With each step, the shouts and cries grew louder.
And then, she stopped. The tableau before her, held her immobile.
Two little children ducked and darted around Rhys, hurling snowballs at him as they went.
Her heart fluttered.
I should leave. She was an intruder on a moment between Rhys and those two small girls.
And yet, her feet remained frozen as she stared on at the trio at play. Rhys’ tall, black hat, long since lost in his snow battle, had left those too-long golden curls exposed to the sun’s rays as he ran through the snow.
Alice’s had been a solitary childhood. There had been a father who despised the mere sight of her. An older brother who’d been so busy whoring and drinking that he’d never bothered with a girl more than three and ten years his junior. Oh, he’d eventually noticed her… when her entire childhood had come and gone.
As such—Alice cocked her head—she’d never known a gentleman who spoke to a child, let alone engaged in games with one.
Just then, he drew back his arm, poised to launch another snowball.
“Uncle Rhys,” the taller of the girls called out. She pointed a finger in Alice’s direction, bringing his attention her way.
Arm still drawn, he turned. His gaze locked with Alice’s.
Even with the fifteen paces between them, she detected the flash of surprise in his steel-grey eyes.
Her pulse leapt.
She lifted her hand in a hesitant greeting.
He returned her wave with his spare hand—
A snowball slammed into the back of his head.
He grunted. Dropping the snowball in his fingers, he whipped around.
Alice cried out a warning—too late.
The other child hurled another ball of snow at his chest.
The two giggling girls with their impressive aims, raced off.
Alice slapped her hands over her mouth to bury a laugh. Her own brother had always been too cynical as a young man to ever do something as frivolous and fun as to play child’s games in the snow.
Rhys cupped his hands around his mouth and called over. “I trust when you started on your jaunt, Alice, you didn’t expect to stumble upon a battle on my brother’s properties.”
She matched his movements, framing her lips. “A war.”
The sun formed a soft halo about him, giving him an otherworldly magnificence. “Beg pardon?”
Alice pointed beyond his shoulder.
Rhys whipped back and took another well-aimed missile in the face. He sputtered around a mouthful of snow as the little girls again darted off.
“It appears an outright war has been declared,” she shouted.
Dusting a gloved palm over his face, Rhys smiled. His even, white teeth flashed in a devastating half-grin that upset the ordered beat of her heart.
Again, she urged her legs to move so Rhys might return his attention to the two minxes darting about.
Alas—
Swiping his hat from the ground, Rhys jogged over; his long-legged steps languid, and sleek despite the heavy snowfall that lay around them.
His breath stirring faint puffs of white, he stopped before her. “Lady Alice…” His gaze went to her hands.
Alice followed his stare.
“Ah, you’ve taken your reading outside.”
Reflexively, she curled her fingers tightly around the book, holding it close. Again, he’d pass judgment and with reason. Of all their exchanges thus far, she had been hiding… from something, more specifically, someone. “I merely sought some… quiet,” she said after a long stretch of silence. As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed. What had become of her that she, the bane of her nursemaid and governess and then finishing school instructors’ existence craved… quiet.
Rhys instantly shuttered his expression and she mourned the death of that previous lightheartedness. He adjusted the brim of his hat. “Forgive me, I will leave you to your reading, madam.”
Good. It was as it should be. Those two little girls now paused in their games, stared curiously back at their uncle and Alice. Propriety dictated that she let the family to their gayness while she—
She dropped her stare to the book still clenched in her fingers. “I wasn’t suggesting you leave,” she said quickly, her voice ringing loudly in the empty country quiet. Alice recoiled. Oh, bloody hell.
Rhys spun back.
She cleared her throat. “That is… what I meant to say…”
Another one of those neat golden eyebrows went up.
“I was merely explaining why I was here.” Not announcing herself, watching him. Alice gave thanks for the bite of the frigid air that left her cheeks chilled and no doubt reddened, concealing the blush her admission had cost her.
“Uncle Rhys!”
They glanced across to the pair trotting over, hand-in-hand. With every step that brought the dark-haired girls closer, the curiosity in their gazes deepened.
“Hullo, moppet and poppet,” he intoned with such affection for the pair, that it sent another dangerous warmth spreading through her chest. “May I present my nieces, Lady Faith…” The taller girl dropped a curtsy made sloppy by the uneven snow. “And Lady Violet.”
Not bothering with the formality of a curtsy, Violet tripped over herself in her haste to reach Alice. Tilting her head at an impossible angle, she met Alice’s gaze. “Who are you?”
She sank to a knee. “My name is Alice.”
“Are you a friend of my Uncle Rhys?” the older child put to her, refocusing Alice’s attention beyond the small girl’s shoulder. Curiosity brimmed from Lady Faith’s expressive eyes. “Or are you another one of those wicked wid—” Rhys covered the loquacious child’s mouth with his palm, burying the rest of that scandalous query.
Heat burned a path from Alice’s toes up to the roots of her hair.
Outraged eyes peeked up at her uncle’s. “What?” Faith groused, her words muffled. “I overheard Grandmuffer—”
“A friend,” Alice squeaked, and all eyes went to her. And then she rather wished she’d allowed Rhys to handle his inquisitive niece’s questioning.
“You are a friend of Uncle Rhys’?” the toddler beside her piped in.
“No,” Alice said too quickly.
“You are… not a friend, then?” Violet asked, scratching at the top of her head. “Why not? Uncle Rhys is good fun.” Not allowing Alice a word edgewise, she ran through a quick enumeration of her uncle’s attributes. “He brings us peppermint and gives us rides on his shoulders. And he sneaks his dessert onto our plates during dinners when we’re together.”
A smile tugged at Alice’s lips and, unbidden, her gaze wandered over to the devoted uncle in question. So as to not offend the child, she schooled her features. “Your Uncle Rhys sounds like a wonderful uncle.” And he did. From his willingness to romp about with two small children—nay not a willingness but an enthusiasm, he was a manner of gentleman that she’d not believed existed among Polite Society. Why, ever polite and dignified Henry had maintained a careful composure with all—Alice included. She certainly couldn’t imagine her stiffly proper former betrothed running about in the snow. “What I meant to say is that I’m a friend of your aunt, Lettice.”
“Ah,” the little girls said in unison.
“Aunt Lettice knows how to throw a snowball,” Faith said matter-of-factly. She took several steps closer. A probing glimmer lit the girl’s cornflower blue eyes. “We believe it is important a young lady knows how to throw a snowball. What do you say to that?
Having been herself a master of mischief, Alice well-knew there was something more at play here.
An odd, strangled sound from the gentleman brought Alice’s gaze briefly over. “Oh, undoubtedly so,” she said somberly. “I trust proper snowball skills are near as important as fishing and riding.”
“Splendid.” Lady Faith beamed. “Would you care to join us?”
“Would I…?” She touched her spare hand to her chest. A yearnin
g stirred inside. When was the last time she’d raced around the countryside freely laughing and playing, without a care for what a soul said?
“Oh, you must join us,” Violet put forward excitedly. “You can be on Uncle Rhys’ side because he was doing very badly on his own. And I will be with Faith and—”
Rhys coughed loudly. “I trust Lady Alice would far rather return to her reading than join us in our ruthless match.”
Disappointment filled her. Something in Rhys’ words hinted at one who believed Alice wholly incapable of doing anything lighthearted and frivolous. Which, in fairness to Rhys, had been the case for Alice these past months. But she hadn’t always been that way. There’d been a time when she’d moved about every aspect of life with complete abandon.
I miss that… I wish to be that, again…
Alice let her shoulders sag. “Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, of course. I should let you continue your battle.”
“But—”
“Come,” Faith interrupted her younger sister’s protestations.
After the pair had scampered off, Rhys lingered a moment, hovering before Alice. Then, he lifted his hat, in parting, revealing a magnificent tangle of curls. “Lady Alice,” he murmured, that satiny smooth baritone set her belly aflutter. Those husky tones possessed the quality of warmed chocolate or the sun now beating down on them.
“Lord Rhys,” she murmured.
“Uncle Rhys,” his eldest niece shouted.
Turning on his heel, he trotted off.
Alice stared after his retreating form and a wave of wistfulness stole through her. How many times in her own life had she been the one rushing off to revel in life’s simple pleasures? What a sad day indeed that she now stood here morose and downcast while Rhys Brookfield partook in a snowball fight. Since her scandal she’d allowed herself to be bound by constraints. And for what purpose?
Alice tucked her book into a pocket. Dropping to her haunches and, hastily assembling a snowball, she rose and hurled it.
Her small, but perfectly rounded projectile hissed through the air. The snowball slammed into the back of Rhys’ hat, knocking it forward.
It landed on an untouched portion of snow and skidded across the icy layered top.
He turned; standing shoulder to shoulder with his suddenly silent, slack-jawed nieces. At the thick, pregnant pause, Alice clenched her hands into fists.
“Did you just hit Uncle Rhys?” the youngest of the two girls whispered.
“Uh…” She tugged at the laces of her bonnet, feeling very much like the oft-chastised child who’d delighted in her nursemaid’s misery.
“And it was a good one,” Violet breathed in reverent awe.
“I…” She smiled. “Why, thank you.” From the corner of her eye, she stole a glance at Rhys, attempting to decipher anything from his deadpan expression. Coughing into her fist, she dropped a sloppy curtsy. “I should really leave you now to your…” fun. “battle,” she settled for.
And yet, fun is precisely what it was. And Alice had been so morose and miserable that she wanted the revelry to continue on… with her a part of it.
She lingered, wanting Rhys to invite her on to join him and the two little imps.
An offer that did not come.
“Lady Alice,” he said, with another slight inclination.
Oddly bereft at being cast out as the interloper, she fished the small, leather tome from her pocket, and started back for her abandoned seat.
Suddenly, a snowball collided dead center with her back.
She gasped, the icy cold faintly penetrated the thick fabric of her velvet cloak, and sent her book tumbling from her fingers.
Alice whipped about.
Rhys, an arrogant grin on his well-formed lips, waggled his eyebrows.
Her lips parted. Why… why… he’d tricked her. And worse, she’d allowed herself to be tricked.
The two little girls flanking his sides alternated wide-eyed stares between Rhys and Alice.
It was Alice who broke the impasse. She retrieved her book and tucked it back into her pocket, once more. “It seems all out war has been declared.”
And hastily assembling another snowball, she launched her next attack.
Chapter 9
Rhys had become something of a master at sneaking about.
Through the years, he’d honed his skills as a rogue. He would move furtively about the parlors and offices as he’d meet wanton widows in the middle of balls and soirees for an assignation.
Why, when he’d been a young man, recently betrayed by the woman he’d given his heart, and intended to give his name, too, Rhys had become particularly adept at meeting lovers in gardens. And off riding paths.
Always out of sight, always escaping notice.
Never before, however, had he sneaked about in a wooded copse with the purpose of hiding from a lady.
His back was pressed against one of the ancient, gnarled oaks. Rhys scanned the area around him.
Snow tumbled to the ground, landing several feet away. He stiffened, looking up.
A squirrel, its fur a bright splash of color upon the stark white landscape, scurried overhead. Not pausing, the creature jumped to the next mangled branch. It continued its quick pursuit, before scrambling into a yew tree and disappearing within the thick evergreen.
Silence reigning around him, Rhys bolted to the next ancient oak and stopped mid-stride.
Alice, a wicked smile on her supple lips and mischief in her deep brown eyes, stood there, not unlike any of the women he’d previously taken to his bed. And yet, at the same time, Lady Alice Winterbourne was wholly unlike every one of those ladies.
“Caught,” she whispered and drew her arm back.
Belatedly, he feinted left.
Her missile found its mark at his chest, the snow exploding with such force that it splattered upon the already badly dampened garment and sprayed his face.
With a clear, unfettered laugh, Alice darted off. Her battlefield partners giggling, raced after her.
“Traitors,” he called after them, and his nieces only laughed all the more.
Rhys dusted off the front of his cloak and gave his head a wry shake.
Yes, in all his years purported to be a rogue—and with justifiable reasons—not a single lady had been running away from him.
Except, in those instances, they’d been engaged in erotic games that had involved the thrill of the chase. Ultimately, they’d ended with a round of passionate lovemaking.
Desire bolted through him as he imagined Alice. Only not the innocent hunt between them but one that saw them together, entangled in one another’s arms and—
Alice darted out from her cover, once more, and hit him square between the eyes with another snowball.
Breathless, she stopped, little puffs of air spilled from her lips as she spoke. “Your snowball fighting skills leave something to be desired.”
None of the women he’d taken as lovers had ever called into question… any of his attributes or skills. Rather, they’d been fawning. How much more he preferred Alice’s realness to all that empty praise. “Indeed,” he drawled. Nor, for that matter, would a single one of those scandalous widows have cavorted in the snow with two small children, with no purpose but play in mind.
“She really is correct, Uncle Rhys,” Faith lamented. And then in her usual display of loyalty, added, “Though you aren’t always this dreadful.”
Lips twitching, he rejoined the three ladies. “Thank you for that high praise,” he murmured with false solemnity.
Still too innocent to detect sarcasm, Faith bowed her head.
Violet tugged at his gloved hands. “Sh-she can throw a s-snowball,” the girl whispered, teeth chattering.
“Indeed, she can,” he murmured, approvingly. The only other woman to do so had been his sister, Lettie, and, even now, he could not remember the last time she’d done so.
Alice’s cheeks already reddened from the cold and her sprinting about, flushed all the d
eeper. He’d always taken care to avoid innocents and respectable ladies of any age. What, then, accounted for this hungering to take Alice Winterbourne’s chilled frame in his arms and discover the taste of her?
He tamped down a groan.
Violet scrubbed the back of her gloved hand over her dripping nose. That innocuous gesture brought him back from all improper musings about his sister’s innocent friend.
“Come,” he urged his nieces, continuing over their protestations. “If we remain out here any longer, you’ll turn to ice.” He shuddered. “And then, I’d receive a stern scolding from your papa and mama.”
“Oh, fine,” Faith muttered. Then, grabbing her sister’s hand, she dragged Violet along at a quick clip through the snow.
Rhys and Alice fell into step at a more sedate pace until the manor drew into focus.
Gone was the boisterous, cheerful minx of a few moments ago. In her place was the quietly contemplative woman he’d first stumbled upon last evening. It was as though she’d allowed herself a fleeting reprieve from whatever sorrow held her in its grip. Surely, that bespectacled, stern-faced pup at the breakfast table wasn’t the cause for her melancholy? And why did the possibility needle at his chest?
With her spirit, she was one who should always have a laugh falling from her lips and a smile in her eyes.
Now, her attention remained riveted on the two children at play twenty paces ahead of them. She followed Faith and Violet’s every movement the way a scientist might examine his subject. “I was not always serious.”
For a moment, he believed that hushed, barely-there admission had been nothing more than a product of the gusty winds and his own imaginings.
Silent, Alice remained riveted by the girls at play. The wistful smile that dimpled her cheeks was heartbreaking for the sorrow there.
“I used to dash about and make mischief and…” Her voice dissolved into a whisper and then faded to nothing on the winter’s breeze.
His mind reflexively balked at those unfinished thoughts Alice left dangling. Whatever accounted for the lady’s despondency belonged to her and her alone. As a rule, after having had his heart shredded by a faithless woman, outside of lovemaking, Rhys had disavowed any and every connection with women.
To Tempt a Scoundrel (The Heart of a Duke Book 15) Page 8