Irritatingly, he’d never had an issue conversing with these women. None of them mattered. But when it came to Laura, he always felt as though he had a wad of cotton stuck in his mouth. Thinking of something smart to say was nearly impossible. Instead, he made an ass of himself, making inane remarks or worse, saying nothing at all.
Obviously, he had to do better if he was to win her.
Setting his jaw on that thought, he kicked his horse into a gallop and raced toward the top of the hill where the old apple tree grew. From there he’d catch a glimpse of Faulkner Manor, which ought to bolster his spirits before he returned home to ready himself for the evening.
Cutting across the bare winter landscape with each exhalation fogging the air, he reached the tree and drew his horse to a halt. Panting, he leaned forward in the saddle and rubbed down the side of his horse’s neck. “Well done, Thunder.”
Clive righted himself and swept his gaze toward Laura’s home. A nervous swirling sensation began in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of approaching her later, but he’d already decided he’d ask her to dance. Somehow, he’d get up the courage.
On this thought he swung Thunder around and prepared to set off for home when a voice called to him from above. “Before you go, can you please help me down?”
Laura’s cheeks burned with humiliation. The duke’s arrival had been both a blessing and a curse. Now at least she had a chance to get out of the tree, but the idea of explaining herself to him, of him seeing her dressed in rumpled, unladylike clothes, was most unwelcome. So she’d stalled, taking her time to gather courage to draw his attention to her embarrassing problem.
When he’d turned about, prepared to leave, she’d had no choice and had finally managed to call out.
He stared up at her now, surprise evident in his gaze, which only made her feel all the more ridiculous. She’d not even realized he’d returned from wherever his duty had taken him last. But she was more than a little glad to see his handsome face once again.
Lord, she must have fancied him for at least five years now, if not longer. But his interest in her was and always had been as non–existent as snow in summer.
As children it had been different. They’d occasionally played together despite their three year difference in age. But after entering adolescence, Levinstone rarely spoke two words to her when their paths happened to cross. Which had been rare since he’d been away a great deal. But rather than regale her with stories of his studies as she’d hoped he might do, he’d invariably made an excuse to remove himself from her immediate presence.
As they’d entered adulthood, the blank expressions he gave her worsened in accordance with his attempts to avoid her. Still, she’d followed news of him with rapt interest. She knew he’d helped the local baker when he’d faced financial difficulty and that he’d made sure all his tenants had enough supplies for the winter. She also knew he’d been pushing a bill in Parliament that sought to provide better care for orphans, and another that meant to secure better options for poor, unmarried women so they’d not be forced into prostitution.
And on the few occasions when she’d attended a dinner party at Levinstone Hall, she’d paid close attention to everything Clive said. Even though he did not speak directly to her, she’d marveled over his wit and intelligence. No other person of her acquaintance knew as much as he did about nearly every subject.
When he continued to gape at her, she thought it prudent to say, “I came to get some mistletoe from your tree. There’s none in any of mine you see.”
A small pause followed before he slowly remarked, “And now you’re stuck?”
He muttered something she could not hear. “Quite so. If you would assist me I’d be most grateful.”
Another pause while he circled the trunk of the tree. Returning to a spot some ways below her, he said, “If you can lower yourself from the branch you’re on, I should be able to catch you.”
“Should be able to?”
“Will be able to,” he amended with a wince and yet a few more muttered words. He cleared his throat and reached his arms out toward her. “I promise.”
Deciding to trust him since she had no wish to remain in the tree any longer, Laura clasped the branch she was on and carefully swung herself off it. An awful feeling of dangling in midair ensued. Her stomach tightened with the awareness that there was no way back now even though her midsection still rested on the branch. Levinstone would either grab her or she’d take a dangerous fall.
“Lower yourself some more,” he said.
“I don’t think I can.”
“You have to. Grab the branch with your hands so your arms and legs are stretched to their fullest.”
Good lord. If she did that, she’d only be able to hold on for a short while and if he failed to reach her then–
“Do it, Laura.”
The use of her given name and the firmness with which he spoke it, urged her into action. She wasn’t sure how or why, but there was a sudden confidence to his manner that filled her with assurance. So she lowered her body until her fingers were laced together over the branch and her arms and legs fully extended. Soon she felt the firm clasp of hands on her legs as Clive grabbed her.
“Let go of the branch,” he instructed, upon which he pulled her securely into his lap.
Clive’s arms swept around her, hugging her to him until he acknowledged she was all right. She hadn’t fallen. He’d managed to catch her and hold onto her and now she was safe. Relief eased some of the panic he’d experienced when he’d seen her up in the tree, and he’d realized he couldn’t climb up and get her. The only way down was the one he’d suggested, which had meant risking a fall.
Leaning back, he searched her face. “Why on earth would you put yourself in harm’s way for some mistletoe?” It was ludicrous to him. “What if I hadn’t happened along? You could have been stuck up there overnight, frozen to death, and…what?”
Her expression was one of pure astonishment. “I can’t recall the last time you spoke to me at such great length, Your Grace.”
He stared at her. Neither could he, but it seemed his fear for her had loosened his tongue and made him immune to the nerves that usually muddled his mind when she was near. He grabbed her by her shoulders and met her gaze squarely. “Explain it to me.”
She blinked, then shook her head briefly as if to clear it. “Faulkner wants me engaged to Viscount Oxbridge by the end of the evening.”
Clive’s chest felt suddenly hollow. The viscount would certainly be an impressive match if it weren’t for his callous nature. To pair a spirited woman like Laura with him was cruel indeed. Unless of course… “Do you care for him?”
The words hung heavily in the air between them.
Finally, when he didn’t think he could stand it any longer, she said, “No. That is why I require the mistletoe. Faulkner denied the hanging of it in any room of the house. He knows I’ll attempt to use it against him.”
“How?”
An unhappy laugh worked its way past her lips. She averted her gaze. “By making sure I’m seen kissing another man.” Making eye contact once again she said, “I’m not sure if it will work, but it was the only thing I could think of besides running away, which is something I will consider doing if all else fails.”