Chapter 5
Chapter Five
By the time Jenny arrived at the front door, the twins were already seated in the back seat of the carriage.
Except it wasn’t a carriage, it was a sleigh, and Brat was in the front seat, driving.
There was no other place for her to sit except right beside him, and she viewed it with deep misgivings.
“Climb on up, Mrs. Lancaster,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m afraid I can’t leave the horses unattended to assist you.”
He was wearing gloves and so was she in deference to the chilly weather.
There wouldn’t be the same electric connection of skin to skin that she’d experienced before.
Placing her hand in his, she prepared to climb up into the sleigh when she found herself lifted, quite easily, and deposited on the seat beside him.
She might not have felt the touch of his skin, but the strength in his hand was equally disturbing, and she tried to make herself very small on the front seat of the sleigh.
“This is going to be so much fun!” Penelope cried, and Jenny stifled her groan.
He was too big beside her, too warm. He smelled of leather and winter and peppermint, three delicious scents that were determined to overset her, and the bells on the horses’ harnesses was a cheery warning. Here lies danger.
It was with great relief that she realized they weren’t driving down to the edge of the great lake that abutted Pawlfrey House, but instead took off on a narrow road into the woods, the smooth ride exhilarating.
She didn’t think she’d ever been in a horse-drawn sleigh before, and the sensation was almost like that of flying.
She suspected Brat was an excellent whip—he handled the horses smoothly, with no jerks, stops, or starts, and in no time at all, they had reached a clearing with a small pond, this one clearly frozen.
No sooner had he stopped the sleigh than she tried to climb down, but the hem of her dress caught on something, and she was trapped. “Are you in a particular hurry?” Brat murmured, releasing her full skirt from the spot that had trapped her.
“She’s excited about skating, stoopid,” Hortensia announced, scrambling out of the back of the sleigh with more enthusiasm than grace, followed by an equally energetic Penelope. “You’ll show her what to do, won’t you, Brat?”
“I have every intention of teaching Mrs. Lancaster any number of things.”
She was getting to hate the sound of “Mrs.” In his drawling tone. He put a peculiar emphasis on it, as if her widowed state meant something to him, and she was afraid she knew what that was. She needed to make it clear that she had no interest in dalliance, no matter how attractive he was.
She almost tripped when she landed on the ground, but somehow Brat had gotten around the sleigh to be there to catch her, and his hands were solid and secure on her arms. She wanted to moan.
The sooner this benighted afternoon was over, the better she’d be.
She’d cry off from dinner as well—absence would hardly make the heart grow fonder in Brat’s case.
In fact, his heart had nothing to do with it—he was toying with her out of sheer mischief, and she resented it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t show it.
The skates were new and shiny, all metal with leather straps, and they looked very dangerous. The twins seemed to have no trouble putting them on, and she picked up the extra pair with extreme caution, staring at them unhappily.
“I think I’ll just watch,” she said, setting them down in the snow.
“I think you’ll skate,” Brat said, gliding up to her.
He’d already put his own skates on while she’d been concentrating on the twins, and he moved on the ice as if he had wings.
Before she realized what he’d intended, he’d skated over to her and knelt in the cold, wet snow.
His hand on her ankle was such a shock she tried to yank it away, but he held tight.
“I’m merely going to fasten your skates,” he said softly. “Not molest you. There’s too big an audience for that.”
“I don’t want…” But the one skate was already on, firmly fastened, and he’d picked up her other ankle, holding it firmly.
“Don’t be such a spoilsport, Jenny!” Horry called out as she set out across the pond. “You’ll love it.”
“Jenny?” he echoed, an interested expression on his face. “They call you by your given name.”
“Just when their parents aren’t around.”
“Then I’ll call you Jenny too. It suits you.” Before she could protest, he pulled her to her feet, balanced on the thin blades, and she felt herself begin to slip.
“I can’t…” she began, but he’d drawn her out onto the ice, one arm around her waist, holding her up.
It was a bizarre feeling, being so close to a strong, male body. He was taller than Josiah, and leaner, so there was no reason she should suddenly be filled with longing for everything she had lost. He wasn’t her husband.
“You’re doing it, Jenny!” Penelope shouted out excitedly as she made a little loop on the ice. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Her feet were barely touching the ice. She was being supported by Brat’s strong arm and she wanted to cry.
“Bend your knees a little,” he said in her ear as he moved her over the ice. “It’ll help you keep your balance.”
She tried, ignoring the fact that no gentleman should ever mention the word “knees” in a lady’s presence, and felt a modicum of stability as she moved. And then, without warning, he released her, holding only her hand as she continued to glide across the surface.
Everything went well for a good minute. And then she started to wobble, and she panicked, trying to get the skates under her again, and she went down on her backside, sliding across the ice straight in Brat’s direction.
He didn’t move out of the way. He watched her come, an enigmatic expression on his face, and she crashed into his long legs, sending him tumbling onto the ice beside her.
She couldn’t help it, she laughed. And then he laughed, stretching out on the ice, and the twins skated over, staring down at them with curious expressions on their faces.
“Are you two hurt?” Horry asked worriedly.
Brat de Malheur managed to pull himself up. “Only our dignity.”
“Jenny doesn’t have any dignity,” Penelope said. “At least, not when our parents aren’t around.”
He looked at her as she struggled to sit up. “No dignity? How encouraging.” And he rose to his feet, not slipping at all, and reached out a hand to her.
She shook her head. “I believe I’ll crawl to solid ground.”
She should have known he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Hauling her up, he caught her as she fell against him with all her weight, and for a moment he teetered, and she wondered whether they were going to go down again.
But he kept his balance, his arm around her once more, and skated her over to the side of the pond, holding her hand as she carefully stepped off the ice.
She pulled free the moment she could, plopping down on the bank and reaching for the blasted skates, not caring if she was exposing her ankles.
He’d already held her ankles, and her hand, and her waist. He’d fallen in the snow with her, and now on the ice; he’d touched her more than she’d been touched by another man except her husband. It was outrageous. And she wanted more.
The girls continued to skate, but Brat left the ice to take up a position near her, not too close, not too far. She concentrated on watching the twins, but she knew perfectly well that he was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her like a physical touch.
“You can’t keep running away,” he said softly.
She turned to look back at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You feel it too. It’s damned inconvenient.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He moved then, dropping down on the bank beside her, his greatcoat spread beneath him. “My dear Mrs. Lancaster, you’ve been a married woman. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Sheer, animal lust.”
She tried to jerk away, but he caught her gloved hand in his. “Is that too harsh for you? Shall I tell you I’m charmed by your nobility of character and enchanted by your devotion to duty? That I’m prepared to marry you and spend the rest of my days your devoted husband?”
She yanked hard, and he released her. “You’re being absurd.”
“I’m being honest. I want you.”
She knew there was color in her face, but she hoped it could be attributed to the brisk air. “You’re bored,” she said, “and I’m the only viable partner for your charmingly described animal lust. You’ll find distraction soon enough.”
“You have so little confidence in your own attractions?”
“I’m a plain widow,” she said, one eye on the oblivious twins. “I’m just the only one available.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed, his honesty unexpected. “But it is so boring in the countryside. Surely you’d take pity on me?”
She turned to face him, filled with righteous wrath, and found she was dangerously close to him. “Surely you’d take pity on me and leave me alone!” she countered. “In my position my reputation is everything. I can’t afford to dally with the…the…”
“Black sheep?” he supplied lightly. They were so close, and his eyes were so dark. “Aren’t you curious about what this feels like?”
“It feels like nothing but irritation to me.”
“Liar,” he said. “I’m just as annoyed with this as you are. It’s never happened to me before. I like wild women, not quiet little governesses. You’re not my idea of a dalliance. You’re damned inconvenient.”
“Then get over it.”
“I imagine I will soon enough. I always do.” He rose with one fluid movement. “Come along, girls. We’ve got a party tonight and I know you’ll need time for primping.”
“A party?” Jenny echoed, scrambling to her feet.
“A few people in for dancing. I intend to claim your first one.”
She didn’t bother replying. She wouldn’t be dancing, she probably wouldn’t be invited to the festivities, and if she was, she’d sit with the spinsters and the other widows, safe within their confines.
It wasn’t until she got to her room that she shook off the tension that shafted through her. The man was incorrigible! “Sheer, animal lust”! She’d never heard of anything so outrageous.
Mind you, if she were to be completely honest with herself, if such a thing existed, she would feel it for Brat. He was well-named, a troublemaker of the first order, and his flirtation was driving her mad.
Because part of her, a very small, wicked part of her, felt the same way. He was playing games, she was deadly serious, and the infuriating man drew her to him like a moth to a flame. She would get very badly burned if she even considered giving in to temptation.
It was most definitely not love at first sight. Jenny didn’t believe in anything so absurd—with Josiah it had been a year’s courtship, slow and sweet. There had never been this disconcerting thunder in her blood.
It would pass—it had to. He’d get over it, he said. He always did. For some reason, he was attracted to her, but it would pass. For some wretched, inconvenient reason her heart had become involved, and that was certain disaster.
He was annoying, flirtatious, beautiful, and a troublemaker. He was a grown man and a troubled boy, driven to explore the dark side of life if she could believe the twins’ gossip. He needed to grow up.
She could help him. She was used to troubled boys and their megrims. Brat was scarcely older than she was, but she felt wise and ancient next to him. She could be the making of him.
But that was a fairy tale, and she was too old and wise for such things. She’d forget about him as soon as she was gone from this place, and Aunt Dorothy would provide a welcome respite. In a month, she would look back on this interlude with amusement.
Of course she would, she told herself with all her governess-y firmness. If she could be stern with her charges, she could be stern with herself. It was nonsense.