Page 15 of The Mistletoe Countess
She sighed, keeping hold of them as if she hadn’t heard him.
“Miss Grace?”
“Oh! I’m sorry.” Her body straightened, and she turned just enough for him to see her profile, handing him the reins. “I was quite distracted by your wonderful scent of amber.”
He squeezed his eyes closed. The girl’s directness was positively maddening. With a forced swallow and a deep breath, his arms hemmed her in on either side as she relaxed back against him.
“Ah. Now we’re snug.” Her pitch slid up an octave, hiding nothing.
His throat nearly sealed altogether as the full fragrance of her hair assaulted his senses. All the world conspired against his good intentions.
He pinched his eyes closed, a laugh waiting to explode from the entire ridiculousness of the scene. After playing the social game for so long, Grace’s evident inability to do so offered a comical, and somewhat disconcerting, change.
They followed a trail through the wood, trees filtering morning light across the path ahead as they moved in silence. The tickle of laughter waited, itching for release, until Frederick forced dialogue into the still-ness. “I suppose you were afraid you’d lose the bet, so you compromised with this decision.”
She shook her head sending more mint his way. “I couldn’t lose.”
“You couldn’t lose?” The woman was baffling. “And why is that?”
“I have no pockets, thus no pocket money.” Her laugh lilted, as if at home in this morning wonderland as any fairy’s.
“That isn’t quite fair, Miss Grace.”
Her shoulders slumped from the truth, and his grin teased for release. “You’re right, and I considered what I could give you if you won.” She turned slightly, lips tipped. “Which you wouldn’t have, because I’m a very good rider.”
Watching her glide across the countryside confirmed it. She might even best him. His grin won. What a fun competition it would be to race her!
He shook the vision from his head. “In the instance you’d lost, what would you have offered?”
“Well, I was going to offer a chaste kiss.” Her smile slid wide from her profile. “But that seemed fairly anticlimactic after last night.”
He grunted a response and pulled his attention away from her lips and toward the path ahead. Five years ago, he’d have been her equal in lively sparring and hopeful optimism, but too many losses and betrayals marred his vision.
“Ever since our book discussion last evening, I’ve been curious about what you enjoy reading, Lord Astley.”
His gaze dropped to her hair as it spilled over his arms in an unruly and fascinating way. He cleared his throat and attempted to distract his wayward musings.
“Oh wait. Let me guess.” She sat a little taller, quite proud of herself. He could almost envision the pixie glint in those eyes.
“Biographies?”
His brow twitched. “I do enjoy a good biography.”
“And histories, I should think.”
His smile faded. “Occasionally.”
“Occasionally?” She snorted her laugh and then covered her mouth with one hand. “Come now, what else? Landscaping? Geography?”
Yes and yes.His grimace deepened. He was much too predictable, but then he knew how to tempt her. “Actually, I’ve discovered a particular interest in adventure stories of late, and mysteries.”
Her gasp of delight hit him square in the chest. He’d surprised her. Why did that feel so pleasant? “Fiction?”
“The Count of Monte CristoandKing Solomon’s Mines,anything by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”
She nearly turned all the way around in the saddle, eyes dancing. “The Count of Monte Cristowas fabulous but horribly sad, and I’ve never readKing Solomon’s Mines,but I’ve heard it’s positively delightful. And Sherlock?” She turned back around and giggled. “Oh, I’m so glad you read fiction too. That makes you even more interesting.”
And unfortunately, with every conversation she too became more so.Lord, help him!Gracelynn Ferguson didn’t come with the dowry to save Havensbrooke. Lillias Ferguson did—and she was his future bride.
