Page 36 of The Duke of Ruin
“Indeed you did.” Simon stood and looked over at the small arsenal Mrs. Taft and Mr. Pickford had created. “And look how fast your mother has gotten. You must be very proud.”
“Mama, you’re doing ever so good!”
“Ever so well,” she corrected with a smile.
“It’s time to start,” Mrs. Haskins called.
“Mama!” The girl, Mary, now standing in the snow next to Miss Haskins, clapped and grinned at her mother.
“I forgot one last thing,” Simon said, looking about. The men who worked in the stable, as well as his own coachman, had gathered to watch. Tinley waved, and Simon nodded in response. “No leaving the yard. Ready? Go!”
It was as if the sky had decided to join in, because whereas small flakes had peppered him off and on, now large flakes floated down, adding to the mayhem. And it was mayhem. The other side had accumulated quite a few snowballs, and Mr. Pickford the younger was an excellent shot.
It wasn’t long before Simon had taken a snowball directly in the gut. He looked for Diana and saw her making snowballs behind the others. She’d been given the same job as Mrs. Taft, apparently. Well, that wouldn’t do. He knew she wanted to participate in the actual fight. He could think of one way to provoke that.
Throwing together a fresh snowball and grabbing one from their diminishing stash, he crept to the side and skirted the other team as they were focused on Mr. Pickford the elder—he was as skilled as his brother, hitting each of his opponents in equal measure. Jonathan was already rather wet. So much for his prideful prognostication.
Diana’s attention was also on their advance, so she didn’t see Simon coming. His snowball hit her square in the shoulder, causing her blanket to slip down.
Gasping, she turned. Her eyes narrowed at him. Without hesitating, she lunged for one of the snowballs she’d just made and tossed it at him. Unfortunately, it fell short.
He moved closer and threw his other snowball, this time hitting her in the behind as she bent to get another ball.
She jerked upright and gaped at him briefly before throwing two balls at him in quick succession. The first missed its mark again, but the second splatted against his chest. She laughed gleefully and grabbed two more snowballs. “Help me with Mr. Byrd!” she cried.
Oh damn. This wasn’t going to be good.
Both Mr. Taft and Jonathan turned their attention toward him, pelting him with snowballs. Trying to back away, Simon slipped. He fell backward into the snow. Jonathan approached him with a snowball and smashed it into Simon’s chest. “Did we win?”
Simon looked past the boy and saw that Matthias and Mr. Pickford the elder stood over Mr. Pickford the younger, who must have fallen also. “It doesn’t appear so.” He pointed across the yard.
“Time’s up!” Mrs. Haskins called.
Simon looked over as Mary ran toward her mother. She didn’t get very far as her little legs sank into the snow. Mrs. Taft hurried to her and swept the child into her arms.
“I like snow!” Mary declared.
Mrs. Taft retrieved the last snowball she’d made and handed it to her daughter, whose eyes widened with wonder. Simon’s heart tugged. He could so easily imagine his wife and daughter…
“Can I help you up?” Mr. Taft asked the question, but Simon’s gaze fell on Diana, who was staring at him in concern—and something else. Perhaps a bit of admiration. And damn, if that didn’t feel strange.
“Yes, thank you,” Simon said, grasping the man’s hand and clambering to his feet.
The boys were now simply playing in the snow, leaving no corner of the yard untouched.
“Just another minute,” their mother cautioned.
“You’re quite wet,” Diana said, joining him as she wrapped the blanket around herself more securely.
“You’re barely so,” Simon observed.
“A bit.” Her lips curved into a winsome smile. “That was fun.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” It was perhaps the most fun he’d had in two years. Unless he counted the house party. Before things had gone to hell, he’d enjoyed himself, especially when they’d played Kiss the Nun. He couldn’t keep himself from staring at her lips for a moment. “I wonder if we could persuade the others to play games, after we change clothes and warm up.”
“Kiss the Nun?” Her eyes sparkled as a snowflake landed on her cheek. Her mind had been in the same place as his. How extraordinary.
With his fingertip, he brushed the snowflake away from her flesh. “Probably not that,” he said softly.
