“Lady Sesily.” She stilled at the honorific—one he never used, but she’d asked for cordial, had she not? Then she turned, just enough to look over her shoulder, covered by a little pelisse that he could dispatch with in an instant if the opportunity presented itself. “Do you have a coat?” What was he doing? She turned to face him fully. “A coat?” “They’re traditionally worn out of doors to keep one warm,” he said, ignoring the thrum of pleasure he received when one corner of her mouth tilted upward. “Do you have one?” “I do.” “When you return, wear it. We’re taking a walk.” Fuck cordial.
