Page 9 of The Christmas Ball
His leather gloves protected his hands, but the gorse was tenacious. Even as he freed one portion of her skirts, the thorns grabbed onto another. She draped her reins over the pommel and used both hands to hold the fabric away from the prickles as he freed it.
It was most unfortunate that her mount, always a bit headstrong, decided to make for a nearby clump of withered grasses.
“Whoa,” she cried, dropping her skirts and reaching for the reins, but it was too late. The horse moved forward, and she overbalanced—right into Lord Grayson’s arms.
Time slowed as she stared into his eyes. Stars blurred her vision, strange flecks of spinning white. She blinked, belatedly realizing that it had begun to snow.
“Lady Viola,” he said softly. “You really must cease flinging yourself into my arms.”
“Rogue.” She frowned and pushed at his shoulders, for if she didn’t, she was afraid she’d give in to the sweet, treacherous impulse to close her eyes and lift her face to his. To seek the brush of his lips against her own.
But doing so was far too dangerous. Had she not learned her lesson already?
Besides, she must ensure that her brother made an ideal match, and she could not do so if she was distracted by this overbearing, yet all-too-handsome, marquess.
Lord Winslow held her a moment longer, the gently falling snow enclosing them in a quiet, magical world. Then, slowly, he set her on her feet and, without a word, bent to her skirts once more, intently working them free of the entangling gorse.
It proved to be a simpler task, once she was on the ground. All too soon, she was able to step carefully away from the thorny bush. Away from the broad shoulders and warm scent of Lord Winslow.
“Milady,” one of the footmen hailed her, seeing she was no longer astride. “Is all well?”
“A momentary setback,” she said. “Would you be so kind as to fetch my mount?”
The man nodded and went to where her wayward horse snuffled through the brown grasses in search of a succulent bite. Melting snow dappled the saddle with spots of dampness. Lord Winslow’s mount still stood patiently, and she shot the chestnut gelding a look.
“Your horse is very well trained,” she said, unavoidably recalling how it had waited while its master had so gallantly, and misguidedly, waded into the pond to fetch her out.
“I take the running of my stables seriously.” Lord Winslow gave her the faintest of smiles. “A mount that knows to stand is essential. One never knows when one might be called upon at a moment’s notice to come to a lady’s rescue.”
She narrowed her eyes, but felt a telltale blush warm her cheeks.
“Of course, I am only speaking of freeing your skirts just now,” he added, a spark of humor in his eyes. “It’s not as though I make a habit of rescuing you.”
“You, sir, are incorrigible,” she said from between her clenched teeth, and then was obliged to smooth her expression and accept her horse’s reins from the footman as if Lord Winslow hadn’t just nettled her most terribly.
“There’s a good bit of ivy that way,” the marquess said, gesturing behind them. “Twined about a stump. I believe Lady Viola is desirous that you harvest it.”
“After you aid me in mounting,” she said as the fellow turned to go.
It would not do to let Lord Winslow approach her person yet again. Each time he did so, her heartbeat fluttered and her thoughts became impossibly muddled. From now on, she must keep her distance.
“We’d best rejoin the others,” she said, once she was safely astride. “Now that it’s snowing, I believe our outing has come to a close.”
Without waiting for his answer, she turned her mount and rode toward the flash of Mena’s russet skirts, visible through the trees. Just as she reached her companion, one of the footmen came dashing up.
“Your Grace,” he said, with a hasty bow, “Lord Thornton is upon the Dovington road and requires assistance.”
“Theo is here?” Viola asked. “Whatever is the matter?”
“His cart is stuck in the mud, milady,” the footman said.
“It must be rather heavily laden,” Lord Winslow said, guiding his mount up beside his sister’s.
Viola and Mena exchanged a look.
“You told him to bring the biggest tree he could find, didn’t you?” Mena asked, clearly trying to hold back a grin.
“I might have.” Though Viola refused to take responsibility for this mishap. “But we must aid him. Is he far?”
