Page 2 of The Untamed Duke
“I wanted to discuss it yesterday—”
“No!” Grace snapped. Taking a deep breath, she continued in a calmer tone. “No, yesterday you chased me around the fountain in the center of this maze.”
“Was it this one? They all look alike, I’m afraid.” Tristan regarded her blankly, then breathed, “Had I caught you, you’d understand why I chased you.”
The hair rose on the back of Grace’s neck while considering his cryptic statement. Something felt...odd. An electric current floating along the breeze, at once both disturbing and exciting. She glanced toward the thick bushes. One of five gazebos scattered about the estate, this particular one sat well-hidden, nestled amongst rhododendrons and boxwoods. Paired with a twisting gravel path and the backdrop of the maze, she and Tristan were effectively concealed from view.
Surveying the abundant greenery, Grace half-expected movement, a rescuer perhaps, but no one emerged. She hugged her book, disturbed by the unsettling sensation of being watched.
“Thatwould not have ended well.” She brushed past Tristan. “In light of this pointless conversation, I shall return to the house.”
“Damn it,” he groaned. “How will you understand my dilemma if you are forever running away?” Before Grace reached the steps, he snagged her arm, spinning her against him. Deft, masculine fingers tugged the ribbon from her hair. “You are driving me insane.” A hiccup marred his fierce declaration.
“Your ills are of your own doing. I’ve not encouraged you. Tristan...oh! Let me loose!”
“Not until I have a kiss. Just one.Blast it.Hold still.” He embraced her tighter, crushing the book between them. Its hard edges bit into Grace’s collarbone when Tristan squeezed her.
“Tristan, stop! Don’t make me—”
“Will you just let me give you a proper kiss?” He grunted, attempting to hold her still.
The book thumped the side of his head, but Grace might as well have used a dandelion for a weapon, for it did no good at all. A pain immunity woven of alcohol had developed around him, and her resistance was merely a pesky deterrent.
Although his head surely swam from the blow, Tristan’s mouth clamped over hers, muffling a shriek of feminine outrage. Redolent with spirits, his breath made her dizzy. Even as she batted at him, he buried a hand in her loose hair, kissing her until Grace thought he’d never come up for air.
When he finally drew back, his drunken ardor proved far more disturbing than inebriated frustration. “I’m a fool, waiting so long to do that.” His brow furrowed. “You taste like—like lemonade. Delicious, but not at all what I expected. It’s the damnedest thing.”
With an anguished groan, he dove in for another kiss. Grace squealed in protest. She struck him multiple times with the book until he grasped her wrist. Breathing an exasperated curse, he forced her hand open, and the tome landed with a heavy thud at their feet.
Squirming with useless ferocity, Grace realized that reasoning with Tristan was impossible, drowning as he was in an alcoholic haze. Desperate tactics were required if she wished to extract herself.
It’s for the best...really. And if he lands on me, that will be most unfortunate. Oh, why did I not study Celia’s technique more thoroughly? Should I faint forward or swoon backward?
* * *
She saggedlike a wilted flower in the heat of summer, her full weight falling against Tristan in a lifeless slump. Startled, he gave her a rough shake, but when she did not rouse, he carefully lowered her onto the gazebo floor.
Her wrists were smacked; stinging strikes that almost had her yelping aloud.
“Damnation, girl. I only kissed you.” Using the back of his hand, Tristan briskly tapped her cheeks.
Grace bit her tongue in outrage. If only she could return the favor; she would box the viscount’s ears until they rang like church bells.
She realized a tactical mistake when a gentle hand brushed the bangs fringing her forehead. Pretending unconsciousness could end badly. Tristan might take advantage of the staged swoon. Perhaps kiss her more thoroughly. Or, bloody hell, decide her unresponsive form invited exploration. A new strategy was devised, one involving fists and teeth should his intentions turn in that direction.
“Oh hell,” Tristan muttered after a few moments of silence, his absent conscience finally peeking out. “Stay here. I’ll get Celia.”
Grace breathed through a grimace at the unnecessary order.
As if I’ll patiently wait for your return. Drat. You might have laid me on the bench at least.
Gravel scattered beneath Tristan’s heels as he rushed from the gazebo and trotted around the path’s bend. Grace remained as he placed her, slightly curled on one side, arms limp and crossed over her stomach. Seconds slipped by, with only the chirping of birds filling the silence. Relief escaped her lungs in a tiny sigh. She cautiously opened her eyes.
“Do you require assistance?”
The man’s voice was deep. A bit annoyed. A subtle hint of clean linen mixed with sandalwood and mint wafted on a slight breeze.
Grace’s eyes slammed shut.That’s not Tristan.No, someone else had stumbled across her. Was Longleigh seen kissing her?Dear God, I hope not.
