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Chapter Six
Gracestoppedforamoment, closed her eyes, and breathed in the winter morning air. The cold nipped at her cheeks and nose. She’d taken breakfast in her room that morning with her parents as Mother hadn’t been feeling up to going downstairs after last night’s long and late billiards game, which Father had insisted they all stay and watch.
But that hadn’t stopped her from eagerly joining this morning’s outing. She’d always loved hunting for evergreen boughs and her family’s yuletide log.
“Miss Stewart,” Lord Brown called from several paces away.
Grace opened her eyes once more. Nearly their entire group stood next to the viscount—everyone except a few of the older generation who’d stayed behind, and Lord Weston and the two who had chosen to accompany him, Lord Andrews and Lady Katherine.
“What do you think of this log?” Lord Brown said, pointing toward one stretching across the snowy ground beside him.
Grace lifted her skirts slightly and made her way his direction. Last night’s billiards game had been enjoyable, she supposed. However, her mind had continually wandered to thoughts of just her and Lord Weston playing the game and how much more enjoyable that would have been. If only he had actually asked her instead of growing suddenly uncomfortable.
Then again, why an earl would ask a country girl of no great consequence to play at billiards with him, she couldn’t imagine. Yet, hehadrather appeared as though he was about to. If only Lord Brown had kept quiet a bit longer, perhaps Lord Weston would have.
Lord Brown still had his hand out, motioning toward the log before his feet. Grace mentally shook herself. Here she was doing it again, allowing her mind to wander to one man whenanotherman was interested in her attentions here and now.
“I think it is a fine log,” she said as her gaze dropped toward the fallen tree. “However, I worry it is too small. Bridgecross has such large hearths, I do not believe this one will burn all the way until Twelfth Night.”
“I am confident it shall be just the thing. And remember, we must find a perfect logbeforethe others.” Lord Brown was taking this competition between himself and Lord Weston rather personally.
Grace pulled her lips to the side; she didn’t feel confident in this selection at all. In previous years, she’d often ventured out with her father to hunt for the right yuletide log, and this one would hardly suit their small hearth at home. Squatting down, careful to keep her knees out of the snow so they wouldn’t grow soaked, Grace rolled the log over and toward herself. The entire underside was gone, decayed until it was nothing more than a mushy pile of wet chips.
“I’m not even sure the servants could drag it back to the house without the thing completely falling to pieces,” she said.
Lord Brown took hold of her elbow. With a gentle laugh, he pulled her back to her feet. “As a lady, you shouldn’t dirty yourself so.” He swiped at the bit of dirt on her gloves.
His nearness and touch were not lost on her. Granted, she didn’t feel the heated awareness or rush of tingles that Byron often spoke of. She certainly felt no desire to take hold of Lord Brown and keep him near. Instead, she was almost overwhelmed with an urgent realization that he was proving his interest in her yet again. For the first time, the realization wasn’t entirely welcome. That, mingled with a small dose of frustration that he’d been bothered by her willingness to get her hands dirty left Grace feeling unexpectedly uncertain.
Cupping both her hands in his, Lord Brown gave them a gentle pat. “If you truly dislike this log, we shall find another.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Grace said with a smile. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself from pulling her hands out of his grasp.
Grace turned away from him even as Lord Brown called to the group that they would keep looking.
“Onward,” he called. “We must find a better log than the others.”
As the group continued forward, Grace slowed her step, allowing herself to fall behind. The interactions she’d just had with Lord Brown left her feeling unsettled. It wasn’t that she disliked his attentions—she was here at Bridgecross Manor for the very purpose of encouraging him—only, she didn’t like the way he’d held her hands as though she were a child in need of guidance and education. Though he’d acquiesced to her wishes to find a different log, his tone had sounded a bit condescending.
Grace shook her head, stopping her progress through the snow. This time, it wasn’t to enjoy the lovely winter nip or the smell of fresh pine boughs. Grace folded her arms over her chest and looked about the forest. What was wrong with her? She was hereforLord Brown. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever considered catching the eye of a titled gentleman, let alone a viscount. Why, then, did she find herself so willing to put distance between them?
Her gaze landed on a form of black standing out against the forest of white and evergreen. Was that Lord Weston? He, Lord Andrews, and Lady Katherine had started off from Bridgecross Manor in a very different direction that morning. Then again, this was the densest part of the forest, so perhaps it wasn’t so hard to believe both groups had found their way here. And what was he doing? He seemed to crouch low, but not in an effort to look over a log.
Was he hiding? The way he drew close to the ground, he appeared to be hoping to make himself smaller. And he huddled close to a group of several trees, peering out past their thick branches toward the direction he’d just come from.
Grace slowly made her way toward him. She’d found herself strangely disappointed when he’d lost at billiards the night before. It had been a close game the entire evening, Lord Brown scraping out the win at the last minute.
“Hello, Lord Weston,” she whispered.
He whirled about, but when his eyes landed on her, his surprise gave way to relief. Standing fully, he brushed at his knees. “Hello, Miss Stewart.” Though he didn’t exactly whisper, he did keep his voice quite low.
“How does your hunt go?”
“Poorly, I’m afraid.” Even as he answered, he glanced over his shoulder.
Grace looked about them as well. Though she could still hear Lord Brown and the rest of her group well off to the east, she couldn’t see or hear anyone else. “Where are Lord Andrews and Lady Katherine?” she asked.
“Still searching, just off to the north a little way.” He looked like he was trying to play it off as no unusual thing for such a small group to split up.
