Page 13 of The Untamed Duke
“HowI knew you were here does not matter,” he said coldly. “Whyyou are here does.”
“It’s rather obvious, I think. Lord Calmont gave permission I could ride as I wish. It’s best no one sees me dressed in this manner, so here I am. Before the rest of the world wakes up.”
His eyes flickered over her body. When his gaze darkened even more, Grace suppressed a shiver.
“Without a groom? Unsafe and unwise.”
“Which is why I ride Percy. I bred, raised, and trained him. He’s completely dependable, although very mischievous.” Looping the reins over the gelding’s neck, she released him. Like Llyr, her prized stallion at Bellmar Abbey, Percy would not venture far from the sugar cubes in her pocket. “You’ve developed an interesting approach in maintaining my flawless reputation. This is the second time you’ve placed yourself in a position where it would be difficult explaining an otherwise innocent situation.”
“Nothing about this is innocent,” he growled.
Grace blinked. “I assure you, my lord. This is fraught with innocence. Dripping with it, actually.”
Chapter 5
And my demons always know
the depths of sincerity when I whisper,
Come out! Come out!
~Nicholas August Harris March
Ninth Duke of Richeforte
Nicholas clenched his teeth.Her choice of words is intentional. She’s deliberately throwing the tantalizing prize of her virginity in my lap. Damned little tease.
“Your Grace,” the reminder came out in a grow.
Amusement danced in Grace’s eyes, even half-concealed as they were by that ridiculous cap. His gaze traveled over her, taking in the dark brown coat fitted to her body’s trim proportions.St. Simon’s Cross, her legs go on for miles. Encased in black breeches and knee-high leather boots dyed the same color, he’d like those legs wrapped about his waist, her heels digging into his lower back as he invaded her flesh.
Nicholas stepped back, stunned by the erotic vision in his mind’s eye. It wasn’t wise, getting too close, not when he teetered on the verge of turning visions into reality. He’d shove her onto a pile of fresh hay, rip the boots and breeches from those long legs, tear off her tidy coat and the dark green shirt, and when she was finally bare, fall upon her like a ravening wolf. Consume every bit of her innocence. And that shining braid of hair? He’d use it as a handle, directing her placement as he wished.
Raising a hand to his brow, Nicholas rubbed hard. A pitiful attempt at erasing his thoughts.
“You are a puzzle, my lord,” Grace finally said, head cocked slightly. “You claim disinterest in my actions, yet here you are. You don’t seem to care for your title, but you insist I call you by it. Why is this, I wonder?”
“Even the Devil likes to be called by name.”
“That’s not an explanation,” she scoffed. “Perhaps if we knew one another better, you would not care to stand on formalities.”
Knew each other better?He wanted to know her in every way, shape and form possible. Her innocence irritated him, goading a harsh response.
“Honeybee, you don’t want to know me. I haven’t a drop of honorable blood in my entire body. I’m cold. Selfish. Hollow. And I enjoy the reputation my cruelty has gained me.” Her eyes widened. Was it because of his honesty or the new pet name bestowed on her? “Those are my most admirable qualities, according to the unfortunate few who call themselves my friends.”
Undaunted, Grace leaned forward as if imparting a secret. “I don’t believe you. That makes you sound like an ordinary monster. Your inclination of rushing to the rescue when I least expect it indicates there must be something else that redeems you.”
Nicholas recognized the thread of humor in her tone, and even he couldn’t explain his intentions upon picking up that riding crop. But the instant he believed Grace was in danger, he was prepared to beat the perpetrator into a bloody pulp for daring to lay a hand on her.
Now, she was grinning at him. Teasing him. Enticing him.
Nicholas gave in. Coming closer, he almost hesitantly trailed a finger over the curve of her cheek, marveling at its velvet softness. Grace’s eyes drifted shut for a brief second, but she did not shy away.
“So, a tidbit of personal information will make my disappointing lack of character easier to bear,” Nicholas murmured, the request pondered. After a moment, a tiny smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Watercress.”
“Beg pardon?” she whispered, swaying forward until he detected the scent of the soap she must use. It was clean and fresh. Wild heather and lemons. And rainstorms.
“Watercress. Those green leaves people insist on cramming between two slices of bread and declaring fit for consumption. A vile substance, it has no taste, gets caught in one’s teeth and serves no purpose that I can determine. Watercress is banned from all my estates. Saving countless victims from gruesome, freckled smiles.”
