Chapter Two
“Reid, I believe you have a slight bruise on your forehead,” observed his mother with a tiny frown.
“And your arse is steaming, lad.” His father added his mite. “Been doing a bit of sleddin’, have we? I recall you used to like that. Whooshing around in the snow for hours, don’t you know.”
“Really, Rodney.” Lady Jocelyn glanced up at her husband. “You’re not addressing a twelve-year-old. And there’s no need to refer to our son’s anatomy in such a blunt manner.”
“Good God, Joss. He’s heard the word before, I’ll be bound. And I’m right. Look. His arse is steaming like a pudding on Christmas Eve.”
It was a good thing he loved his parents, mused Reid. Otherwise he’d be possessed of the strongest urge to strangle both of them right at this moment. “I slipped and fell while I was outside, Mama. Breeches got a bit damp. That’s all. The warmth of the fire is drying them—and me—quite nicely. So don’t worry.”
“You fell on your face, did you?” She lifted one eyebrow.
He blinked at her.
“The bruise, dear.”
“Ah, yes. I supposed I must have.”
“Pretty nimble, that, Reid.” His father took another sip of sherry. “Falling on your arse and bruising your forehead. I’d rather like to see that.”
He looked at the two faces watching him and saw the affection and amusement. He’d never been able to put one over on either of them when he was in short coats. It would seem that his current coat was shorter than he realized.
He sighed. “Very well. A branch broke, I was underneath it and the resulting collision knocked me on my— “
His mother lifted an eyebrow.
“Mydignity.” He grinned. “Hence the damp breechesandthe bruise.”
“Dangerous situation, son. Could have been a great deal more damaging.”
Reid nodded. “I know, sir. Believe me I’ll not stand under a snow laden branch again in a while.”
“It knocked you unconscious?” His mother eyed him closely.
“Just dizzy for a few moments. No headache or anything.”
“You were most fortunate, Reid. And what would have happened if you had completely blacked out, I shudder to imagine.” She lifted her hand to her bosom, betraying maternal concern.
It was genuine. Reid and his mother shared a close and loving bond, which was why he’d hoped to avoid relating this tale in the first place. “Not to worry, Mama. I had assistance.”
“Really?” His father looked curious. “Who on earth was out at that hour in the snow, other than you?”
“That’s a question I can’t answer.” Reid grinned. “I think I had a vision. You know, bump on the head and all that.”
“Well, well. I’m intrigued.” His mother stood as their butler arrived to announce dinner. “You shall tell me all everything you remember after we’ve dined.”
“Yes, Mama,” replied the dutiful son.Probably not everything, thought the man who remembered all too well the feel of his vision’s lips and the touch of her hand.
But any hopes he cherished that Lady Jocelyn would forget the whole matter over a lovely meal of fresh vegetable soup, warm bread right out of the ovens and other delectable country foods, well there was no chance she’d let it go.
And since neither he nor his father were inclined to linger over brandy, the conversation resumed as soon as she had her tea and the servants had departed.
After he’d told all there was to tell—excluding the rather intimate kiss and the bit of fondling—both his parents regarded him with the same quizzical look.
“What?” He returned their gaze.
“You don’t have a clue who she was?” asked his mother.
