Page 15 of The Untamed Duke
Thoughts of how such matters might work consumed her during her morning ride.
Now, watching the duke stride across the perfectly manicured lawn toward the table set up on the rose garden terrace, that tall, muscular form of his displayed in a dark grey afternoon jacket and tight-fitting black trousers, Grace’s cheeks pinkened. If any male possessed the honor of comparison with a stallion, Nicholas March was a prime candidate.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace. Won’t you join us?” Lady Calmont exclaimed, her face alight with excitement. She possessed a soft spot for the duke, catering to his every need since his arrival. Bemused, Grace watched as she instructed a footman in moving a chair beside Celia’s.
Nicholas paused before seating himself, eyes momentarily narrowing when noting the close proximity between Tristan and Grace. “How kind of you. I trust I am not intruding.”
“Not at all, Your Grace! Your presence could never be intrusive. There is an abundance of treats, as you can see.” Lady Calmont impatiently shooed the footman away so she could pour Nicholas’s tea. “Please, help yourself to whatever you desire.”
Nicholas’s gaze latched onto Grace at the elderly woman’s invitation, and a smirk lifted his lip. “Thank you. I can scarcely restrain myself from tasting all of it.”
Grace felt her cheeks grow warm.
He reached for a tiny sandwich while at the same time Grace warned, in all seriousness, “I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.”
The advice was ignored as Nicholas popped the entire thing into his mouth. A grimace formed, expressed as a frown between his eyebrows, followed by a choking cough. After a few moments, he finally swallowed with great difficulty and took a healthy gulp from the cup a wide-eyed Lady Calmont set before him.
“I did try warning you,” Grace muttered under her breath, smoothing the stomach of her bright, lemon yellow day gown. “Watercress, you see.”
“Are you all right, Your Grace? Did it go down the wrong pipe, as it were? Perhaps we should get you some lemonade.” Celia’s lips pursed with concern, ignoring her mother’s quelling glares. If Lady Darby was not sitting right there, and she thought she could get away with it, Celia probably would have rubbed Nicholas’s back to ease his distress.
“No... I’m fine, just an aversion to watercress.” he choked.
“Other than the bread, everything about that was green,” Grace pointed out.
“I was temporarily blinded in a freak accident this morning,” Nicholas said once he regained control of his breath. “My vision has not yet returned to normal.”
Grace’s hands folded in her lap.What a fibber he is! His eyesight is perfectly fine. He’s having no problems glaring at me.
“My apologies on your injury. I do hope there is no lasting damage.”
“Only to my pride, Lady Willsdown.”
Those tiny, elusive, heart-melting dimples flitted into view. Transfixed, the other ladies stared at Nicholas, but he ignored them. His eyes bored into Grace.
“How is it you know Richeforte despises watercress, Lady Grace?” Tristan asked in the chasm of sudden silence. Five sets of eyes turned in her direction.
Grace’s gaze flitted to Nicholas as he shrugged, eyebrow raised as if wondering the same.
That’s how it's to be? In retaliation for this morning? Oh, the scoundrel!
She’d have no help from him explaining their previous encounter.
“Yes,” Nicholas drawled in that husky voice that softened her insides and her brain for good measure. “Enlighten us. I confess, I’m curious as well.”
“Your reputation precedes you, my lord.” Grace took a calm sip of tea, thinking fast. “Tales of your hatred for watercress abound in polite society. It’s a safe subject...safer than how many women compete for your attention.”
Chapter 6
Ashocked gasp escaped Lady Calmont, a hand held to her wrinkled throat as if she swallowed a whole lump of sugar along with her tea.
Lady Darby muttered beneath her breath, shooting her daughter and Grace a look that could not be misconstrued. The clatter of her delicate bone china teacup on its saucer gained everyone’s attention.
“Celia, I’m sure you and Grace would like a bit of rest before this evening’s activities.” Her tone brooked no argument as she regarded her daughter and ward. “Have you decided on your gown for tonight? Has your maid seen to its pressing?”
Grace did not wish to retire to her room; this particular conversation, and Nicholas’s irritated frown, was very amusing. An unexpected thrill existed in verbally sparring with the rigidly polished duke, although she wisely chose against examining that fact too closely.
“If you will excuse us, Lady Calmont, Mother, I was hoping for a private word with Richeforte. Now seems the perfect opportunity,” Tristan interjected, his jaw set in a hard line.
