But there was a goading edge in his brother’s tone that made Ash wonder if there was something else at work, some underlying emotion. Surely he did not suspect Ash of being improper with Pru?
“I have not compromised her, if that is what you are implying,” he ground out, the river of guilt threatening to drown him from within lending a sharpness to his voice.
Gill’s brow raised. “I did come upon the two of you in the salon. Alone. Miss Winter seemed rather flushed.”
The guilt turned into an ocean.
But Ash was saved from having to respond by the timely arrival of a snowball. The snowball landed in the center of Gill’s chest, broke upon impact, and rained to their feet in its own miniature snowstorm. The expression of shock on his brother’s face could not be duplicated.
“Oh dear,” said a feminine voice. “Do forgive me, Your Grace. I fear my aim was misplaced.”
He turned to find Miss Prudence and Miss Christabella Winter several paces away. The latter was the guilty party, her gloved hands coated with a telltale layer of snow.
The astonished expressionson both the Duke of Coventry’s and Lord Ashley’s handsome countenances were enough to make a burst of laughter startle from Pru. She had to admit that sometimes Christabella’s playful nature took her by surprise. Neither of them had expected to cross paths with the duke and his brother when they had set out on their walk in the extensive holly mazes of Abingdon Hall.
They had escaped from the afternoon’s drawing room entertainments to have a sisterly chat—Pru’s idea, for Christabella had still yet to reveal the extent of what wickedness she had been engaged in with the Duke of Coventry the other night. It had been an aberration, Christabella had reassured her, with no chance of it being repeated.
But Pru knew her sister, and she remained unconvinced. Precisely why Christabella was enamored with Coventry, however, Pru could still not determine. Whilst the duke was undeniably handsome, Christabella made no secret of her longing to snare a rake for herself. There was nothing at all rakish about the shy, icy duke.
Pru had been prodding Christabella to reveal more details when they rounded the corner of the maze and discovered they were not alone. Although Lord Ashley’s back had been facing them, Pru would recognize his tall, lean form anywhere. Even in a hat and greatcoat, there was no hiding the broadness of his shoulders. He was wearing boots and perfectly fitted breeches, and he was so handsome she had to suppress a sigh.
And tamp down her reaction to him.
Forget about the way he had looked in the firelight.
Forget about how the merest grazing of his elbow against hers made her melt.
Christabella had saved her by scooping up a handful of snow from her feet and packing it between her gloved hands.
“Watch this,” she had announced with a wicked grin and a gleam in her eyes.
And then, she had proceeded to catapult a snowball at a duke.
The remnants of her missile were still stuck to Coventry’s chest as he and Lord Ashley gawked at them.
“Forgive my sister, Your Grace,” Pru felt compelled to call out. “She did not intend to hit you with the snowball. Are you injured?”
The duke’s expression looked as if it had been chiseled in stone.
“Actually, I did mean to hit you,” Christabella added, unrepentant. “But I was aiming for your hat.”
“That was a childish prank, madam,” the duke said, his baritone low and gravelly.
That his voice sounded so strange to Pru’s ears was a testament to how little Coventry spoke. He did not appear entertained by Christabella’s sally or her daring, and Pru could hardly blame him. Who would possibly wish to be hit with a snowball?
“Forgive me, Your Grace.” Christabella grinned. “As you know, I am beset by an inability to behave.”
Coventry made a strangled sound, half-animalistic growl, half-disapproval. But then he did the strangest thing. He sank to his haunches, gathering up some snow in several swift motions. Then he lobbed his snowball in their direction.
The snowball hit Christabella’s bonnet and broke, sending snow raining down into her face.
“Oh, you bounder!” Christabella exclaimed, but there was no outrage in her voice, only laughter. “That was one of my best hats!”
Coventry grinned back at her. “I was merely showing you an example of excellent aim, Miss Winter.”
“That is the outside of enough,” Christabella announced. “I declare this a war. Pru, start making snowballs.”
Pru’s gaze swung to her sister. “What can you be thinking? We cannot begin throwing snowballs at gentlemen. It simply is not done. Why, Dev would have our hides if he knew we were out here engaging in such hoydenish behavior, and I must insist you—”
