Page 18 of The Untamed Duke
“What do I want? I want to kiss you. To touch you. Possess you.” Nicholas drew away, reached for his glass of brandy and stepped aside. “But I won’t. Not here. Not now.”
Grace’s eyes snapped open. He appeared so calm, so collected, it occurred he merely played with her for his own amusement. Confused anger bubbled inside her.
Reaching out, he removed the three books from her arms while she blinked stupidly at him. She’d forgotten she held them.
Sipping his brandy, Nicholas’s eyes glittered in the low light, mocking her. “Such useless weapons, aren’t they? Run along now, Lady Grace, before I give you cause for fresh tears.”
* * *
AvoidingNicholas that evening was easy.
Because he avoided her.
As if she carried the plague.
He would not look at her, nor direct any conversation toward her—but it rang false. Lady Helene Ralston was having a devil of a time distracting him. Smoothing his coat, trailing a finger down his forearm, even once across his jaw, the baroness giggled with irritating coyness at his every utterance, humorous or otherwise. But every time Tristan touched Grace, Nicholas’s eyes hardened into chips of ice, fists clenching at his sides.
While the musicians tuned their instruments for the evening’s entertainment, Grace slipped onto the terrace, seeking a quiet moment to consider this development. There was no reason for Nicholas’s behavior. He could have no idea she had stumbled across his horrid conversation with Tristan.
She enjoyed a brief period of solitude overlooking the gardens before Tristan joined her. Taking her by the arm, he’d just begun to speak when the French doors swung open again. They both swiveled at the intrusion, Tristan with a scowl of displeasure, Grace with a sigh of surprised relief as Nicholas stalked in their direction. Helene trailed behind him and from the expression on her pinched features, it seemed her presence was forgotten.
“I trust we are not interrupting, Longleigh,” Nicholas stated coldly, but the heat in his gaze, landing where Tristan gripped Grace’s arm, held enough fire to burn down that entire wing of the mansion. Was that frustration emanating from the duke directed toward Tristan, Lady Ralston, or herself?
“Of course not. Just a bit of fresh air before the dancing begins,” Tristan responded, chocolate brown eyes dancing with suspicion and a bit of confusion.
“Excellent.” Nicholas leaned against the low wall, arms crossed. “I found myself in need of the same.”
Helene settled beside him. The same dawning awareness straining her pale face now lit Tristan’s gaze.
“I was just asking Lady Grace if she might join me tomorrow afternoon for a last ride about the estate,” Tristan said. “I leave for London the day after tomorrow while she travels on toward Cornwall.”
Grace smiled politely, gazing over the gardens where a variety of festive paper lanterns illuminated the darkness. She had no interest in exploring Calmont Downs with Tristan. He might pull her from her horse, attempt kissing her again. Toss another offer of marriage in her lap while plotting the theft of her home. Hidden in the folds of her sage green skirts, her hands clenched.
“You should join us, my lord,” she finally offered in the uncomfortable silence.
Nicholas’s lips tightened. Was he angry because she extended an invitation or because she deliberately omitted his title again? It was becoming quite the habit, a guilty pleasure she couldn’t resist. Her heart softened a little when his eyes met hers, the small spark of sorrow in the emerald depths surprising to see.
It was bewildering, but something about him called out to Grace’s tender emotions. Even suspicions he might retain her estate if given the opportunity didn't dampen the invisible thread drawing them ever closer. Nicholas March, the Winter Wolf, a powerful, feared duke, seemed so.... well, misunderstood. And wary. As if no one could be trusted. Not his friends. Not lovers. No one. Like herself, he was alone in the world, save for his mother, with whom he reportedly shared a fond relationship. Grace wished she could sidle up beside him and knock Helene away. She wished she could warm him. Remind him a heart existed somewhere inside his rigid exterior. He needed only to find it. Maybe she could help him.
Of course, Tristan wouldn’t understand her compulsion to treat Richeforte with kindness. No one would. Even she didn’t understand it. Sebastian and Ivy would say she’d gone mad.
As if sensing her weakness, Tristan stiffened, the grip on Grace’s arm tightening. “Yes. Join us, Richeforte,” he bit out, in a tone far from welcoming.
Nicholas’s eyes flared, the brief flame of sorrow extinguished. His response was blatantly dismissive. “I can’t imagine anything I would enjoy less.”
The baroness snickered behind an upraised hand.
“Richeforte!” Tristan hissed a warning, obviously surprised by his friend’s vehemence.
Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, Nicholas averted his gaze and Grace nearly clucked her tongue. She understood the reason for the curt ugliness of his words and the apparent shame following their utterance.
Oh, he needs me. If only I am to prove I am not his enemy.
Chapter 7
One day...one day I may call out
Discover its demise.
