Page 36 of Snowbound with the Scoundrel
She knew that not all marriages were happy.Of course, she knew that.
But dear God—in Oliver Baxter’s eyes, his wife could do nothing right.Why on earth had he married the woman if he was only going to berate her at every turn?
She had honestly thought that watching over Mr.Baxter would be a privilege.He was widely respected for his intelligence, and he was a champion of a number of political causes that meant a great deal to her.He had sounded like just the sort of man she admired.
But after seeing how he treated his wife, Clarissa found that she no longer cared whether he was a steadfast champion of parliamentary reform.He wasn’t a good person, full stop.
And who was a good person?Again, Clarissa could notbelieveshe was thinking this, but Rupert Dupree!Clarissa had to own that she had been wrong about him.Not that this was through any fault of her own.She couldn’t have known that he wasn’t the author of that horrible letter.
But now that she had met him, she knew Rupert to be kind, thoughtful, and good-humored.The unassuming way he had declined to drive himself and the easiness with which he had admitted Rosalind was a superior whip stood in stark contrast to her husband’s petulant behavior.
Just listen to him now, peppering Rosalind with questions about her favorite childhood Christmas traditions.He was obviously trying to cheer her, and it seemed to be working.
A fortnight ago, Clarissa would have sworn that intelligence was the most important trait she wanted in a husband, if she were ever to marry.
It seemed she had been mistaken.Kindness was far more important than intelligence.
Notthat she was thinking about marrying Rupert Dupree!
She sneaked a glance at him.The easy grin on his face was both natural and appealing.In fact, with such an expression on his face, he looked remarkably handsome.
She forced her eyes straight ahead.Dear God, what was wrong with her?First, she was thinking that Rupert would make a good husband, and now she was finding him handsome!What was next?Daydreaming about kissing him like a lovestruck girl?
Out of the corner of her eye, she peered at his lips.They looked… soft.
Would he taste the same way he smelled?Like almond biscuits?She had noticed his sweet scent again when he sat next to her in the sleigh.
And he was rumored to be outstanding in the marriage bed.Surely, that would extend to kissing…
Just then, Rosalind fumbled her shears with her gloved hands and dropped them in the snow.She launched into an anxious apology that was entirely disproportionate to the ‘offense,’ if one could even call it that—a habit, Clarissa had no doubt, she had developed as a result of her husband’s excessive criticism.
Begging her not to think a thing of it, Rupert promptly bent over to collect the shears.He had to turn his back toward Clarissa to accomplish this maneuver, and as he leaned forward, she found herself confronted with the rather splendid prospect of his derriere.
Was it as firm as it looked?She felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to squeeze it so she could find out…
“Spiced cider, Miss Weatherby?”Lord Helmsley said, stealing up beside her and causing her to jerk guiltily to attention.“You look as if your mouth has gone dry.”
“Yes!”Clarissa squeaked, accepting the mug the earl offered.“Thank you!I’m t-terribly parched.”
Lord Helmsley smiled benignly, not seeming to have noticed the way she was leering at Rupert’s rear end.He took another pair of mugs off a footman’s tray, offering them to Rupert and Rosalind.
Good Lord—what midwinter madness was this?It must be the result of too much holiday cheer.
She resolved to limit herself to one glass of eggnog per day for the remainder of the house party.
Lord Helmsley moved on.Clarissa, Rupert, and Rosalind finished their drinks, placed their mugs on the footman’s tray, and returned to searching the grove for greenery.
“What do you think?”Rupert asked.“Does this look like a likely spot?”
“Delightful,” Clarissa murmured, trying to sound natural.
Rosalind wandered over to a fir tree and began trimming off a few boughs.Oliver Baxter plodded over to stand near his wife but made no move to assist her.Instead, he stood with his arms crossed, glaring into the distance.
Clarissa found some holly a few paces deeper in the copse and went to work with the shears.She tried to focus on her work and not steal a glance at Rupert, a task that should not have been difficult, but was.
She was able to hold out for a couple of minutes, but eventually gave in.Glancing back toward the house, she found him standing near Oliver Baxter, attempting to make genial conversation.That Mr.Baxter was primarily responding with grunts and scowls did not seem to bother Rupert a whit.
Suddenly, a glint of light shone directly in her eye, causing Clarissa to mishandle her shears.She snipped right through one of the fingers of her kidskin gloves—fortunately her own pair, and not one borrowed from Lady Emily—grazing the skin beneath.
