Page 3 of The Iron Duke's Flaming Christmas
Selene rolled her eyes, feeling herself flush. “Hardly. I have terrible habits. I can be irritable, too opinionated, and never know when to hold my tongue.”
“Or, to put it another way, you are quick, clever, and do not suffer fools gladly,” countered Emma, smiling at her. “Just because you speak your mind does not take away from your intrinsic kindness, my dear. Do not confuse the two.”
Selene gazed at her friend, her heart filling with love. As the vicar’s daughter, Emma was above her in status. But that had never been a barrier between them. They had gotten along from the moment they met when they were girls, and the friendship had only strengthened over the years. Selene didn’t know what she would do without her.
“Have I told you lately how much I value you?” asked Selene, trying to keep her voice light. “Because I really do, you know.”
Emma laughed. “You always do! Now, let us go and start collecting these gifts, and then we can have a glass of mead together, and eat some roasted chestnuts, and dance around the bonfire!”
Selene laughed as Emma dragged her away. Her friend was right—tomorrow would take care of itself. She was only applying for a position. And if she ended up working and living in the Iron Duke’s household, well, then she would tackle thatwhen the time came. Right now, she had other things to think about.
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.”
