February 3, 2022

A cold wind blew across Wynefrede’s exposed arms and bosom. “You’re shivering.” Raphe started taking off his jacket. “Here…”

“Raphe Faryndon, at your pleasure.” Raphe straightened up from his bow and stretched out his hand. Wynefrede looked up at him, at the way his hair flopped down over his eyes, his slightly crooked smile, and his warm eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Margarett and Benedicta being pulled out onto the dance floor by two other gentlemen.