“You look pensive,” he said, walking to her side.
“I need to be,” she answered. “There are many decisions I must make, each requiring careful considerations.”
“I agree.” He casually took her arm, looping it through his good one. “I hope you will allow me to be a part of those considerations. I’ve been told I have a good grasp of complex matters.”
“I’m sure you do.” She tried to ignore the little jump her heart gave at the warm touch of his hand on hers.
“Then we shall sit down very soon, Harry. You and I. And we shall formulate a plan that will work to eliminate that tiny frown between your eyebrows.”
“Oh. Ah…we will?”
There was that wicked grin again. “Oh yes, my dear. We most certainly will.”
To be continued in:
MISTLETOE MASQUERADE
(A Ridlington Christmas Novella)
Coming in December 2017
Here’s a quick peek atMISTLETOE MASQUERADE– just to whet your appetite!!
Prologue
December 1814, somewhere in Southern England
“I shall be sorry to miss the wedding.”
“As will I. But you know the number of guests coming down from London might well prove to be a risk we should not take.”
The woman on the chestnut horse glanced at her traveling companion and nodded. “Yes. But it is still sad.” She looked forward again, over the head of her mount. Her cloak of dull brown wool covered most of her, but the lace of her cap peeped out from beneath her hood. She wore thick woolen gloves and every now and again the movement of the animal revealed a serviceable boot in the stirrup. “Are yousurethis is a good idea?”
“Of course it’s a good idea. It’s mine.” The man grinned across the distance between them, holding the reins of his black mount firmly. “We only have a couple more miles to travel, and then we can truly breathe.”
“Nobody will know where we are?”
“Not unless we tell them.”
“I see.” She looked ahead into the darkening sky. “Snow soon, I think.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But with luck there will be plenty of firewood. I’ll have the place warmed up before you know it.”
“I hope so.” She sounded dubious. “You’re good at building a fire, are you?”
“The best.” He tried to appear modest. “I have awards.”
“Paul DeVoreaux, you are the biggest liar I have ever met.”
He smiled as he heard her laugh ring out into the silence around them. “Of course I am. Didn’t you know?”
Harriet Selkirk shook her head. “Incorrigible. A pirate. Have I not told you that before? You would make Blackbeard’s beard turn white.”
“Why thank you. A rare compliment indeed.”
About to utter another rejoinder, Harriet paused as Paul held up his hand. “Look.” He leaned over to grasp the reins above her hand and brought both horses to a standstill. He pointed to an opening in the forest not too far ahead.
The sun was setting, glorious in an assortment of pale golds through rich deep reds, reflecting off the snow that had fallen just the night before. And to one side was a modest country house, no more than two stories high, tucked into the edge of the forest, its sloping roof and tall chimneys reminding Harriet of fairytale images she’d seen in her childhood books. It sat as if guarding a much larger assemblage of stones that might have been an ancient church, or some kind of ruined castle, lying off to one side. The whole scene was surrounded by snow laden fir trees.
