Regency Mistletoe & Marriages: A Countess by Christmas / The Earl's Mistletoe Bride

Guiltily, she tore her eyes from his mouth and cast them to the ground. He was as far from her socially as ever! She ought not to be thinking about kisses—especially not where he was concerned. For it could only end badly for her. Aunt Bella had already told her the man was not the marrying kind. And she had too much pride to become any man’s plaything.

No matter how tempting he was, she thought, darting another longing glance at his handsome profile.

No, far better to have some innocent, pleasurable memories from this outing to keep her warm in the bleak years ahead.

And she did feel warm, just being with him arm in arm like this. Her heart was racing, and her blood was zinging through her veins in a most remarkable way. She heaved a sigh of contentment, making her breath puff out in a great cloud on the still winter air.

‘Am I setting too fast a pace for you, Miss Forrest?’ Lord Bridgemere enquired politely.

‘Oh, no,’ she replied. ‘Not at all.’

‘But you are becoming breathless,’ he said with a frown. ‘Forgive me. I am not used to measuring my pace to suit that of another.’

‘I suppose Esau has no problem keeping up with you, though?’ she observed.

He frowned, as though turning her remark over in his mind, before replying rather seriously, ‘No, he does not. He is an ideal companion when I ride, since he eats up the miles with those great long legs of his. It is, in fact, when he has not had sufficient exercise that he becomes…exuberant.’

Some of her pleasure dimmed. He was having to deliberately slow the pace he would have preferred to set because she was with him. And the way he was smiling now, after talking about his dog, made her feel as if he would be enjoying himself far more if it was the dog out here with him!

It was some minutes before either of them spoke again. Lord Bridgemere seemed preoccupied, and Helen, even though he had slowed down considerably, had little breath left to spare for speech.

It had been getting steadily lighter, and just as they reached the trees the sun’s rays struck at an angle that made the entire copse glisten diamond-bright. Since the frosted branches almost met overhead, they looked like the arches of some great outdoor cathedral.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, stopping completely just to gaze in awe at the magical sight. ‘I feel as if, I am in some…church,’ she whispered. ‘Or a temple. Not made by human hands, but by…’

‘Yes,’ he said in a low, almost reverent tone. ‘That is exactly how I feel sometimes out here, at sunrise.’

She twirled round, her head arched back, to admire the spectacle from every angle. It made it all the more wonderful that through various gaps in the branches she could make out the moon against the pearly dawn sky, and just one or two of the last and brightest of the stars.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she breathed. ‘Thank you for bringing me here to see this.’

‘I knew you would appreciate it,’ he said, his eyes gleaming with what she thought looked like approval. ‘You are the one person I know who would not grumble about the necessity of rising early to witness this,’ he said. ‘Most of my other visitors prefer staying up all night drinking and gaming, then sleeping half the day away. It does not last long, this rare moment of utter perfection. But just now, as the sun strikes the frosted branches, it makes everything so…’ He frowned, shaking his head as though the right words eluded him. ‘One can almost embrace winter. For only in this season can one experience this.’ He turned around, just as she had done, only far more slowly, as though drinking in the frozen splendour of their surroundings.

Then, without warning, his face turned hard and cynical. ‘Nature has a remarkable way of compensating for absence of life. None of this would be possible without bitter cold. And long, dark nights. You can only see this when the branches are stark and dead.’

He turned to her with a twisted sort of smile on his lips. ‘Of course before long the very sunshine that creates this glorious spectacle will melt it all away. You can already see the mist beginning to rise. In another hour all that will be left of your mystical temple to nature will be dripping wet branches, blackened with mould, and pools of mire underfoot. Come,’ he said brusquely, ‘there is something else I wish you to see.’

Puzzled by his abrupt change of mood, Helen plunged through the copse after him. He did not seem to care if she could keep up or not now, and she was soon quite out of breath.

‘There,’ he said, as he emerged from the trees into a small clearing.

She saw an ancient ruin with a tower at one end, half overgrown with ivy, and at its foot, a sheet of ice almost the size of the front garden of their cottage in Middleton.

‘We nearly always get some ice forming up here over winter,’ he said. ‘The position of the trees keeps the sun from melting it away each morning. This year I have had the staff deliberately extend it. The lake here is too deep to freeze, except a little around the edges, so proper skating is out of the question, but I thought the children would enjoy sliding about on this. What do you think?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. You are going to be a governess. You know children. They always seem to love to skate. Don’t they? I know I did as a boy.’

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!