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world was so bright and fresh. ‘But I do not think that charming women is all you need do with your life!’
    The house was in sight, long and low, the leaded windows twinkling in the sun beneath the covering of snow on its gabled roof. All around them the drifts were piled against walls and hedges, turning everyday outlines into magical forms. Rose breathed deeply: the clear air was as heady as wine.
    ‘It may interest you to know, madam, that my reputation is somewhat exaggerated. I do not go out of my way to attract females.’
    ‘But you do not go out of your way to avoid them.’
    ‘Well, no, but your sex can be quite…resolute.’ He grinned. ‘Especially when the prize is so worth the catching.’
    When his blue eyes smiled in just that way Rose could understand why so many foolish women succumbed to his charms, but she was determined not to be one of their number. She said severely, ‘You value yourself very highly, Sir Lawrence.’
    Again he flashed that wicked smile.
    ‘Who am I to dispute what the ladies say?’
    They were approaching the wicket gate and he strode ahead of her so he did not hear her indignant gasp.
    ‘Why, you…smug…arrogant… conceited man!’
    She scooped up a handful of snow and squeezed it between her hands, taking aim as he applied himself to opening the gate.
    Her snowball caught him only a glancing blow on the shoulder so she quickly formed another and hurled it after the first. Her aim was hurried and the snowball would have sailed harmlessly past his head, if Sir Lawrence had not turned back at that moment and taken the full force of her missile on his hat, which was knocked clean off his head.
    ‘Well, that was most satisfactory.’ Rose dusted her hands together, a grin tugging at her mouth, until she realised that Sir Lawrence was about to retaliate.
    She turned away, uttering a small scream as his first attempt splashed on her neck, some of the snow finding its way onto her skin. She remembered the adage that the best form of defence was attack and fired off another couple of shots. However, she quickly realised that she was no match for Sir Lawrence’s deadly aim.
    ‘Enough!’ she cried, laughing. ‘Truce, sir, truce!’
    ‘Oh, no, this is a duel to the death!’
    Another well-aimed shot hit her shoulder and showered her face with icy flakes. Rose picked up her skirts and fled for the shelter of the hedge. Sir Lawrence followed and Rose set off across the field with its covering quilt of snow.
    ‘Got you!’
    The hand on her shoulder sent her tumbling, SirLawrence following as he lost his footing on the icy ground. They sprawled together, laughing and gasping for breath.
    ‘Unfair, sir,’ declared Rose, when she could at last speak. ‘Do you know how difficult it is to move when one is hampered by skirts?’
    ‘Hah! Who was it struck the first blow, when my back was turned?’
    ‘That blow was well deserved!’
    She was about to rise, but Sir Lawrence rolled over, pinning her down.
    ‘Well deserved? What had I done?’
    ‘It was punishment, for your arrogance!’
    ‘My—’ His black brows rose. ‘Is it my fault if women find me irresistible?’
    ‘You are incorrigible!’ She was laughing up at him, finding it quite impossible to disagree and responding unselfconsciously to the humour in his eyes.
    They continued thus, smiling at one another, blue eyes locked on blue-grey, for a long, long moment. Time stopped, everything around them was hushed and still, as if the world was holding its breath. Suddenly it occurred to Rose that she had never shared such a moment before, even with her husband.
    She realised her situation: stretched out on the snow with Sir Lawrence almost lying on top of her, his lips only inches from her own, his breath feathering her cheek and the faint tang of eau de cologne filling her senses. In her imagination she reached out for him, pulling his face to hers and kissing him passionately. He would respond, of course, but it would