.
    But he crouched down and drew out one damp foot, cupping it in his bare hands. The other peeped out from beneath her hem as she shifted to look at him. They were so small. Fairy feet, meant to dance in the moonlight. He traced her anklebones with his thumbs and pressed his fingers into the arch of her foot.
    Calluses lined her sole and ridged her big toe. She was no fairy, but a hardworking woman. That did not lessen his excitement.
    He let go her ankle and chafed her toes briskly between his cold hands for long moments before heat began to build. Relief flared in his chest as she sighed and leaned back on her hands. Her toes relaxed between his fingers. When he was satisfied, he did the same to her other foot.
    He didn’t meet her eyes. If he did, this would be seduction and not aid.
    When he released her, she hopped up and fished her stockings out of her coat pocket. “Dry as a bone,” she said with satisfaction, thrusting her hand down into the toe of one and rolling it up in preparation for putting it on. She hesitated. “I suppose you’d better turn round.” He obeyed at once, trying not to think of legs exposed or garters being tied. Was there a sound more provocative than rustling?
    “All right, I’m fit to be seen.”
    Her nipples still showed through her bodice, and while her shivers had subsided and her lips had lost their blue tinge, she was white, her back kept straight only by her stays.
    He sat beside her. This is common sense, and not seduction. “We are both thoroughly chilled. As one cannot safely light a fire in a hay barn, our best source of warmth is each other, unless we wish to cuddle with the cows. I give you my word I will be all that is respectful, if you will trust me so far as to…”
    “Sit in your lap?” she supplied, amused. “But someone could come in.”
    At once he was on fire, thinking of everything he could do to her while she sat in his lap. How he could bare her breasts and warm her nipples with his hands. How he could turn her so she straddled him and warm them with his mouth. How he could enter her.
    He deliberately recalled how he had said to her, I brought myself to completion this morning, thinking of taking you . Embarrassment drowned his inconvenient arousal. “The choice is yours. But I should hate for us to catch our deaths through immoderate