A Wallflower Christmas (Wallflowers #5)(29)

“Hannah, what the devil are you doing up there?”

She was too distressed to reprove him for using her first name. “I was fetching something,” she said shortly. “The ladder collapsed. What are you doing here?”

“I was recruited by the wallflowers to help decorate the tree. Since the footmen are all occupied, they had need of tall people who could climb ladders.” A deft pause. “You don’t seem to qualify on either account, sweetheart.”

“I climbed up perfectly well.” Hannah was red everywhere, from her hairline to her toes. “It’s merely coming down that poses a problem. And don’t call me ‘sweetheart,’ and…what do you mean, wallflowers?”

Bowman had gone to the ladder and had begun to ratchet up the middle extension. “A silly name my sisters and their friends call their little group. What were you fetching?”

“Nothing of importance.”

He grinned. “I’m afraid I can’t help you down until you tell me.”

Hannah longed to tell him to go away, she would prefer to wait for days before accepting his help. But she was getting tired of standing on the blasted ledge.

Seeing her indecision, Bowman said casually, “The others will be coming in here momentarily. And I should probably mention that I have an excellent view up your skirts.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, Hannah tried to gather her dress more closely around her, and her balance wobbled.

Bowman cursed, his amusement vanishing. “Hannah, stop. I’m not looking. Be still, damn it. I’m coming up there to get you.”

“I can do it by myself. Just set the ladder close to me.”

“Like hell. I’m not going to risk you breaking your neck.” Having extended the ladder to full length, Bowman ascended it with astonishing swiftness.

“It might collapse again,” Hannah said nervously.

“No, it won’t. There’s an iron locking bracket on either side of the middle ladder. They probably weren’t snapped into place before you climbed up. You should always make certain both brackets are locked before using one of these things.”

“I don’t plan to climb anything ever again,” she said with vehement sincerity.

Bowman smiled. He was at the top of the ladder now, one hand extended. “Slowly, now. Take my hand and move carefully. You’re going to put your foot on that rung and turn and face the wall. I’ll help you.”

As Hannah complied, it occurred to her that the logistics of getting down were a bit more difficult than going up had been. She felt a rush of gratitude toward him, especially since he was being far nicer than she would have expected.

His hand was very strong as it closed around hers, and his voice was deep and reassuring. “It’s all right. I have you. Now step toward me and put your footno, not there, higheryes. There we are.”

Hannah went fully onto the ladder, and he guided her down until his arms closed on either side of her, his body a hard, warm cage. She was facing away from him, staring through the rungs of the ladder, while he was pressed all along her from behind. As he spoke, his breath was warm against her cheek. “You’re safe. Rest a moment.” He must have felt the shiver that went through her. “Easy. I won’t let you fall.”

She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t at all afraid of heights. It was just the strange sensation of being suspended and yet held, and the delicious scent of him, so clean and male, and the brace of muscles she could feel through the thin linen of his shirt. A curious heat began to unfold inside her, spreading slowly.

“Will the ladder hold both of us?” she managed to ask.

“Yes, it could easily hold a half-dozen people.” His voice was quietly comforting, the words a soft caress against her ear. “We’ll go down one step at a time.”

“I smell peppermint,” she said wonderingly, twisting enough to look at him more fully.

A mistake.

His face was level with hers, those eyes so hot and dark, his lashes like black silk. Such a strong-featured face, perhaps the slightest bit too angular, like an artist’s line sketch that had not yet been softened and blurred. She couldn’t help wondering what lay beneath the tough, invulnerable fa?ade, what he might be like in a tender moment.

“They’re making candy ribbons in the kitchen.” His breath was a warm, sweet rush of mint against her lips. “I ate a few of the broken pieces.”

“You like sweets?” she asked unsteadily.

“Not usually. But I’m fond of peppermint.” He stepped to a lower rung, and coaxed her to follow.

“The hairpiece,” Hannah protested, even as she descended with him.

“The what?” Rafe followed her gaze, saw his father’s toupee dangling from a branch, and made a choked sound. Pausing in his descent, he lowered his head to Hannah’s shoulder and fought to suppress a burst of laughter that threatened to topple them both from the ladder. “Is that what you were trying to reach? Good God.” He steadied her with one of his hands as she searched for her footing. “Putting aside the question of how it got there in the first place, why were you risking your pretty neck for a wad of dead hair?”

“I wanted to save your father from embarrassment.”

“What a sweet little soul you are,” he said softly.

Fearing he was mocking her, Hannah stopped and twisted around. But he was smiling at her, his gaze caressing, and his expression set off a series of hot flutters in her midriff. “Hannah, the only way to spare my father embarrassment is to keep him from finding that damned toupee again.”