bellowed.
They were the last words Lucas spoke to the ass before a sudden and definitively violent
jerk parted the two of them.
The world began to spin as he took the hill end over end. Rocks of all sizes connected
with his flesh, sending a stinging sensation throughout his entire body. He forced
his arms to his sides and rolled onto his back, his greatcoat acting as a flying carpet
of sorts. The wind tore at his eyes and whistled through his ears as he picked up
speed and crossed an outcropping of small boulders, becoming airborne, then landing
hard just behind Reginald.
It occurred to Lucas that it would have been good fun, if not for the loose livestock.
He dropped the heels of his boots and employed them as a makeshift rudder, successfully
steering himself around the donkey.
He offered Reginald a charming grin as he passed, before concentrating on the fast-approaching
cottage.
It was too late. If he’d only remained a gentleman and refrained from taunting Reginald
when he’d taken the lead.
But he hadn’t.
Regret overtook his senses the precise moment before he crashed into a snowbank.
Chapter Eight
Jane held tight to Fickle’s reins as the big draft horse raced down the slippery slope,
her eyes focused on Lucas at the bottom of the hill.
He wasn’t moving.
Her horse lumbered past Reginald and Horatio, and Jane glanced quickly at them. Both
horse and donkey appeared to be in one piece still—if somewhat dazed by their recent
ordeal.
Jane urged Fickle on. “Lucas!” she cried out, willing him to move.
She pulled Fickle to a sliding stop and kicked her foot free of the right stirrup,
swinging her leg over the draft’s back before dropping the second stirrup and sliding
down to the ground.
“Lucas!” she yelled again, rushing to where he lay, unmoving.
She bent over him, overjoyed to see his eyes were open. “Lucas?”
“There’s no need to shout, Jane.” His familiar dry tone reassured her as little else
could have. “I am, after all, right here.”
Jane watched him sit up and brush at the ice and dirt covering his clothing. “You …”
she began, wrestling internally with the relief she felt for his safety and the formidable
ire his statement stirred.
“This is all your fault,” Lucas informed her, rolling to his knees and staggering
to stand. “If you’d kept yourmouth closed rather than screaming like some crazed banshee back there on the hill,
the horses never would have spooked—that is ‘horse.’ One horse, and an ass.”
Jane pushed a sodden lock of hair from her face and narrowed her eyes at him. She
was colder than she’d ever been before. Her legs ached from straddling Fickle’s monstrously
wide back. And now that she’d destroyed any future with Lord Needles, this was as
good as life was going to get. In fact, it might only grow worse. “My fault? Is that
so? Well, perhaps you’ll keep your hands off my ass from now on?”
Lucas pulled at his greatcoat to examine a gaping hole situated directly between his
shoulder blades. “You think I’m responsible for Reginald’s escape? Hardly! I was just
the poor, unfortunate chap who found him. If not for me, your donkey would have frozen
to death.”
He yanked his coat off and flung it to the ground, exposing the clothing beneath.
Jagged tears mapped the wild ride Lucas had taken from the top of the hill, not one
stitch of fabric having remained unscathed. And he was wet from head to toe.
And slightly blue.
Panic rose in Jane’s throat, overriding her extreme discomfort and abject irritation
with Lucas. “We must get you inside at once, before
you
freeze to death.”
Lucas examined his appearance as if he’d not been aware of the risk. “Not without
an apology.”
“You cannot mean to play with your own health? Go inside. I will see to the horses,”
Jane countered. She turned and called to Reginald and Fickle. The donkey began to
trot toward
They were the last words Lucas spoke to the ass before a sudden and definitively violent
jerk parted the two of them.
The world began to spin as he took the hill end over end. Rocks of all sizes connected
with his flesh, sending a stinging sensation throughout his entire body. He forced
his arms to his sides and rolled onto his back, his greatcoat acting as a flying carpet
of sorts. The wind tore at his eyes and whistled through his ears as he picked up
speed and crossed an outcropping of small boulders, becoming airborne, then landing
hard just behind Reginald.
It occurred to Lucas that it would have been good fun, if not for the loose livestock.
He dropped the heels of his boots and employed them as a makeshift rudder, successfully
steering himself around the donkey.
He offered Reginald a charming grin as he passed, before concentrating on the fast-approaching
cottage.
It was too late. If he’d only remained a gentleman and refrained from taunting Reginald
when he’d taken the lead.
But he hadn’t.
Regret overtook his senses the precise moment before he crashed into a snowbank.
Chapter Eight
Jane held tight to Fickle’s reins as the big draft horse raced down the slippery slope,
her eyes focused on Lucas at the bottom of the hill.
He wasn’t moving.
Her horse lumbered past Reginald and Horatio, and Jane glanced quickly at them. Both
horse and donkey appeared to be in one piece still—if somewhat dazed by their recent
ordeal.
Jane urged Fickle on. “Lucas!” she cried out, willing him to move.
She pulled Fickle to a sliding stop and kicked her foot free of the right stirrup,
swinging her leg over the draft’s back before dropping the second stirrup and sliding
down to the ground.
“Lucas!” she yelled again, rushing to where he lay, unmoving.
She bent over him, overjoyed to see his eyes were open. “Lucas?”
“There’s no need to shout, Jane.” His familiar dry tone reassured her as little else
could have. “I am, after all, right here.”
Jane watched him sit up and brush at the ice and dirt covering his clothing. “You …”
she began, wrestling internally with the relief she felt for his safety and the formidable
ire his statement stirred.
“This is all your fault,” Lucas informed her, rolling to his knees and staggering
to stand. “If you’d kept yourmouth closed rather than screaming like some crazed banshee back there on the hill,
the horses never would have spooked—that is ‘horse.’ One horse, and an ass.”
Jane pushed a sodden lock of hair from her face and narrowed her eyes at him. She
was colder than she’d ever been before. Her legs ached from straddling Fickle’s monstrously
wide back. And now that she’d destroyed any future with Lord Needles, this was as
good as life was going to get. In fact, it might only grow worse. “My fault? Is that
so? Well, perhaps you’ll keep your hands off my ass from now on?”
Lucas pulled at his greatcoat to examine a gaping hole situated directly between his
shoulder blades. “You think I’m responsible for Reginald’s escape? Hardly! I was just
the poor, unfortunate chap who found him. If not for me, your donkey would have frozen
to death.”
He yanked his coat off and flung it to the ground, exposing the clothing beneath.
Jagged tears mapped the wild ride Lucas had taken from the top of the hill, not one
stitch of fabric having remained unscathed. And he was wet from head to toe.
And slightly blue.
Panic rose in Jane’s throat, overriding her extreme discomfort and abject irritation
with Lucas. “We must get you inside at once, before
you
freeze to death.”
Lucas examined his appearance as if he’d not been aware of the risk. “Not without
an apology.”
“You cannot mean to play with your own health? Go inside. I will see to the horses,”
Jane countered. She turned and called to Reginald and Fickle. The donkey began to
trot toward
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