Page 4 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
Given the direction of the boys’ gazes, there was no doubt who “he” was. “Sometimes,” Nicholas allowed. “But mostly, I ride him on Newmarket Heath.”
“Newmarket?” To say that the older lad’s ears perked up would be understating his reaction.
“What’s his name?” The girl seemed almost as eager as her brothers.
“Tamerlane.”
The younger boy’s face scrunched in thought. “Wasn’t he some emperor?”
Nicholas grinned. “In the Far East.”
He glanced at the lady—and saw a dribble of white descending from above her head.
He had two sisters. He didn’t stop to think. He clamped his hands about the lady’s shoulders and jerked her forward, out of the line of danger and all but into him.
He felt the galvanizing shock that passed through her—saw it in her blue, blue eyes.
Felt an answering reaction streak though him, leaving him stunned and equally shaken.
He stared into her eyes, and for that moment, the world ceased to turn.
She stared back.
Both of them had stopped breathing.
“Oh! Oh!” The children leapt into action, ducking behind the lady, brushing at the back of her skirts, pushing her even farther forward, almost into Nicholas’s arms, effectively shattering the moment. “We’ll take care of it!” the trio chorused.
Nicholas hauled in a breath and forced himself to take a single step back and release the lady.
Instantly, she swung around to look at the puddle of what appeared to be flour on the ground.
For a second, they both stared at it, then he gestured at the patch. “I saw it falling and thought you would prefer not to have”—any unnecessary adornment—“a dusting.”
She didn’t glance his way, but drew in a tight breath and managed, “No. Indeed.” Stiffly, she dipped her head to him. “Thank you.”
The children were staring upward.
The younger boy plaintively asked, “How do we get them down?”
As he’d approached, Nicholas had glimpsed some of what had been going on. He could remember his cousins doing something similar at Somersham Place. He walked under the edge of the porte-cochere and looked up. “Flour bombs?”
“Yes.” The older boy glanced at him. “It was a trial to see if we could use something along these lines to defend against marauders.”
Solemnly, Nicholas nodded. “A noble cause.”
“But now they’re stuck, and we have to get them down.” The girl fixed blue eyes—not as blue as the lady’s but pretty eyes, nonetheless—on Nicholas’s face. “Do you know how?”
A spirited discussion ensued. Despite his active participation, Nicholas remained highly aware of the silent figure beside him. With her arms crossed, she watched and listened—specifically, she watched him through narrowed eyes and listened to every word he said—but made no comment, even when he regretfully informed the children that the only way to remove the balloons was to shoot them rather than the flour sacks.
“It might be wise,” he suggested, “to attach strings to your arrows, in case they become lodged in the rafters.”
The trio appealed to the butler, who had watched the performance with a quietly relieved air, and he dispatched a minion to fetch a ball of twine.
While they waited and the children studied the best angles for their shots, from beside Nicholas, the lady murmured, “Is that the voice of experience speaking?”
He grinned and shot her a glance. “You might say that.”
Their eyes met, and a frisson—a definite frisson of attraction—sparked between them.
