The Louise Allen Collection. Louise Allen
her,’ Adam remarked, cutting wedges out of the Stilton.
‘More likely they are both so bored they have arrived at a truce,’ Decima countered. ‘Pru is normally of the opinion that all males are a lesser life form and barely to be tolerated beyond normal politeness to her employers.’
‘Of course, you have told me her thinking on noblemen. What is your opinion of men, Decima?’
She pushed the jar of pickles across the table while she thought. ‘I think it would be easier to accept the male sex’s valuation of itself as lords of creation if so many of them were not arrogant, ineffectual, blustering bullies.’
There was a pause. ‘I was waiting for you to say, “Present company excluded, of course,”’ he remarked.
Decima smiled. Adam wasn’t looking exactly offended, but he had put on the expression she thought of as gentleman on his dignity. It appeared to be a universal male expression. ‘I acquit you of all of those, although I must tell you that you do a very good impression of being a lord of creation on occasion.’
‘Mmm.’ Very sensibly he was not going to pursue that. ‘And is your poor opinion of men the reason you are still unmarried?’ Decima stared at him. Was he serious? Didn’t one good look at her tell him why she was unwed? For some strange reason he seemed inclined to flirt with her, so he obviously did not find her entirely repulsive, but on the other hand flirting was probably an almost automatic reaction to being alone with a female, especially if one was an active male cooped up with little diversion.
She thought of giving him an honest answer, but then common sense took over. If she listed her faults, a man with his good manners would feel bound to disagree with her and she couldn’t face getting into an argument over such a sensitive topic.
‘Of course. I am afraid life with Charlton has not given me a high opinion of the male sex or of the married state.’ She delved in the jar of water biscuits and pulled one out. ‘And I have a perfectly satisfactory—and very independent—life, which I am certain I could not live if I had a husband to comply with.’
‘Is there nothing about marriage you might be missing?’
‘Children, you mean? Well, of course. But…’
He was regarding her with a wicked twinkle. ‘But what if they turned out like their father? Is that what you were going to say? Poor little things.’
‘Yes, but I wouldn’t marry the sort of man whose children might be like that—’ She broke off, chuckling. ‘Now you have got me in a muddle. I am a tolerably good aunt, I believe, and the benefit of that is that one can hand them back the moment they become tiresome.’ She felt her lips curve reminiscently at the thought of her cousin’s three youngest. ‘Some of them, I must admit, are enchanting, if a complete handful. What is it?’
Adam was gazing into the pickle jar, his forehead creased slightly in thought. ‘I am just trying to recall where I left something. Talking of children reminded me.’ His brow cleared. ‘Of course. Come on, leave the dishes, let’s go back outside while the sunshine lasts.’
‘I will just check upstairs.’ She ran up, halting at the landing at the sound of Pru’s voice from Bates’s room again. Well, the two of them were obviously determined to finish their Gothic tale; she did not want to embarrass the groom by catching him intent upon it for a second time.
When she reached the yard Adam was emerging triumphantly from a cobwebby wood shed, towing something behind him. ‘A sledge!’
‘The local carpenter built it two winters ago for my nephews. If it will seat four boys, it ought to carry us.’ He looked a boy himself, hat discarded, hair rumpled, his eyes alight with fun.
‘Us?’ It was tempting, but while ice skating was a perfectly ladylike thing to do, hurtling down hillsides on a sledge was quite another matter. ‘Charlton would be scandalised.’
‘We must definitely do it then. I thought your New Year’s resolution was to scandalise Charlton.’
‘That was not quite how I put it,’ she objected. The prospect was wickedly enticing, though. ‘Where will we find a hill?’
‘Just the other side of this copse.’ Adam set off, dragging the sledge, and Decima ran after him, through the narrow copse and out into the open field, which sloped up, temptingly white and crisp. Tracks criss-crossed it: birds’ feet, the marks where a hare had run, and after it the paw prints of a fox, and now Adam’s booted feet with the runner tracks following.
He halted halfway up, straddled the seat, sat down and pushed off. The sledge sailed down the hill, coming to a halt in a flurry of snow almost at Decima’s feet. ‘Dare you try?’
‘Yes!’ She felt utterly reckless. If he had suggested they try to fly, she would have agreed. This time she followed him up the hill to the same spot and climbed onto the sledge, putting her feet on the front bar and tucking her skirts tight around her legs. Adam got on behind her, his arms either side on the ropes feeling as they had on the horse when he had rescued her: secure, protective, hard.
With a double kick of his feet they were off, swooping down the slope, the cold air rushing past her face, the heat of Adam’s body secure at her back. All too soon they were at the bottom. ‘Can we go higher this time?’ she demanded, panting as they climbed back up.
‘All right.’ Still they were not at the summit, but Decima had to be content; Adam seemed unwilling to risk her on a very long run.
They slid down, trudged back, and slid down again so many times that Decima lost count. All she was aware of was the hot blood pounding in her veins, the sharpness of the cold air as she breathed, of Adam’s open delight at the sport, her own tingling awareness of his closeness.
‘This must be the last run.’ Adam tightened his grip on the ropes and began to climb again. ‘Look how the shadows are lengthening.’
‘Right from the very top this time,’ she pleaded, tugging at his arm. ‘Please.’
‘Very well, right from the very top.’
Decima was breathless by the time they reached the crest, staring round her with eyes watering from the keen breeze on the unprotected hilltop. ‘Brrr. We must cook something especially hot and filling tonight.’
She settled herself on the sledge, suddenly apprehensive at the sight of the long slope in front of her—it was more than twice the distance they had covered before. ‘Too high?’ Adam was watching her face.
‘No—just scary enough to be exciting.’ And once he settled behind her, his arms tight at her sides, the fear vanished into an exhilaration that only built and built as the sledge gathered speed, swooping down the long hillside. Decima heard herself shrieking with excitement as they went and Adam’s chuckle of amusement almost in her ear.
What went wrong she had no idea. Suddenly the sledge bucked, jumped, then Adam’s feet were out at the sides, digging in to turn it back on course, but it tipped and she was in the snow, rolling over and over down the hill.
After one startled scream Decima realised she was quite safe. The deep snow was cushioning her from anything hard on the ground below. Over and over she went until she reached the bottom and lay still, gasping for breath and more than half inclined to burst out laughing from sheer shock and excitement.
Then she was hit by a solid weight and threw out her arms, only to find them clasped hard around as much of Adam’s body as they would reach. ‘Ooof!’
‘Decima? Are you all right?’ He was lying on top of her, his elbows jammed into the snow on either side in an effort to keep from crushing her.
‘Yes…get off…oh…’ She realised why he was covering her when the sledge finally caught up with them, hit Adam solidly on the shoulder and juddered to a halt.
He swore under his breath, shoved it away, then pushed her tumbled hair out of her face. ‘Decima?’
‘I