Chapter 10 #2
“I’m not so sure.” His eyes were unreadable.
He held her gaze for a long moment, then cupped her head and drew her mouth down to his.
Now it was her heart that wouldn’t stop racing. Either from proximity to him... or the realization that she never wanted to let him out of her sight.
Even if they never had another moment like this again.
What if they stayed friends after this? What if she saw him not once a year at Christmastide, but on planned holidays all year long? Would she be able to withstand the sight of him building a life with his new bride?
Would she be able to stand not seeing him at all?
“Come on, then.” She rolled from his chest and to her feet, then bent to offer him her hand. “Shall we see what you might earn after your second slide down the mountain?”
They picked up their equipment and trudged over to the tree line to begin the hike back up to the top.
“I cannot believe these are Lady Gertrude’s skis,” he murmured.
“Gertie will never use them,” Cynthia replied drily. “They’re the Duke of Nottingvale’s skis now.”
“Isn’t it bad form to give away someone else’s possessions?”
“Isn’t it bad form to skate down a mountainside strapped to someone else’s possessions?”
“Touché. My skis. I’m happy to pay her for them.”
“I’d rather you introduce her to a young, single, eligible gentleman with deep pockets, an old title, a kind heart, and a penchant for pianoforte music.”
“Hmm.” They kept walking. “Well... there’s me.”
“You’re not young,” she reminded him. “You’re a spinster like me.”
He snorted. “No one thinks of you as a spinster.”
“Everyone thinks of me as a spinster. I have only to enter your ballroom and the mothers’ whispers begin at once.”
“Ah, well, I meant ‘no one with any sense.’ But I do see your point. Lady Gertrude is eighteen years, one month, and… let me count… nine days old.”
Cynthia giggled. “She regaled you with a few choice facts?”
“All of the facts,” he assured her. “I am now a Lady Gertrude expert. Which of the previous qualities you mentioned are the ones she seeks?”
“Penchant for pianoforte music,” Cynthia replied without hesitation. “Gertie would marry an actual pianoforte if she could.”
The duke was silent for a moment. “Why not let her?”
“I don’t... know if you know this,” Cynthia said slowly, “but pianofortes have a difficult time walking down wedding aisles in the local chapel.”
“I don’t mean literally marry one. But if she’d rather have music than a husband, why not let her, at least for a little while? She’s only eighteen. She has at least thirty-six more months before she turns irrevocably dusty and unmarriageable.”
“I would do so,” Cynthia said with feeling, “if it were up to me. Unfortunately, the only person with any say in the matter is Gertie’s father.
The earl has decreed he will marry off his final daughter in January, come what may.
Either I match her to deep pockets and a coronet, or her father will hand her off to a roué three times her age. ”
“I see.” Alexander was silent for a moment. “I’ll make a few inquiries.”
“You will?” she said in surprise.
They exited the trees and emerged back atop the peak.
He turned to face her. “Why wouldn’t I? If it’s in my power to avert what sounds like a lifetime of misery for Lady Gertrude, then of course I’ll do my best to find her a match she can live with.”
A weight lifted from Cynthia’s chest.
“Thank you,” she said with a grateful smile. “It will be a Christmas miracle.”
“Shall I make inquiries for you as well?”
The smile slid from her face.
The duke was trying to be kind, not cruel, she reminded herself. He might kiss her at every opportunity, but they both knew those opportunities would soon end. He had never tried to mislead her. She’d understood the situation long before her lips first met his.
“I’m on the shelf,” she said tightly.
He shrugged. “People remove things from shelves all of the time.”
She stared at him, then swallowed.
“I’m not the right fit for the people in your echelons, and we both know it.”
If she hadn’t been right twelve years ago when she was a bundle of girlish nerves trying her very, very best... then she definitely wasn’t right now.
There was a reason he’d hid behind a tree rather than be seen with her. Cynthia could harm Alexander’s standing just by existing next to him.
Just being in her vicinity was embarrassing.
The unwelcome reminder sapped much of the joy out of the day.
“Come on.” She positioned his skis. “I’ll strap you in.”
Once his skis were safely attached, she attended to her own.
She gestured toward the sledding slope. “Remember, we skate in this direction. Over there is—”
“The village,” he said. “I remember.”
Not just the village.
Gertie.
Cynthia’s mouth fell open.
Max gave a loud yip.
“You are using the skis!” Gertie squealed. “I saw they were missing, and I wanted to watch. Can I watch?”
“Stay next to the wall!” Cynthia commanded. “It’s slippery here, and I don’t need you breaking your neck.”
“There was a higher probability of neck-breaking if you’d talked me into those skis,” Gertie replied, cradling Max to her chest. “From the look of things, you haven’t fared much better. You two have snow everywhere.”
“Er,” said the Duke of Nottingvale.
“Er,” said Cynthia.
“Well, make haste,” said Gertie. “They think I’m taking Max for a walk, but I can’t stay long.
Max loves the snow and keeps getting lost in it.
I only find him when I see his little tail poking out.
He’s angry at me for carrying him up this mountain.
You’d think the snow was hiding a field of bones to chew—”
At the word bones, Max yipped and sprung himself from Gertie’s chest.
He did not get lost in the snow.
He tumbled backward down the slick mountain, his yip turning to terror as he slid off the incline and over the edge—in the wrong direction.
“Dammit, Max,” Cynthia muttered, and pushed off after him.
This direction wasn’t as smooth as the other, and bumps beneath the snow sent her skis a few inches into the air before continuing on with a jarring thud.
Max was tumbling out of control now, a spinning, howling, puppy-avalanche of white snow and brown fur.
He wasn’t headed into the heart of the village.
He was headed straight for the area blocked off at the base of the castle... for the archery tournament.
Which was currently in progress.
“Damn it, Max!” she shouted, but of course he couldn’t hear her, not that he could do anything about it if he did.
The poor terrified puppy shot down the mountain like a cannonball.
Right into the line of fire.
Cynthia sucked in a breath.
The terrain grew almost too bumpy to navigate the closer she drew to the targets. She was carried forward by pure speed and velocity rather than talent.
With a final yip, Max thudded into the base of one of the haystacks.
He didn’t move.
“Damn it, Max.” Her throat pricked with heat. “Do not die.”
She was seconds away.
Possibly seconds too late.
She passed both poles to her left hand and hunkered down to scoop up the non-moving puppy as she whisked them both out of danger.
He made a tiny mewling sound and shuddered against her chest.
“Thank God.” She pressed her lips to his icy, matted fur. “We almost—”
And then fire ripped through her shoulder.