Page 38 of The Duke of Ruin
The innkeeper lit the brandy and the bowl was immediately aflame. Dozens of raisins bobbed about the liquid. It should be relatively easy to grab a few, at least. But one had to brave the flames.
Diana sucked in a breath and plunged her fingertips into the brandy near the edge. Heat licked her fingers, and she pulled back without a single raisin.Blast.Exhaling to settle her nerves, she tried again, working to recall how she’d done this last time. That had been a few years ago, Christmas at Beaumont Tower, after Verity’s husband had gone missing. Perhaps Diana would spend this Christmas at Beaumont Tower too. No, she couldn’t afford to stay that long—her father would find her.
Shaking those thoughts from her brain, she refocused on the task at hand before the fire went out. Or worse, before there were no raisins left.
Tensing her muscles, she narrowed her eyes at the flames. The key was to set aside your fear. Don’t think, just act. It was, she realized, the opposite of how she’d been taught to live.
That only increased her resolve.
She thrust her hand into the flames, using her thumb and forefinger as pincers to snap up as many raisins as she could. She didn’t think, just acted, moving with quick audacity. She was vaguely aware of Miss Haskins sucking on her finger and no longer participating, and of Mr. Pickford paying her attention.
But Diana was intent on her task. She didn’t count the raisins, just plucked as many as she could before the fire went out. The flames began to die down, and there were only a few raisins left. Diana moved quickly and was the last to steal a raisin from the bowl, just before the fire was gone.
“Huzzah!” Mr. Woodlawn clapped, and the adults joined in as the Taft boys began counting their raisins.
It happened that they had the exact same amount, a disheartening fact to both of them.
“I wonder if Mrs. Byrd has won, however,” Simon said, drawing everyone to look at the substantial pile of raisins in front of Diana.
He set about counting them, and when he was finished, she had won.
The boys seemed pleased with this turn of events, but not so much when their father informed them it was time for bed.
They said good night, and Matthias even gave all the women, including Diana, a hug before chasing his brother up the stairs. The rest of the guests said their good nights, but Diana noticed the lingering glances between the elder Mr. Pickford and Miss Haskins. Soon it was just Diana and Simon alone in the common room.
She scooped up all the raisins and put them into the bowl. “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Woodlawn said, picking up the bowl. “Can I bring you two a nightcap?” She looked to Simon. “Or tea?”
He smiled at her thoughtfulness. “No, thank you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Woodlawn,” Diana said.
When they were alone, Simon peered at her with interest. “You were shockingly good at that game. How are your fingers?” He reached for her hand and held it up so he could inspect her reddened flesh.
“A bit sensitive, but it will pass.”
He blew on them gently. “Does this help?”
A shiver danced over her hand and traveled up her arm, then shot down her spine. “A bit.” Whether it helped or not, she didn’t want him to stop.
“Do you think we can leave in the morning?” she asked.
He blew again before answering. “I’m optimistic. We had a good melt this afternoon.” After the snow had finished falling that morning, the sun had come out and turned the yard into a muddy mess. “We should rise at first light just in case.”
“Mmm.” She was having a hard time focusing on what he was saying because of the way his thumb was stroking her hand and the proximity of his mouth to her fingers. She fought an urge to trace his lips.
She couldn’t dothat. Searching about for something to distract herself, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “You did well with the children today.”
Blast, she probably shouldn’t have said that. She didn’t wish to dredge up bad memories, not when this moment was so lovely.
“They’re good children,” he said softly. “Matthias seems quite taken with you. I think you have a mother’s instinct.”
She wasn’t sure she agreed. “They were enthralled with you. They spent most of the day reliving that snowball fight, and you indulged them—quite happily, it seemed. You even acted it out again in here.” That had been after luncheon. The boys had taken on the roles of Simon and Mr. Pickford, who’d both fallen down in the snow. Simon had told them they didn’t have it quite right, so he’d demonstrated thecorrectway to slip and tumble on his arse.
He dropped her hand and moved to the fireplace, his back to her as he stared into the flames. “I was looking forward to being a father.”
She almost didn’t hear him, but was glad she did. Moving slowly, lest she make him tense, she joined him at the hearth. “You still could.”
He flicked her a look filled with doubt—and something far more sinister: self-loathing. “That’s unlikely. I’d need a wife.”
