Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Jenny let out an undignified little shriek, the very last thing she wanted to do. The man unsettled her, and she was determined not to show it. On top of that, she didn’t know how to address him. Were sons of earls automatically “my lords”?
“You startled me,” she said lamely. Her husband would have been sorely disappointed in her. She always prided herself on being cool and calm, the perfect figure of decorum, and now she was fidgeting like a schoolgirl.
“I meant to.”
Things were going from bad to worse. He was dressed in black, which she told herself was an affectation, and he was watching her out of those dark, all-knowing eyes, and if she had one ounce less self-control, she would have turned and run.
“You were definitely missed at dinner, Mr. de Malheur,” she said, deciding to chance the lesser title to put him in his place. He didn’t appear chagrined.
“But did you miss me?”
“No,” she said flatly.
“You wound me.”
“I doubt it.” He was flirting with her. It had been so very long since anyone had bothered, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do. “Perhaps you could point me in the direction of the south wing. I’ve rather gotten turned around.”
“Even better, I’ll escort you there.”
“I think not. I do not know what game you’re playing, Mr. de Malheur, but it’s not one I’m interested in.”
He smiled then, one of genuine amusement. “Aren’t you worried about offending the son of the household?”
“I think your mother would take my side,” she said, hoping she was right.
“Alas, she would,” he said mournfully. “She put you in the corridor farthest from my rooms in order to avoid temptation. Are you tempted, Miss Lancaster?”
“Mrs. Lancaster,” she automatically corrected him, surprised he’d remembered her name. And then she wanted to bite her tongue. Widows had a certain reputation, and she was much better off as a starched-up spinster than a merry widow.
“Mrs. Lancaster?” His deep, hypnotic voice emphasized the title. “But how delightful. Virgins are so tedious.”
He was trying to shock her, but she refused to allow him to. “Good night, Mr. de Malheur,” she said firmly, starting to move past him, when he caught her arm, his ungloved hand on her wrist, and the touch of skin to skin seemed to set her on fire. She froze.
“Are you afraid of me, Mrs. Lancaster?” he said, looking amused. “I promise I don’t go in for rape.”
“James!” The door to the salon had opened, spilling light into the hallway, and Brat de Malheur’s mother stood there, looking stern.
He didn’t release her wrist, and she felt a strange lassitude flowing over her. He was a badly behaved boy, and he shouldn’t disturb her so much with his little tricks. He was probably just bored.
“Yes, Mama?”
“Since you decided to miss dinner, I believe you ought to come in and entertain the ladies.”
“I’m trying to do just that.”
“James.”
He released Jenny, reluctantly, a wry smile on his mouth. “You’re right about my mother,” he murmured. “She’ll definitely take your side. Coming, Mama.”
Moving past her, he disappeared into the salon, leaving the two women alone. “I must beg your pardon for my son’s behavior,” Miranda said. “He’s usually more adroit.”
Jenny didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I imagine he’s just bored.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s it. But I promise you he won’t bother you again. He’s badly behaved, but he has some manners. The south wing is the first staircase on your left.”
“Thank you, my lady,” she said, sketching a little curtsey as she made her way back to her pretty little room. There were only two things on her mind. The troubled expression on Lady Miranda’s face...
And the feel of Brat de Malheur’s hand on her arm.
Jenny woke up from a troubled sleep to a world of white. She couldn’t remember her dreams, which was a blessing, since she suspected they’d featured Brat de Malheur significantly, but the blanket of snow covering everything was so magical she was able to put her concerns from her mind.
There was no sign of him at breakfast the next morning, no sign of any of the gentlemen of the household, and Jenny’s appetite returned full force as she herded the twins into the breakfast room.
“They’ve gone out shooting,” Hortensia said with a doleful expression.
“I don’t know what the birds ever did to harm them, but they’ll be out all day, tramping through the snow and mud, leaving us alone to entertain ourselves.
And Brat promised to take us ice skating. ”
“Ice skating?” Jenny echoed. “Is it cold enough?”
“Aunt Miranda said the pond’s been frozen over for weeks, and we should be perfectly fine. But now we’ll have to stay inside and be bored while they go out and have all the fun.”
“We should have fresh pheasant for dinner,” Lady Emma said soothingly, sitting at the far end of the table with a rosy-cheeked baby in her arms. Apparently the Rohans didn’t believe that children should be kept in the nursery and trotted out from four to five every day—there were hordes of children of all shapes and sizes clambering over the breakfast buffet.
“You can come with us, Horry,” said a young lad of about fifteen. “We’re going to build a snow fort and maybe even have a snowball fight.”
“I’m too old for such childish games,” Hortensia said with great dignity. “Besides, I’m sure Miss Lancaster wouldn’t approve.”
Jenny recognized the longing in her voice. “I don’t see why not. The fresh air would be good for you both.”
“But I don’t want to get hit with a snowball,” Penelope complained, looking torn.
“But wouldn’t you like to throw some? It always comes with a risk of retribution,” Jenny pointed out like a proper governess.
“You’re right!” Penelope brightened. “When do we start?”
“We have lessons till lunch, and then we’re free. Do you want to come too, Miss Lancaster?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said firmly. Anything was better than waiting around in the huge old mausoleum of a house for someone to make an appearance, someone she shouldn’t want to see.
It was beyond brisk that afternoon, though the bright sunlight made the snow sparkle on the trees, and the girls set to working on the fort with good will along with the rest of the children.
Jenny counted nine of them, seven of them belonging to the prolific Miranda and the Scorpion, two to Benedick and Charity, and they ranged from a sturdy four to a rangy seventeen-year-old.
With the twins’ help, the snow fort soon began to take shape.
Jenny contented herself with structural suggestions, sitting on a cleared marble bench and enjoying the weather.
It was a beautiful day, and despite the gloominess of the big building, the countryside was lovely.
The grounds went down to the lake and she eyed it warily.
There was some ice near the shore, but farther out, it was still blue water, and she didn’t fancy letting the girls skate on such a treacherous surface.
She didn’t fancy chaperoning them when they went out with their cousin either, though she was probably making too much of it.
As she’d said, Brat was bored, nothing more, and she was the only unrelated female in the household.
Soon enough, he’d set his sights on one of the pretty maids and leave her strictly alone. She hoped. Didn’t she?
Before she realized it, the snowballs began to fly, and the children set to with abandon, everyone giving and receiving with good temper, until one flew into Jenny’s neck, bits of ice trickling down her dress.
Naturally, she had no choice but to join the fray, getting thoroughly pelted for her troubles, and a soft snowball hit her smack in the face, momentarily blinding her.
She ran, only to come up against something extremely solid and quite warm.
Fingers removed the snow from her eyes, and she found she was looking up at Brat.
She was laughing from the pounding she’d received, and even his cynical countenance couldn’t dim her joy in the day, the sun, the snowball fight.
He was holding on to her as she laughed, a good thing because her balance was questionable as the snowballs rained down on them, one catching Brat in the face, momentarily startling him.
And then he was laughing too, that dark expression vanishing in the afternoon sun.
He released her, scooping up some of the soft, wet snow, and immediately returned fire, with far better aim than his myriad of siblings.
Jenny followed suit, and the battle raged for several minutes of hilarity before she collapsed in the snow as all the other combatants had. With Brat beside her, still laughing.
She missed the sound of a man’s laughter. She turned her head in the snow to look at him, and his eyes caught hers. The laughter died, quite suddenly, as he stared at her, and the moment stretched between them, silent, portentous, until Hortensia flung herself beside Jenny, breaking the spell.
“I’m freezing,” Hortensia said, still bubbling with laughter, “but I think we won.”
“Were there sides in the battle?” Jenny asked, acutely aware of the man beside her in the snow.
“Oh, yes. You and Penelope and me, plus Mary and Alexandra. I’m not sure which side Brat was on.”
“Yours, Horry,” he said, getting to his feet in one fluid gesture and holding out his hand for Jenny.
She didn’t want to take it, but scrambling to her feet would be undignified, and she’d already disgraced herself.
She put her hand in his and let him pull her up, so easily.
It wasn’t until she was standing in front of him that she noticed his wince of pain.
“Are you hurt, Mr. de Malheur?” she asked, suddenly anxious.
“I’m fine.” He dismissed her concern. “I had a slight accident out in the field.”
“You did?” Penelope said. “What happened. Did someone shoot you?”
“They tried,” Brat said in a lazy voice. “Some fool wasn’t looking properly, and they winged me. It’s little more than a scratch.”