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Lord Dalmeer was already on his way over, while Miss Caldwell gathered her skirts and tried to follow as quickly as her dainty movements would allow.
The earl’s gaze met Nell’s, a question in it. It dropped to the shears she held, the red soaking her other hand, and the drips in the snow below.
The question in his eyes turned to apprehension, and he closed the final distance in two enormous strides. He took the shears from her right hand and tossed them a few feet away, then swept Nell into his arms.
Five
ARCHIE
Archie held Miss Prescott’s body to his. “Remain with Miss Caldwell and Mr. Fowell,” he instructed the stable boy, who looked nearly as green as Mr. Fowell.
His heart raced as he began trudging through the brittle snow toward Bellthorne.
Not in his wildest dreams had he imagined Miss Prescott would truly injure herself. Had he not been quite clear with her?
“How painful is it?” he asked.
“Not very,” she replied, sending a glance behind them toward the others.
“I said pretend an injury, Miss Prescott. I would never in a million years have wished for you to—” He looked at her, his brows bunching together. “Are you laughing?”
Her uninjured hand covered her mouth, but her eyes were wrinkled at the sides, the lift to her cheeks betraying a smile.
He let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you or are you not injured, Miss Prescott?”
She shook her head, eyes brimming with restrained merriment.
He pressed his lips together. “I have a mind to drop you this instant, you know. How did you draw bl—” He cut himself off. “The berries.”
She put out her hand, reddened with juice. “I feared Mr. Fowell would take note of the difference, for upon inspection, it does not truly resemble blood.”
“Mr. Fowell wanted nothing to do with you, to say nothing of making closer inspection. Though, it is valuable to know how you may keep him at arm’s length, I suppose.”
“I shall just traipse around the party with holly berry juice on my face, shall I?”
He grinned. “I wish you would.”
“Undoubtedly.” Her sparkling hazel eyes met Archie’s, and he was suddenly aware of her body pressed to his. He had never held a woman like this. Given the strange feeling in his chest, it would be advisable not to repeat the experience.
She looked over his shoulder. “They cannot see us from here. You may set me down safely.”
“Drop you, you mean?” Smiling, he set her down gently and put out a hand. “Let me see this holly berry juice, then. Fowell was not the only one fooled by it.”
She gave her hand to him, the palm stained red in a way that he saw now was more like wine than blood. He frowned as he noted a few uneven lines across the skin. “You are injured.” He touched a gentle finger to one.
She withdrew her hand quickly, as though startled. “A few scratches.” She clenched the hand shut and smiled at him, then continued walking. “Well worth it, I think.” She looked at their surroundings. “Only now, we will likely lose the competition, which is a shame.”
He thought of her behavior during the parlor game. “You are competitive.”
“Unfortunately so, I fear.”
“Then why did you refuse to play Blind Man’s Bluff?”
Her gaze flicked to him, then away, though a smile played at her lips. “I had a touch of the headache.”
He chuckled softly at the evasive but clever answer—adding the evasion to the collection of observations he was gathering.
He did not press her, however.
