Page 23 of The Untamed Duke
He was at the door before she found her voice.
"Wait!" Fail now, and she might never possess the nerve again. The proposal burned within her— the brandy helped overcome lingering reservations, loosening her tongue. "We haven’t discussed why I came."
"I'd prefer you not catch your death from those wet clothes while in my house. Imagine the difficulty explaining that to Lord Darby. As well as your damned cousin." Nicholas’s knuckles gleamed white on the doorknob. He never turned while speaking, keeping his back to her the whole time.
"I'm not leaving until I've had my say."
His head whipped around, his gaze flickering over her chest so quickly, Grace wondered if she imagined it.At least that portion of my anatomy holds his attention.She removed the jacket of her riding habit, feeling terribly exposed as it peeled away. Despite the lawn shirt and camisole worn beneath it, she was soaked through, down to the skin.
Emerald green eyes flared with an unholy light, Nicholas’s breath sucking in as if he’d been punched in the stomach.
"Jesus, Grace," he snarled, the ferocity of his words startling her. "What do you want?"
"I have a proposition for you. A bargain, if you accept it."
"I doubt any good can come from this…what the hell are you talking about?"
The growl was accompanied by his release of the doorknob. Turning toward her, he leaned against the oak, favoring her with the same wariness he’d give an assassin bent on destroying him.
“After overhearing your conversation at Calmont, I devised a solution.” She chewed her bottom lip.
“Eavesdropping, you mean,” Nicholas snorted. “You did not simplyoverhearus.”
Grace ignored the accusation. “Instead of selling my home to Tristan, I want an agreement with you. An exchange of sorts for Bellmar Abbey. And all of my stables and horses. Every last bit of my estate, down to the last stick of furniture and halter.”
Like old iron chains, her nerves jangled together. Thank goodness for the brandy. It was fine stuff, actually. She understood its appeal. Just one glass, and she felt toasty warm and quite bold.
"I’ve no need of your money...I’ve enough of my own." He smiled that icy smile she now realized never quite reached his beautiful eyes.
"You've also no need for another estate or more horses, yet here we are," Grace accused hotly before remembering she must remain calm. An argument might cause a rejection of her plan. He must see they would both gain from an arrangement. Taking a deep breath, she willed her frustration to cool.
"I hold them because it amuses me," Nicholas taunted, arms crossed casually against his chest. Curiosity emanated from him, and something clicked in his memory. “Ah, that afternoon in the library...I was the reason for your tears after all.” Again, his gaze drifted over her bosom.
He’ll find me lacking there if I’m compared with Lady Ralston.
She dismissed thoughts of the baroness’s plentiful breasts before plowing on. "I’m fully aware this is a man’s world. And a brutal one, at that. There may be plenty of times I will weep because of a man’s cruelty or mistreatment. But I will not allow someone other than myself to determine my fate. You see, I do not offer money. I wish that you employ me. To train horses and manage Bellmar until the encumbrance is paid. I can’t lose my horses. And Iwon’tlose Llyr."
He snorted in disbelief. “You named a horse after an Irish god?”
“Yes. The god of water and the sea—”
“I know who Llyr is, pet,” he interrupted sharply, and Grace shivered. Was the worth of her labor equal that of an impoverished yet beautiful estate and a stable full of expensive horses? Would he take into consideration the cost of her pride in pleading his mercy in the first place?
“I’ve little need for another property manager.” Coldly brutal, his words struck her. “Nor a trainer. I’ve no use for horses that bow, or dance, or any of the other silly things you teach them. I do, however, believe such tricks are useful within the bedchamber. If the woman is willing.”
Words rehearsed dozens of times stuck in Grace’s throat. For a horrifying moment, she hovered on the verge of crumpling into a sobbing heap of helpless, foolish, female weakness before yanking her careening emotions back into place. As if poured from a fountain, an alternative proposition tumbled out of her mouth.
“Very well." Her chin tilted to its highest position yet, eyes glittering with violent determination. "For one night, you shall have me. In any way you desire. Dancing, bowing, or otherwise. One night. In exchange for Bellmar Abbey and all my horses. Every last one of them. That is my proposition, Your Grace. If you are man enough to negotiate with me."
Chapter 9
For now, it shuffles forth
Wounded, frail creature
Assuring me it still survives.
~Nicholas August Harris March
