Chapter 6
Lion trudged through the snow in the frozen gardens at Marchingham Hall.
The air bore a stinging chill. The sun was hidden behind leaden clouds, and flakes were beginning to fall anew, covering the tremendous amount that had already blanketed the land a week ago in the storm that had brought Miss Adelia Fox to his door.
Well, to be specific, Lion himself had been responsible for bringing the maddening hoyden to his door.
But it was Miss Fox’s fault that she had been in such a precarious position in the first place, huddled in the fleeting warmth given from the heated brick at her feet in a mired carriage, about to perish in a snowstorm.
Regardless of the reason, she had been in residence at Marchingham Hall for the last seven days, tempting him with her sunny smile and her stubborn attempts at persuading him that he must decorate for Christmas.
Seven days of turning a corner in his own house and discovering the faintest trace of violet and orris root that meant she was somewhere near and seeking her out despite himself.
A whole week of her little dog following him about as if she had been his loyal companion for years.
Miss Fox vowed the hound’s steadfast adoration was down to the pocket cheese he continually offered her.
Lion thought otherwise. He and Dandy had simply…bonded.
He had forgotten what it felt like to experience the unfettered devotion of a hound. The French bulldog was quite possibly as mad as Miss Fox was, and yet Lion couldn’t help but find himself liking them both. Far too much.
And unfortunately for him, it looked as if his unexpected guests would be forced to stay at Marchingham Hall for even longer. Another week, perhaps, if the weather refused to warm and the snow would not melt.
He sighed, and then the happy bark of Dandy cut through the quiet of the snow-covered landscape. Lion turned to find a black blur racing toward him. Dandy adored racing about in the snow. He couldn’t lie—so much exuberance never failed to lighten his mood.
“Halt, Cerberus,” he commanded wryly, using the pet name he often used for Dandelion, much to Miss Fox’s irritation.
Two could play at the game of nettling, he’d discovered.
The dog came to a stop at his feet, her mouth open to reveal a line of startlingly white, sharp teeth, her tongue lolling. She must have exhausted herself. But where was Miss Fox?
“Dandy,” Miss Fox called as if on cue, rounding a hedge and then stopping when she caught sight of Lion.
She was bundled up heavily, the cold painting her cheeks a becoming shade of pink.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice breathless.
“Forgive me for nearly bowling you over. I was rushing after Dandy. She was having one of her happy bouts, you see. One moment, she was burying her face in the snow and eating it, and the next she was tearing away into the maze. I could scarcely keep up with her.”
Dandy’s face was indeed coated in white.
“Your dog is madder than a Bedlamite,” he commented before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small chunk of cheese. “Sit, Cerberus.”
Dandy obliged, her brown eyes fixed upon the treat he held.
“Her name is Sweet Miss Dandelion Mae, not Cerberus,” Miss Fox grumbled.
“She answers to both,” Lion pointed out, ignoring the ludicrous name the woman had given her dog.
“She doesn’t resemble a hideous three-headed dog monster in the slightest.”
Only Miss Fox would stand in the snow, arguing with him about such a topic. Lion wanted to kiss her again. He hadn’t. Not since his folly in the music room. He had been able to make certain that they were never alone, aside from the evening in the library when he had unburdened himself to her.
About Mittens, of all things.
His sire must be rolling in his grave.
“She is fearsome in her own way,” he argued, giving Dandy the cheese she was after.
She caught it before it fell in the snow, swallowing it down.
“Does she ever chew?” he wondered aloud.
“Not when she particularly loves a food.”
“Her manners are appalling.” His gaze strayed from the hound to Miss Fox.
It didn’t matter how many times he looked upon her. Each time, he felt a sudden rush of awareness and appreciation that only grew stronger with the days that passed.
Miss Fox smiled at him. “Her judgment is occasionally lacking where certain matters are concerned. Matters such as who she favors.”
Lion couldn’t quell his laugh. “In that regard, I’m persuaded that her judgment is nothing short of impeccable.”
“You would.”
They stared at each other. Despite the cold, he found warmth spreading through him.
Miss Adelia Fox was wrong for him in every way.
She was boisterous, ridiculous, and spoiled.
He was reasonably certain she was incapable of reserve.
She most certainly had none of the polish to be expected in a duchess.
And besides all that, she was an American.
A wayward hoyden who may or may not have kissed her way out of a Swiss finishing school.
He cleared his throat. “We should go inside. Surely you and the little mongrel are cold.”
“You know she isn’t a mongrel,” Miss Fox huffed just as he had known she would. “She is—”
“Born of the finest bloodlines in Paris, et cetera, et cetera,” he interrupted. “We ought to make haste before the snow begins to fall in truth.”
“Do you know what I dearly loved to do whenever it snowed when I was a girl?” Miss Fox asked.
“Vex your governesses until they ran from their posts, wailing and gnashing their teeth?” he guessed uncharitably.
She gave him a chastising look. “Of course not. My governess adored me. I was the most well-behaved girl ever in her charge.”
He chortled. “Were you then also the only girl ever in her charge?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Of course not, Your Graceship.”
Suddenly, Dandy, who had been behaving beautifully in hopes of more pocket cheese, barked and ran off down the path, sending snow flying in her wake as her paws dashed through the snow.
“Dandy! Come back here, you naughty girl.” Miss Fox made to chase after her dog.
Lion stopped her, laying a gloved hand on her sleeve. “I’ll go. I have pocket cheese.”
Without awaiting her response, he chased after Dandy, who was apparently experiencing yet another of her happy bouts, bounding through the snow with frenzied enthusiasm as she panted and her tongue lolled.
“Dandy, cheese,” he called.
The hound spun about so quickly that she rolled in the snow. The moment she was on all four paws again, she rushed back to him, anticipating her prize.
“Manners,” he cautioned.
Dandy sat, having spent the past week learning various new commands from him. He had enjoyed himself far more than he could bear to admit.
Lion tossed Dandy her scrap of cheese, and he was about to encourage her to follow him back to where they had come from when a lump of snow suddenly smacked him in the arm. He stared down at the white coating his sleeve, then looked up to find a grinning Miss Fox. She had snow on her gloves.
The minx had thrown a snowball at him.
“You never let me finish telling you what I loved to do when I was a girl,” she said, as if that explained her actions.
It didn’t. At least, not to Lion.
He blinked, his mind struggling to make sense of the woman.
“Snowball fights,” she elaborated. “I loved having snowball fights in the gardens whenever it snowed. Of course, then I grew older, and Mama told me it wasn’t ladylike to throw snow at anyone.”
“I can see that you heeded her sage advice.”
She laughed. “I simply waited until she wasn’t at home to do it.”
“Ah,” he said, staring at her, bemused.
When Miss Fox smiled, she was breathtakingly lovely. How would he possibly continue to resist this insane attraction he felt for her until the snow melted? Perhaps he was going to have to be the one to bed down in the stables.
“Have you ever had a snowball fight?” she asked.
“Of course not.”
There had been no room for frivolity in his childhood. And then, when he’d been little more than a child himself, the obligations of the dukedom had fallen upon him. He had inherited not just the title, but all the debts and duties that came along with it, and his sisters, too.
“You have no notion what you’ve been missing,” said the mad Miss Fox.
Just before she bent down, scooped up a ball of snow, and hurled it at him.
This time, she hit him directly in the center of his chest.
Dandy bit at the snowball as it disintegrated and fell to the ground, making a game of it. Then she had a happy bout back to Miss Fox, before whirling through the snow and burying her face in it.
“I wonder how it was even possible for you to have found a hound who is every bit as outrageous as you are,” he mused.
Miss Fox’s response was to launch yet another ball of snow at him. This one faltered a bit and hit him on the lower leg.
“Another hit,” she exclaimed. “I’m currently the victor by a score of three to zero. If you hope to have a chance of winning, you’ll need to at least try, Marchingham.”
He couldn’t. Could he? No. Of course not. All the training he had received—most of which had been instilled in him with a strong birching from his father—refused to allow him to stoop so low.
“It isn’t done to fling snow at ladies.”
“I’m not a lady.” With unabashed glee, she scooped up some more snow.
And it occurred to Lion that he could stand there like an oafish lump and continue to accept her pummeling, or he could defend himself.
He could.