Chapter 10
Cynthia Louise tried not to giggle as the Duke of Nottingvale’s skis bumped hers for the twentieth time as they smuggled the long wooden runners out through the rear servants’ exit.
“I’ve never sneaked out of my own house before.” Alexander had looked bewildered all morning. “You’re a bad influence.”
“I’m a terrible influence,” she agreed cheerfully. “It’s the best thing about me.”
Fortunately, the close proximity of the duke’s cottage to the castle meant they could hike up through the woods rather than conspicuously lug skis up the primary public road.
She had been disappointed but unsurprised when her cousin Gertie refused to take her still new skis for a practice slide. The idea had sent her straight into her burlap sack.
Cynthia had been delighted and very surprised when the Duke of Nottingvale had agreed to the adventure. He had stuck by her side all morning.
She slanted him a suspicious look. “Are you doing this because you made the mistake of agreeing to ‘anything’ yesterday, and now feel it’s your ducal duty to honor your word?”
“No. I meant ‘anything.’” His brown eyes held hers. “I wanted to spend time with you.”
Oh.
Very well, then.
No more questions.
With her cheeks flushing with heat, Cynthia averted her gaze to the woods and pointed at a nearby break in the evergreens. “There. That’s our entrance to the castle.”
“How did you know?” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you sneaked through my servants’ access door before?”
She laughed, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. “I know because the only trick is to keep going up. The castle is at the top of the mountain and so is our launching-off point.”
“Launching off,” the duke repeated. “This plan sounds worse by the second.”
“You can stay at the bottom of the hill and watch me have all of the merriment,” she offered.
“No.” His voice was low, and his gaze hot. “I absolutely intend to have fun with you.”
She gave him a saucy grin and sauntered ahead, in part because the path through the trees was plenty narrow for one person to manage whilst balancing skis on her shoulder, and partly because...
Well, because she adored spending time with him, too.
Cynthia was used to people finding her spontaneous and unpredictable, but she’d never imagined feeling the same way about the Duke of Nottingvale.
No matter how many times she poked at him or how far he ventured from his usual comfort level, he remained a constant good sport; agreeable and easy-going. If he hadn’t been born anchored to a dukedom, who knew what manner of antics he might have got up to?
Without that deuced dukedom, they might even have become more than friends.
Very well, they were more than friends. Or different from friends, anyway.
There wasn’t really a word to describe two people who were completely wrong for one another, yet delighted in each other’s company and indulged in forbidden kisses because they couldn’t stay away from each other.
She suspected the only reason they weren’t kissing at this moment was because of the six-foot skis forcing them to keep a respectable distance.
For now.
Her poles were in her other hand, and she used them to brush stray branches aside as they climbed through the woods.
Alexander’s home was as close to the castle as possible without being inside its ramparts, but the thick snow and steep incline had them both breathing heavily by the time they burst through the trees up to the clear mountain peak.
“See?” she huffed as she rested her skis on the snow. “Going down will be positively relaxing.”
Alexander sent her a dark look rather than dignify her comment with a response.
She led him around the ramparts, away from the woods, to the spot she’d scouted the day before.
“Step one,” she announced. “Arrange your skis just so.”
His attention was riveted on her, and he copied her movements minutely.
“Step two,” she said. “Climb on.”
He stared down at his skis doubtfully.
She sank to her knees and lightly tapped the back of his muscular calf. “Come on, I’ll strap you in.”
“You’re kneeling on snow,” he said. “Aren’t your legs freezing?”
“They would be,” she agreed, “if I weren’t wearing buckskin trousers beneath my gown and petticoats.”
“Of course you are,” he muttered.
But he lifted each of his boots with obvious trepidation and placed his feet atop the skis.
She made quick work of the leather straps, ensuring the fit was secure and snug before adjusting his grip on his poles.
They spent the next half an hour going over how to steer, how to stop, and how to fall safely if necessary.
“Where did you learn this again?” he asked.
“Norway,” she reminded him. “We have relatives who live there. My cousin Olaf is a captain in the Cadastre Corps. Did you know that the Scandinavian military has trained with skis for over one hundred years?”
“I did not,” the duke said faintly.
“Of course, Scandinavian farmers and hunters had already been using skis for centuries,” she explained.
“For the Corps, it was all very practical. Military drills over rough terrain, cross-country journeys on skis, target practice whilst on skis, and so on. Until Olaf decided to do something impractical.”
“A cousin of yours did something impractical?” Alexander murmured. “I am agog with shock.”
She grinned at him. “He launched himself ten feet into the air, flying over the dumbfounded gazes of his fellow soldiers. He was instantly infamous, and only became more talented and daring after that. He’s the one who taught me everything I know.”
“Wonderful,” said the duke. “I feel so much safer. Didn’t you break your leg? Twice?”
She wiggled her eyebrows. “And I won a two-hundred-pound wager.”
“Two... hundred...”
She adjusted her poles. “Ready?”
“I am not ready. I will never be ready.” He took a deep breath. “But here we go.”
He turned away from her and braced his poles.
She grabbed his arm and hauled him back to her side.
“Not that direction. The village is down there. I aimed our skis over here for a reason.” She gestured down with her gloved hand. “This section runs parallel to the sledding path. There are no obstructions, and people already know to keep a safe distance at the bottom.”
He looked shaken. “I almost skated into the village?”
“You probably would have slid face-first into a haystack and had straw falling out of your hair for days.”
“What if I veer too far the other direction?”
“Just point your skis straight down. You won’t have to steer. Honestly, this section is so wide, you can’t possibly run into anything. Except me, I suppose. But I skate well enough on skis to steer clear of danger.”
“Except for two broken legs.”
“Those were my first two attempts!”
“Your first two attempts to ski involved jumping from one cliff to another?” he said in disbelief. “No. Don’t tell me. I have just learned an important lesson about never again volunteering to ‘do anything’ with Miss Cynthia Louise Finch.”
“You’ll adore it,” she promised him. “It feels like flying. It’s my favorite thing, and I’ve never had anyone in England to share it with.” She gave him a shy smile. “I’m glad it’s with you.”
“Oh, very good,” he said. “Now my brain is full of kissing you, instead of imagining all of the ghastly ways this plan could go horribly awry.”
She grinned at him. “I’ll let you kiss me at the bottom.”
Before he could reply, she pushed with her poles and sailed down the side of the mountain.
It was glorious.
The sun dazzled her eyes and the wind whipped tendrils of hair from her chignon. Her skis were fast and smooth. Cynthia had waxed them that morning, just as Olaf had taught her.
All too soon, she reached the plateau. She twisted her legs sharply, turning to watch the Duke of Nottingvale’s progress down the mountain.
He was... not smooth.
His skis went every direction but straight, sometimes touching in the front, sometimes touching in the back.
Rather than guide the poles, his arms windmilled for balance, tipping him precariously one direction, then another.
The expression on his face was alternately terrified and exhilarated, as if every moment he remained upright was a victory in its own right.
He looked absolutely magnificent.
And he was headed in her direction.
“Stop,” she called out. “Turn your skis to break the velocity.”
The duke’s skis did nothing of the sort.
He flailed his arms wilder.
Cynthia scooted several quick steps to one side.
As he skated past, she grabbed hold of his arm. The sudden check spun his momentum toward her. Their skis tangled, followed by their legs, and their arms, and a collision of chests.
In the space of a heartbeat, she was flat on her back with the Duke of Nottingvale splayed on top of her, both of them winded and panting.
He kissed her hard.
“That... was... brilliant.” His eyes sparkled. “Let’s do it again!”
She let go of her poles and wrapped her arms about him. “I thought you wanted a kiss.”
He covered her face with kisses. “Can you teach me to jump crevasses?”
She closed her eyes and groaned. “I’ve spawned a monster.”
“It’s definitely your fault.” He kissed her again. “Everything good is.”
He’d let go of his poles, too. One hand was cradling her head, whilst the other propped him at an angle in an attempt not to crush her.
It was the least comfortable position she had ever been in, and an experience she would cherish for the rest of her life. She kissed him as though there might never be another chance.
At last, she pushed him aside.
“Too many kisses?” he asked. “Do I have to skate down again to earn another?”
No. He could have all of the kisses he desired.
“Let me unfasten these before we break a ski or an ankle.” She fumbled with the leather straps, then piled the skis and the poles to one side. “Now we can roll around in the snow like mature, responsible adults.”
He grinned and flipped onto his back, bringing her with him so that she was splayed on top of him.
“My heart won’t stop racing.” His smile was the widest she’d ever seen. “It’s either from proximity to you or my near-death experience.”
“Definitely the skis,” she assured him.