Joanna Maitland - Regency Mistletoe & Marriages - A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride

Helen’s heart plummeted. She had been having fantasies of stolen kisses. He had been thinking of asking her professional opinion, as a woman experienced with children, about his plans for amusing the children of his guests.

Oh, well. She shrugged. It had been only a wild flight of fancy on her part. What would a wealthy, handsome man like him see in an ordinary, penniless woman like her? At least now she did not have to be quite so concerned about what he thought of her.

The notion was quite liberating.

‘Only as a boy?’ she repeated, grinning up at him. ‘Don’t you still enjoy skating?’

And, before he had the chance to say a word, she gathered her skirts and made a run at the ice. When her boots hit the slippery surface she began to glide. It had been a while since she had last been skating, and then she had worn proper skating boots. Staying upright whilst sliding rapidly forward in ordinary footwear was a completely different sensation. To keep her balance she had to let go of her skirts and windmill her arms, and lean forward…no, back…no…

‘Aaahh!’ she squealed as she shot across the ice like a missile fired from a gun. She had totally misjudged how far her run-up would propel her.

She screamed again as she reached the perimeter of the ice, and realised she had no means of slowing down without the blades she was used to wearing for skating. She hit the slightly sloping bank running. Momentum kept her going, forcing her to stumble rapidly forward a few paces, before she managed to stop, with her gloved hands braced against an enormous bramble patch.

‘That was amazing!’ she panted, straightening up with a huge sense of achievement. She had not fallen flat on her face! Only her skirts had snagged amongst the thorns. Head bowed, she carefully began to disentangle the fabric, to minimise the damage.

‘You might want to do something about these, though,’ she remarked. ‘Somebody might hurt themselves.’

‘Only,’ he bit out, striding round the ice patch with a face like thunder, ‘if they have no adult to supervise them, and to prevent them from going wild. What the devil were you thinking?’ He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. ‘You little idiot! You could have gone headlong into those brambles and cut yourself to ribbons!’

He had scarce been able to believe it when she had flung herself out onto the ice like that. And when he had heard her scream…For one sickening moment he had pictured her lying injured, her face distorted with pain, frozen for all eternity in agonised death throes…

And then, when he had realised that scream was bordering on a cry of exhilaration, that she was relishing the danger, totally oblivious to the effect her reckless escapade might have upon him…

She gazed up at him in shock, all her pleasure from the little adventure dashed to pieces.

‘If you think me an idiot,’ she retorted, stung by his harsh words, ‘you should not have asked for my opinion!’ She swatted his hands away from her shoulders, taking such a hasty step backwards that her skirt ripped. ‘And now look what you have made me do! Whenever I come anywhere near you it ends in disaster!’

Disaster? he echoed in his mind. This girl had no notion of what disaster truly was. She had come nowhere near disaster.

He tamped down on his surge of fury, acknowledging that it was not her with whom he was angry. Not really. God, Lucinda! Would her ghost never leave him be?

Nobody deserved to die so young. No matter what she’d done. For a moment he was right back in the day he had heard of Lucinda’s death, ruing the decision he had taken to wash his hands of her. He should have stayed with her, curbed her. She had been so wild he ought to have known she could be a danger to herself. He had lived with the guilt of her death, and that of the innocent baby she’d been carrying, ever since. Guilt that was exacerbated by the knowledge that a part of him had been relieved he was no longer married to her. Yes, she had set him free. But death was too great a price for any woman to pay.

It was with some difficulty that he wrenched himself back to the present, and the woman who was examining the damage to her gown with clear irritation. It was only a gown. Just a piece of cloth that had been torn. Had she no sense of perspective?

‘I have already told you I am willing to replace your gown…’

‘That was another gown!’ she snapped, made even angrier because he had not noticed she was wearing an entirely different colour today. ‘And I have already told you that giving me such things is out of the question!’

That was correct. He had forgotten for a moment that she was merely a guest in his house. That he had no right to buy her clothing. To question her conduct. To be angry with her.

To care what happened to her.

Helen saw his face change. He no longer looked angry. It was as though he had wiped all expression from it.

‘I asked for your opinion,’ he said in a flat, expressionless tone, ‘because you are never afraid to give it. You tell me the truth. Because you care nothing for what I may think of you.’

‘Oh, well,’ she huffed, feeling somewhat mollified. It was true that, from what she had observed, most of the people who had come here for Christmas had some kind of hidden agenda. ‘Then I apologise for my angry words.’ She had lashed out in a fit of pique because he very clearly had no problem keeping his mind off her lips. No, he could not possibly have entertained one single romantic thought towards her, or he could not have chastised her in that overbearing manner. Speaking of having some responsible adult to watch over the children, implying he thought she was most definitely not!

‘Though,’ she said ruefully, ‘I do not know as much about children as you seem to imagine. The post I am about to take is my first. However, I do think this will be a lovely surprise for them.’ Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at the glassy smooth surface he had created. Then she looked straight at him. ‘Or for any adult who does not have too inflated an opinion of their own dignity.’

‘So you think I have an over-inflated view of my importance?’ he replied coldly. ‘You think me a very dull fellow, in fact? As well as being hard and unfeeling when it comes to the plight of elderly relatives? I see.’

He gave her a curt bow. ‘Perhaps it is time we returned to the house.’ He eyed her nose, which had a fatal tendency to go bright red in cold weather. His lips twisted with contempt. ‘I can see that you are getting cold.’

She knew it looked most unattractive, but did he really have to be so ungentlemanly as to draw attention to it? Anyone would think he was trying to hurt her.

As if he wanted to get back at her for hurting him.

Oh. No…surely not?

But if that were the case…

‘I never said I thought you hard and unfeeling. Well, not exactly! Don’t go pokering up at me like that!’ she protested.

To his back.

He was already striding out in the direction of the house. She would have to trot to keep up with him, never mind catch up with him. She stopped, hands on her hips, and gave a huff of exasperation.

If only it had snowed recently. There was nothing she wanted so much as to fling a large wet snowball at him and knock his hat off!

Except, perhaps, put her arms round him in a consoling hug and tell him she had never meant to insult him. Though she would have to catch up with him to accomplish that. And he had no intention of being caught.

‘Ooh…’ she breathed, shaking her head in exasperation with herself. What on earth had made her fancy there had been a glimmer of attraction burning in his eyes when he had invited her to come walking with him? Well, if it had ever been there it was gone now. He had just looked at her as though she were something slimy that had crawled out from underneath a rock.