Page 25 of The Untamed Duke
Grace sucked in a breath at the barb. Frantic desperation darkened her gaze. "Are you that heartless? Holding my birthright for ransom without naming a price? If I am to be bartered, sold like livestock or a broodmare, then it should be my right to set terms. My right in deciding my worth and gaining the rewards. You wanted me before." Her voice cracked. "When Tristan...when you discovered Tristan kissing me in the gazebo. I may be innocent, but I know you wanted me."
Goddamn it to hell... She would bring that up.
"Fourteen nights,” he growled, clamping his teeth around the cigar with such force, it broke in two. The lit end landed in his lap and bounced off with no damage done. Thankfully, his unfortunate reaction went unnoticed because Grace’s eyes fluttered shut with his words.
Twin fists grabbing handfuls of soaked riding habit, she swayed. Dear God. Seeing her in those wet clothes had him imagining her out of them.
Her expression was both sick and relieved. "Two nights.”
"Twelve.” Any lingering uncertainty was pushed aside as an image flashed in his mind. Stabbing him, twisting with relentless intensity.
Tristan holding Grace by the shoulders, his mouth on hers. Grace slumping in his arms before pushing him away.
One night...or none. It suddenly did not matter. Nicholas could not, would not allow his friend the pleasure of having her.
"Six." Grace's lashes lifted, revealing burnished gold eyes, bright and hard.
He bit back a satisfied grin.This is Grace, dealing in horseflesh, driving a bargain. Only, she's selling herself, and I'm actually buying her.
Excitement mounted, an overwhelming elation difficult to contain. He would have her...claim her...shove himself inside her. Ravishment permission fully granted. All for the price of a few horses and an estate he didn't give a piss about.
"Eight.” Setting the broken cigar aside, he leaned toward Grace until the desk shrank between them. The air turned thick with lust and the thin layer of ice he always wore.
"Five.” There was a tiny hitch in her voice. Was it fear? Revulsion?
"Of my choosing," Nicholas whispered, eyes narrowed, gauging her willingness at seeing this madness through.
"If you use some manner of protection...so there is not a child...and you must not...you will not hurt me in any way or do anything unnatural."
Beneath its golden hue, her skin had paled, the magnitude of her irreversible actions seeping in. The different layers of color in her eyes was infinitely fascinating. How could anyone ever say they were just plain brown?
"The only pain will be the moment I take your virginity, and even that will be minimal. As for unnatural acts." He chuckled, appreciating the apprehension on her exquisite features. And damned if he didn’t sport an erection just thinking of the moment he would claim her virginity. "I won't do anything you find unpleasant, so I cannot allow limits there. Five nights, honeybee. You in my bed, or me in yours. Five nights of my choosing. I will provide contraception, French letters, or other means, and once the terms are met, you’ll have your horses, your stables, indeed the entirety of Bellmar Abbey, free of encumbrances and future claims. I’ve already instructed my barristers to look into the matter, but it does exist. The details are unknown, however, as the original debt seems to be missing from my father’s legal papers."
Grace mutely stared at him.
"Are you bound by your word without the physical proof?” Nicholas inquired sharply. God help him if she backed out now. He could not permit that. Not when he was this close to possessing her. Not now, when he was wicked enough to accept her sacrifice. "Will you keep your oath, even if later you do not wish to do so?"
She hesitated, swallowing hard. "I will stand by it."
"Then we have an accord?”
"Yes.”
Her acquiescence placed her in his control for nights of pleasure she could not begin to comprehend. Reaching out, Nicholas took her hand, intending on pressing his lips upon it, but she surprised him, grasping his hand and giving it a firm shake instead. Business-like. Matter of fact. A deal done. Irritation pricked him. He didn't like the feeling of being a business associate in Grace's world, another horse trader she somehow got the upper hand on.
"I'm sure you understand my feelings on having a contract drawn up. Something we both will sign. Should things go awry, if I'm forced to assert my claim in a legal manner," she said with a tight smile, “I’ll have it to fall back upon.”
Frowning, Nicholas sat down and pulled ink and foolscap from a drawer of the desk. "I shudder to think what recourse you could possibly seek if I fail to uphold this Devil's bargain. Your reputation will be destroyed if anyone learns of this."
Grace actually grinned at him. "You are unnaturally obsessed with my reputation, my lord. I would be very discreet should I ever need counsel on a violation of our agreement. But I trust you will honor our terms."
She was at ease trading herself for some horseflesh and a pile of stones, content with the consequences while Nicholas could barely wrap his brain around it.
As he jotted down the terms, Grace sidled around to his side of the desk. Scratching onto paper the extent of what he believed the estate was worth, seeing it in black and white, shamelessly scrawled in ink, had him questioning this god-awful mess. Maintaining a frosty indifference was impossible. Not when he strummed with awareness of her. Not when she smelled so damned amazing. Lemons and rain. Wild heather and hay. Sunshine and happiness. Bloody hell, he wanted to throw her on his desk and take her right there. Feel her pulsating around him. Discover the secret triangle between her legs and its flavor.
What the hell was he thinking? He could not go through with this. Could not do everything he yearned...make love to her, possess her, devour her. Have what no other man had or would ever have. Yes, he was many things. Heartless. Cold. Manipulative. But he was not a monster. Or was he?
"I do have one question, my lord." While he wrote, Grace leaned over his shoulder, her warm breath caressing his cheek.
