LITMIR.BIZ

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hadn’t felt quite so much excitement in—well, ever! She had been so sure her life would never change, that she would smother in her parents’ house, and now she had fallen and been nearly trampled, and then rescued by a Norse god who used the oddest words. No wonder she felt dizzy.

      She craned her neck to study her rescuer as he waited in the refreshment line. He certainly was handsome. She was sure she had never seen him before, or anyone quite like him. He was so tall, so powerful-looking, so golden-amber, he looked nothing like the young men she danced with every evening, sat next to at dinner and listened to them talk about cricket. She was quite sure Thor never talked about cricket, or if he did she didn’t want to know about it and spoil the fantasy she was indulging in.

      He did wear the finest, most fashionable clothes, his sack coat of dark green wool with velvet lapels perfectly tailored, a gold watch chain over a luxurious ivory brocade waistcoat, boots polished to a gleam, and he seemed perfectly comfortable in them. Yet something about him made the finery seem a bit incongruous, like it wasn’t his favourite attire. She could see him striding across the moor in shirtsleeves and tweed trousers, high boots, his hair shining in the sun.

      Yes, he definitely didn’t seem like he belonged in the city. The—what was it he called it? Aidle city.

      He came back with a glass of the ginger beer and Alex sipped at it gratefully. Its tart coolness, fizzy on her tongue, seemed to steady her.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, hardly daring to look at him for fear she would be dazzled witless again. ‘You have been very kind. I feel so foolish.’

      ‘Not at all,’ he answered in his rough, warm voice. ‘Anyone would want to faint in such a crowd. I would never have walked this way today if I had known.’

      ‘So you aren’t here to listen to the music?’

      ‘I was on my way to work. I like to walk on fine days.’

      Alex was dying of curiosity to know what he did for work, but she wasn’t sure it was entirely polite to ask. Aside from her uncle and cousin Will, both at the Foreign Office, she really had no relative who had work they went to. She decided he must be a poet, or maybe a spy. No, a royal Stuart, come to claim his throne! It was surely something terribly dashing and romantic.

      She felt her hat slip again from its pins and pulled it entirely off, leaving soft curls of her hair to fall free against her neck and temples. She stared ruefully down at the bit of millinery, the scrap of blue velvet and net, now quite bedraggled. ‘I’m afraid it’s ruined.’

      He studied the hat in her gloved hands with a small frown, his head tilted. He smelled heavenly as he leaned closer, like a green, summery forest. ‘That shape is out of fashion, anyway. You need something with a larger brim, maybe with a scoop here over the eye, with a cluster of feathers. The colour is good, though, especially with your eyes.’

      Alex gave a startled laugh. ‘You know about ladies’ hats, then, sir?’

      He sat back on the bench beside her, his arms crossed over his chest. ‘It’s my job.’

      He worked in millinery? Alex could hardly have been more astonished if he said he was just about to jump to the moon. It seemed so—strange. He was surely the most masculine man she had ever encountered, so full of quiet confidence and strength.

      ‘What do you think of my walking suit, then?’ she asked, sitting up straighter and grinning at him, startled by her sudden boldness. It was very unlike her. Usually, she just tried to blend into the woodwork. ‘Am I terribly out of fashion?’

      He studied her carefully, those ice-blue eyes intent on only her, and she was almost sorry she had asked. She felt so hot and flustered under his gaze, and was sure her cheeks had gone bright red. She quickly gulped down the last of her drink.

      ‘The colour is also good,’ he answered. ‘And the cut. Its fine cloth and the velvet and silk go well together. But the trim is all wrong. A fur collar would be just right, or some gilded embroidery, like Princess Alexandra wears now.’

      ‘Princess Alexandra?’ Alex said, thinking of her godmother, who was indeed always perfectly dressed.

      ‘Everyone follows what she wears.’

      ‘Yes, I know. She’s always very elegant. But I don’t look much like her. Would her style suit me?’

      He studied her carefully, from her disarranged hair to the tips of her kid walking boots, and Alex had to look away. To will her heart to beat slower. ‘Your colouring is different from the Princess, of course, but you have the same delicacy. The same—distance.’

      Alex didn’t feel ‘distant’ from him at all. She felt much, much too close. ‘Distance?’

      His icy eyes narrowed. ‘Like you’re not of this world. My old nanna, my grandmother, would have said you were a fairy queen of winter.’

      ‘Of winter?’ Alex asked, intrigued.

      ‘Aye. All pale and delicate outside, full of icy storms, curses and danger inside.’

      She laughed. ‘I think I’m the least dangerous person there is.’

      He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t contradict a female—but I think you’re wrong. You’re definitely of the winter fairy folk.’

      She didn’t know how to admit that sitting here with him on this bench was by far the bravest thing she had ever done. She rather liked imagining being of the fairy folk, able to do as she liked when she liked. Just as she enjoyed thinking of him as a god of the Norse country. It all took her out of her dutiful life, the life where she was never quite right, never quite enough, for a moment. It took her out of the ordinary day, out of being Lady Alexandra.

      ‘I will have to buy a new hat immediately, then,’ she said. ‘A winter fairy can’t go around being dowdy. What would you suggest? Something like that? She looks in the stylish way.’ She gestured at a passing lady, who wore a gown of purple-and-cream-striped silk that was improbably close-fitting and an enormous cartwheel of a hat laden with fruit.

      He didn’t even glance at her, just kept watching Alex, something seeming to sharpen in his eyes. He didn’t move closer, but it suddenly felt as if he had, as if his heat and strength surrounded her. ‘I could buy you the most fashionable hat you’ve ever seen, if you would have supper with me tonight at the Criterion.’

      And the light-hearted moment shifted, like a grey cloud shifting in front of the sun. Alex sat up straighter, shivering. Even she knew about the Criterion. It was luxurious, all satin-wrapped and filled with French champagne, with private dining rooms where gentlemen took their actress and opera-dancer friends. She heard whispers about it all at balls and teas, quickly quieted when she came near. This gorgeous man thought she was an—an actress?

      She felt outraged and wanted to laugh, all at the same time.

      ‘You—you think…’ she gasped.

      She could see immediately that he realised his mistake. Once again, he did not seem to physically move, yet he was very far away from her. He took off his hat and ran his hand through his amber hair. ‘Forgive me. I should never have assumed…’

      ‘You assumed because I was alone for a moment, I am a woman of—loose morals?’ she whispered, still unsure what she was feeling. Embarrassment, yes, burning hot, but also filled with a strange, hysterical mirth. And disappointment, that her brief dream with this handsome man was gone so quickly. ‘I assure you I am not. I didn’t realise your kindness was based on such a notion.’ She quickly rose to her feet, glad she was steady now.

      He stood up beside her and she instinctively stepped back. ‘Of course not,’ he said, his accent even heavier. ‘It is just that you’re so—so…’

      ‘So?’ So bold, so outrageous, so—not herself?

      ‘Beautiful,’ he blurted out.

      Alex felt her face turn even hotter. He thought her beautiful? Just

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