Page 37 of Snowbound Regency Christmas
Charlotte had progressed to placing the stars on top of the filled pies. Jane was giving her free rein to arrange them, her face slightly averted from the door. She’d angled herself away as soon as the nurse appeared, Duncan had noticed, in the same instinctive movement she still made whenever he approached her from the left-hand side, and he felt a pinch of dismay that she still thought she needed to hide.
As if anyone would dare say a word against her in this house. I’d certainly make them regret it if they did.
He sat down at the table again as Charlotte placed the final star. She studied them for a moment, assessing her work, and then brushed her hands together with the air of a job well done.
‘Good. They’re finished. So, what shall we do now?’
Jane laughed, the sound more welcome than she ever could have guessed. ‘You certainly don’t waste time. What would youliketo do?’
‘Well…’ Charlotte considered for a moment. ‘Last year, some boys in our town went sledging. Mama said I was too young to go, but now that I’m six I think I should be allowed. Will you take me? Please?’
Jane smiled at the imploring little face. ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask your uncle what he thinks.’
For the first time in a while she lifted her eyes to his, his heart—as always—giving a leap at finding himself the focus of her attention. It was tempting to revel in it, but with his niece now peering at him likewise he had to resist.
‘I suppose we can go. You’d need to wrap up warm, though,’ he said firmly as Charlotte leapt up from her chair, ‘and promise you won’t break any bones. If I returned you to your mama in a worse condition than I received you, she’d have my head.’
His niece didn’t seem to hear his warning. ‘Thank you, Uncle Duncan! I’ll go to tell Grandmama. She was asleep when I went into her room earlier, but I’m sure she’ll want to know.’
She raced away, narrowly avoiding a maid carrying a tray of freshly baked cakes as she went. Belatedly, it occurred to Duncan that his mother might not be pleased at the prospect of her granddaughter throwing herself down a snowy slope, but he was soon distracted by Jane’s unconscious frown.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘No, no. Not at all.’ She began to gather up the scraps of leftover pastry. She seemed to be thinking about something, however, as a moment later she spoke again. ‘Where do you think would be the best place to go?’
It was a casual enough question but Duncan understood her intent. Although trying to hide it, he could tell she hesitated at the idea of leaving the house and having to be on public display, even with her veil. With unfortunate irony, the ever-present screen of dark lace must invite comment almost as much as the scars would have done, although he would never embarrass her by pointing it out.
‘There’s a slope in the woods behind the house,’ he said with deliberate indifference. ‘It’s smaller than the one in the park everyone else will be using, so we should have the place to ourselves. I think that would be better, considering Charlotte has never been sledging before.’
Jane nodded. Her expression didn’t change but he thought he saw a whisper of tension leave the set of her mouth, the lips he would have given anything to kiss again softening the smallest degree.
‘I haven’t been sledging in a decade,’ he went on. ‘I hope I can still remember how, or else Charlotte will be in for a disappointment when I can’t show her anything.’
He was trying very hard not to look at Jane’s mouth, but she didn’t help matters when she suddenly broke into a smile. ‘Don’t I recall you fell off quite spectacularly once?’ She raised her eyebrows, sending them under the frilled edge of her cap. ‘When you were quite young, chipping a tooth? I’m sure you told me something like that.’
Ruefully, Duncan rubbed the back of his neck. ‘That’s right. Perhaps I’m really not the best choice of teacher.’
Something stirred within him. He must have told her that story not long after they’d first met, and yet she had remembered. It was a throwaway comment on her part, probably, but it reminded him how intimate they had once been, in the days when he’d been closer to her than anyone else alive.
That was another memory he shouldn’t waste time pursuing, he told himself gruffly. He was intent on holding himself back from fresh heartache, not hurtling towards it, and the momentary slip reminded him yet again of the need never to relax his guard. She’d crushed his hopes once with her kind, gentle rejection and he didn’t intend to suffer the same thing again, self-preservation demanding he ignore the persistent ache inside that wanted to offer himself to her anew.
She pushed back her chair and stood up, brushing down her apron. It was covered in flour and he saw her black sleeves were speckled too as she reached up to adjust her cap.
‘I’ll just go to change my gown. I’m not sure what one is supposed to wear to go sledging, but I suspect it isn’t this.’
With a pleasant nod to the kitchen maids, Duncan followed her to the door. ‘Whatever you have that’s warmest would be my advice. I may ask my mother if I can borrow her fox fur stole.’
Jane glanced back at him over her shoulder. The corridor was empty: all the maids were occupied elsewhere, readying the Christmas provisions that so richly scented the air, so there was no one else around to hear her snort.
‘Don’t do that. You’d look much better in mink.’
Warmth kindled in his stomach. When she looked at him so teasingly, she was irresistible. The urge to touch her was maddening, like an itch he couldn’t allow himself to scratch, and so it felt like the most devious of temptations when a perfect opportunity fell into his lap.
‘Wait a moment. You have flour on your face.’
‘Have I? Where?’
Immediately, she stopped walking and tried to scrub it away. She only succeeded in smearing it further, however, and with his heart pounding like a bass drum, Duncan realised he had already lost.
