Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“By Jove’s beard,” cried Ian Brentworth, the fourth Duke of Trenton, as he tried to guide his horse along the icy ground. “When did the ground become so slippery?”

His voice rang out in the darkness, echoing around the countryside. There was no reply, of course. He was all alone out there, riding through the fields during the night, cursing himself anew for staying too long at Garton House, even though he had wanted to set out much for home earlier than this.

The only reason he had stayed so long was his hosts had insisted upon toasting his recent birthday. He had just turned thirty-three years old. Another year older.

I feel older than that. I feel as old as Methuselah himself. I feel as if I was born old.

He gritted his teeth, breathing through his nostrils, like a bull, trying to contain his frustration at the poor conditions. It was late November and there had been a lot of snow recently; there were hidden icy patches, and it was perilous enough riding in broad daylight now.

Ian grimaced as he glanced at the sky. There was hardly any moonlight as clouds were covering it. It was a dark night, and it was only getting darker and colder. The sooner he was home, settled in his study at Trenton House, the better. He would need a stiff brandy after this ride.

He kept going, guiding the horse as carefully as he could, gazing toward the village, seeing sparks filling the air. He frowned, then recalled that it was the first village celebration of the season—they were having a bonfire, and stalls and Lord knew what else.

He had no idea. He had never attended one of their Christmas celebrations, even if he was lord of the manor. It held no interest for him. It never had, and it was even worse, since what had happened to Mary.

Suddenly, the horse reared up, whinnying loudly. Ian cursed loudly again, trying to control the beast with difficulty. There was a figure right in front of him, crying out in fright. He managed to steer the horse to the right and avoid the person, but it had been a close call.

“Oh,” cried the person, dropping what they held in their hands, which fell onto the ground, scattering into murky snow. It looked like many small parcels to Ian. “Oh, no!”

Ian grimaced, narrowing his eyes, in order to see the figure. Suddenly, the clouds cleared in the sky, and bright moonlight fell across the person, illuminating them.

His eyes widened in surprise. It was a young woman, probably only in her early twenties, with long, wavy chestnut brown hair, which had clearly been dislodged during her fall, and was now streaming down her back. She was a small woman, with a slim figure, wearing a plain, coarse gray gown with a cream shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

She turned her face to look up at him. A heart-shaped face, with a slightly pointed chin, and large, expressive bluish-green eyes. Her skin was pale and flawless.

His stomach instantly lurched. There was no denying she was beautiful.

“Look what you have done!” she cried, her eyes dropping to her parcels scattered in the slushy snow. Ian realized that there were a great many of them. “They are all ruined!”

He bristled, frowning, as he stared at her. “Are you quite all right, madam?”

Suddenly, her eyes widened dramatically, and her arms started flailing. Ian realized she was going to fall—she must have veered onto an ice patch, or she was slipping in the slushy snow. He leapt off his horse, striding toward her, grabbing her by the arm firmly. He only just managed to save her before she crashed to the ground.

His hand was on the small of her back. He realized that the width of his hand almost encircled her entire waist. His heart started pounding hard, as a sudden, unexpected frisson of desire forked through his body, so powerful that he gasped.

Her green eyes widened, and her pupils dilated. He saw it clearly in the moonlight, which was still shining on her beautiful face. Their eyes met and locked. His eyes fixated on her plump lips and alluring eyes.

Hastily, he moved away from her, his heart pounding even harder. He hadn’t had a reaction like that toward a woman in a very long time. He wasn’t used to feeling unbridled lust for a woman anymore.

“Are you all right, madam?” he repeated, in a sharper voice, his confusion making him sound even more brusque than usual. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, staring at him. “No, I am not hurt.” She frowned as she gazed at the parcels scattered in the slushy snow. They were saturated. “But I am afraid that the Christmas gifts I collected for the orphans are quite ruined. Oh, what am I going to do?”

He bristled again. “Christmas gifts?” He laughed, bitterness rising in his chest. “I would say that you are well rid of them. Christmas is an utter waste of time.”

She gaped at him. “What… what did you just say?”

He laughed again. “I said that Christmas is an utter waste of time, and the season should not be celebrated at all. People pay too much heed to it, madam.” He stared at her. “Your orphans are better off without the gifts. They must face up to the harsh realities of life, as we all do, without pointless sentiment.”

Her jaw dropped further. She looked so shocked that he had to suppress a smile. Clearly, no one had ever criticized the Christmas season to her. She was one of those true believers, who subscribed to the erroneous belief that the season made life better, or whatever nonsense it was. A fantasy.

My life was ruined on Christmas Day. The greatest love of my life was taken away from me, and it was all my fault. I hope and pray the whole season becomes obsolete one day.

Her face suddenly darkened. “You are so rude, sir,” she stated, raising her chin, her green eyes flashing dangerously. “You are not a gentleman! How can you speak in such a disparaging way about the celebration of our Lord’s birth, especially when it gives such joy and wonder to people, especially children?”

His jaw tightened as he gazed at her. He wasn’t used to people giving him a tongue-lashing like this. But then, the woman clearly had no idea who he was at all. Why should she? He was merely a stranger on a horse who had come upon her at night.

She took a deep breath. “For shame, sir. You could at least help me retrieve the gifts, since it was you who surprised me, coming out of the darkness like an apparition, and made me drop them.”

She kept rambling on, scolding him, but Ian wasn’t listening any longer. Instead, he was noticing the furrow between her brows and the way her neck tilted, just so, exposing the smooth alabaster paleness of her skin.

He shook himself, trying to focus. She was still scolding him. He suppressed a small smile. Usually, he would make mincemeat of anyone who dared to speak to him in such a manner, tearing shreds off them. But this beautiful young woman, who was raging at him so earnestly, with the furrow between her brows, was fascinating him.

“Do you always speak your mind in such a way without recourse as to who you are addressing?” he asked suddenly, staring at her intently.

She took another deep breath. “Yes, I do, when it is warranted, sir. And I do believe it is warranted in this instance. I believe in calling a spade a spade.”

“Do you, now?” he asked, in an amused voice.

“I do,” she asserted, as if she were making a declaration of war, raising her chin and staring him directly in the eye, a challenging look in her own green eyes. “I speak plainly when it is required. I do not flatter merely for the sake of it.”

Ian shook his head incredulously. She was clearly a villager, judging by the state of her apparel and the way she spoke. No well-bred lady would be walking these hills in the dark carrying parcels, anyway. A lady would be confined to a carriage.

And yet, she had the demeanor and confidence of a queen, in the way that she held her head and looked him straight in the eye.

No woman has spoken to me that way since Mary died.

That sobering thought jolted him out of his trancelike state. Quickly, he mounted his horse, flicking the reins, and taking off without a backward glance.

His heart was pounding hard, and no matter how hard he tried, the vision of the beautiful young woman with the flashing green eyes, giving him the tongue lashing of his life, would not fade.

***

Selene stood there on the hill in the darkness, watching the rude stranger thundering away on his horse. She shook her head, unable to quite believe the encounter, nor how dismissive he had been toward her. He hadn’t even taken his leave in a proper fashion—he had merely jumped onto his horse and took off without a word.

A flash of anger pierced her heart, as she gazed down at the strewn parcels, all completely saturated, immersed in slushy snow. She and Emma had worked tirelessly for over an hour to collect them. The villagers who had given them had donated from the heart and didn’t have much to give at all. And the rude stranger had dismissed all of it.

She sighed, bending down, picking them up and placing them back in her basket. She would try to salvage what she could. Another wave of anger overtook her. He hadn’t even offered to help her.

Her heart thumped uncomfortably as she recalled the rider. The clouds had cleared in the sky, exposing the moon, and she had managed to see him quite clearly. A tall, broad shouldered, muscular man, with intense dark eyes, so deeply brown they were almost black.

A strong, square jawline, aquiline nose, and thick, wavy dark brown hair beneath his hat. He had been wearing a long, black cape.

For some reason, she had noticed his large hands, and had the shocking thought of what they might feel like if he placed them upon her. It made her shiver in a delicious way.

He was so commanding and handsome. The handsomest man who I have ever seen in my life.

Irritated, she shook the thought away. He was also the rudest man she had ever encountered in her life, and manners and character meant so much more than appearance.

She had never been one of those girls who turned to liquid at the sight of a handsome face and ignored the man’s character. She had always thought such girls to be foolish and entirely weak-willed.

He was obviously wealthy and high class. He spoke like a gentleman and the horse he rode was an expensive steed that must have cost a small fortune. But clearly, he had never learned any manners. His manners were worse than most low born farmer’s sons.

“Ahoy there! Do you need assistance, girlie”

Selene jumped. A cart, rattling along the road only a short distance away, had stopped, and the driver was calling out to her. Her heart leapt as she waved back, scrambling over rocks to get to him, clinging tightly to her basket holding the ruined gifts, desperately trying not to slip again.

At least someone is trying to assist me properly. At least there are some kind people in this world.

“Thank you,” she breathed, as the man helped her into the cart. She recognized him as Mr. Knowles, a local farmer. “You are very kind.”

“Not at all, miss,” said the farmer, grinning at her. “I was just returning home after the village Christmas party, when I saw you there. You’re Abe Bomind’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Selene nodded. He flicked the reins, and they kept chatting easily as they drove to the little cottage on the hill that she called home, where he bid her a cheery farewell before rattling away into the darkness.

Selene sighed heavily, walking through the front door. It had been quite a night. She was cold, tired and depleted, and she needed to get to bed and get enough rest for her interview at the big house tomorrow.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the vision of the tall, dark, handsome, yet very rude stranger from her mind. Her heart was racing a bit, and she was alarmed to find that her hands were shaking slightly.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about his hands and how it would feel if he placed them on her body. She was growing warm even now at the thought of it.

She frowned. She usually never felt like this about a man. What was wrong with her?