“I heard your cry, and I came to investigate.” Impatiently, he released her face, shucking his gloves to run his hands over her person, searching for wounds.
His hands found her stocking-clad calves, skimming to her knees.
“What are you doing, Mr. Winter?” she demanded.
“Indeed, brother. What are you doing?” Gen asked as she reached them. “She is perfectly hale. No need for you to be tossing up the lady’s petticoats.”
“She has fallen,” he bit out. “Your blade flung wide of the tree. She could have been hit.”
Gavin and Demon arrived next.
“Speaking of ladies’ skirts,” Demon said.
“Giving you some competition, it would seem,” Gavin added in a whisper that was not a whisper at all. “Let’s hope this bird doesn’t have an angry husband who challenges him to a duel.”
“Shut your gobs,” he demanded. “All of you. Except for you, Lady Felicity. Do you have pain anywhere?”
Her eyes were wide, those hazel orbs unexpectedly vibrant with the backdrop of the white snow. Gray, green, and cinnamon blended. He had never seen eyes quite like hers. Why, there were flecks of gold hidden within their depths.
But what the hell ailed him, mooning over her eyes when she could have been struck by Gen’s blade?
“The only thing that pains me is my pride,” she said, wincing. “I was walking, and then something flew toward me. It sliced through my skirts, but did not strike me. In my haste to escape, I tripped over my hems and fell.”
He flipped down her skirts, not wanting his arsehole brothers to see her lovely limbs. And that was when he found the clean cut through the fabric of her gown. One long tear, straight through her petticoats.
Relief washed over him.
“You tripped,” he repeated.
She nodded, her tongue darting out to wet that succulent lower lip he wanted to nip with his teeth again so badly, it was a persistent, steady ache. “It appears to be a common occurrence of late.”
“You going to help her up or force the poor girl to lie in the snow?” Gen demanded rudely.
In true Genevieve fashion.
Lady Felicity’s brow furrowed as she took in Blade’s sister. He knew what she was seeing—Gen was an ethereal blonde woman. But she refused to wear a gown and petticoats. She was dressed in trousers, an overcoat, men’s boots she’d had commissioned to accommodate her dainty feet, and a man’s hat.
“Oh,” Lady Felicity said. “Forgive me.”
“Thought I was a cove, eh?” Gen grinned. “Don’t care for dresses. Never did. They get in the way. Give a pair of trousers a try and see if you do not agree.”
His sister held out a hand and Lady Felicity took it. Although Gen was willowy, she was also stronger than some men. She pulled Lady Felicity to her feet with ease, leaving Blade grinding his molars, irritated he had not been the one to act first.
“Thank you,” Lady Felicity said, still looking dazed and sounding confused. Her gaze traveled between Blade and Gen.
Christ.Introductions. He was not a nib. Slipped his mind. Fucking polite society, which was not nearly as polite as it pretended. Spare him the theatrics.
“Lady Felicity, this is my sister, Miss Genevieve Winter,” he said. “And my brothers, Mr. Gavin Winter and Mr. Demon Winter.”
Her dark brows rose subtly as he mentioned Demon’s name. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintances.”
And then she dipped into a perfect curtsy, sodden, torn skirts and all.
Blade did not know why the sight of her, so elegant and proud even after she had just taken an undignified fall into the snow and narrowly avoided getting stuck by Gen’s dagger, affected him so profoundly. But it did. He wanted to…touch her. To draw her to his side. To proudly proclaim her as his.
Or to haul her over his shoulder and carry her off so he could have his wicked way with her.
None of these thoughts were helping, and the cold did nothing to stymie the sudden snugness of his trousers. Now that he knew she was uninjured, his body had deemed itself free to carry on with his rakehell status.
