Page 22 of The Untamed Duke
Or a wolf on the hunt.
Dark eyebrows snapped together in a savage frown. His hand lifted, rubbing over the clean lines of his jaw in amazement. The frost surrounding him could freeze a body in their tracks.
"What in the bloody hell are you doing here?" He thrust a hand through the burnished golden-brown mane of his hair.
Grace's chin jutted. She was shaking in her wet clothing. She wished she still stood beside Llyr so his body heat could strengthen and warm her. "I hoped we might discuss matters."
"What could we possibly have to discuss? The fact you’ve taken complete leave of your senses?" His gaze skated over her. Abruptly realizing the state she was in, those green eyes narrowed into chips of ice. "Did you goddamn ride, all the way from goddamn Bellmar Abbey? On horseback? Without a goddamn chaperone? In the goddamn rain?”
How many times, in one paragraph, would he take the Lord’s name in vain? Gritting her teeth against the scathing set down, Grace was reminded neither her backbone nor her temper could be lost now. Nicholas must hear out the proposal. He owed her that much. She could not let her heart go without a fight, and a few curse words would not stop her from obtaining what she wanted most. She stood straighter.
"I'm not sure which question to answer first, but I'll begin with the most obvious. It was not storming when I left Bellmar. And I have Robbie, one of our stable boys, with me. If you’ll only listen, I know you will find yourself in complete agreement with everything I’m ready to offer you.”
She knew she did not look very appealing at the moment; probably more like a half-drowned cat than anything else. Still, Nicholas's gaze slid like drifting snowflakes, landing in the area of her breasts before dragging back up to her face.
Realizing the scandalous insinuation of her words, Grace almost hunched her shoulders. Her riding habit was soaked and clinging around her body in the most indecent manner. She truly held no bargaining power other than using herself. A slow comprehension overcame her. Any hope of her proposal being accepted meant everything must be utilized, including her body, which she knew Richeforte found interesting despite his attempts at resistance.
Straightening until there was no mistaking the provocative curves outlined with such clarity beneath her wet clothes, Grace confessed, “I know of the encumbrance, the title you hold against my estate. I know Tristan requested you sell Bellmar Abbey to him. A misguided attempt at forcing me into marriage. It won’t work, you know.”
Nicholas’s brow arched. A glint of amused curiosity flitted with hot irritation in his eyes. He remained silent.
"I've come this far, my lord. The least you can do, before stealing my home, is to hear me out," Grace added without rancor.
With a fierce scowl, he again raked his rain-dampened hair, leaving it standing on end. Now it looked rumpled into disarray by her own fingers, the thought exacerbated by the fact that Grace’s palms tingled. Clenching her hands into fists did not dispel the feeling.
"I can't very well leave you in the stables until the rain passes. And no way in hell will I send you home in the same manner you traveled here,” Nicholas muttered. "You’ll stay as my guest tonight and return home in the morning. I'll send a message at once to Bellmar. No one should needlessly worry for your safety."
A shiver of unease raced down Grace’s spine at the unmistakable sting of annoyance in his tone. Her reasons for appearing on Oakmont’s doorsteps went ignored.
Nicholas gripped her arm, the chill of his displeasure shooting clear through to her bones. Dragging her toward the stable entrance, he barked that an oilskin cloth be fetched.
It occurred with dizzying swiftness. He had her under his control in a matter of minutes while Grace followed his orders with uncharacteristic meekness. Robbie peeked around the corner of a stall, watching in bug-eyed amazement.
Nicholas waited while she removed her sodden hat before tenting the oilskin over her head. His movements were brisk but surprisingly gentle when tucking the fabric beneath her chin.
"I'm already soaked. A few raindrops more won't matter—” The duke’s silent glare of warning cut Grace’s protest short. "But if you insist,” she finished weakly.
Blind intuition and his grip on her arm guided her as they raced into the rain and up a winding gravel path edged with towering English oaks. It seemed there were at least a hundred stone steps they climbed upon reaching the mansion. Grace muttered a quick prayer when she did not trip or stumble as she was dragged along.
They finally stopped on a wide terrace situated on the east side of the huge cream stone house. It was partly sheltered from the western driven rain, a large, jutting portico providing a dry spot from the storm’s fury. Breathless after the mad dash, Grace held her tongue as Nicholas whipped the makeshift cloak from her shoulders. Along with his own drenched overcoat, he tossed the items onto a bench situated between two huge potted rose bushes. Then he snatched open one of the tall French doors, shoving her forward with unceremonious fanfare.
The doors slammed shut behind them with more force than necessary.
Grace glanced around the room, trembling from a mix of cold rain and apprehension. It must be Nicholas’s private study. Filled with heavily carved furniture, decorated in rich shades of black and gold, it was an overtly masculine space. Above a monstrosity of a fireplace hung a massive war shield, the fierce profile of a gold, snarling wolf head against an ebony background emblazoned upon it. Red dripped from the wolf’s dull white fangs.
Nicholas moved with brisk intent. Stepping into the hall, he spoke quietly with someone unseen, then clicked the door shut. He spared not a glance for Grace as he crossed over to the fireplace. Placing an additional log on the grate, he stirred until the embers glowed hot and flames licked hungrily at the wood. When it was burning to his satisfaction, he stepped to a walnut cabinet nestled in the corner, jerking it open with enough force to make the glasses within rattle. Two crystal tumblers were removed, along with something Grace suspected was a bottle of brandy. One glass received a hefty portion of liquid, splashing over the rim, while the other received less than a quarter of the same.
He handed over the smaller of the two tumblers, watching as she hesitantly sipped it, savoring the drops poised on the crystal’s rim. She’d never tasted brandy before, and she licked her top lip as it burned a fiery trail down her throat and into her stomach. In a shocking instant, she was warmed from the inside out.
"All of it," Nicholas murmured.
Puzzled by the husky quality of his tone, Grace drained the tumbler in a gulp. Sputtering and coughing, she missed his fleeting smile.
His larger portion was swallowed in one pass. Taking the empty glass from her cold fingers, Nicholas set them both carefully on his desk. He moved as if having difficulty maintaining control of his temper.
"Wait here. I'll see that a room is prepared, along with some dry clothing. I’m sure there’s something of my mother’s you may wear in the short term. Hopefully, that riding habit isn’t completely ruined, although I’m hardly an expert on such things."
He did not look at her while saying this. Grace passed a hand over her hair in an awkward sweep.I must look worse than I thought.Swaying from a combination of brandy, nerves and the chilling dampness, it took all her willpower not to grab his arm.
