Page 27 of The Untamed Duke
He released her hands, and when he quickly strode down the hall, trying to clear his head, Grace followed him with no hint of hesitation.
Chapter 10
For the longest time, Grace sat in the elegantly curved copper tub.
The bath was ready when she entered the room, a young maid standing there to help remove her clothing. Towels were stacked in a neat little pile, and on a shelf was an array of oils and scents and soaps to choose from. The girl, not much older than fifteen or so, chatted comfortably with Grace, explaining while the master bedchamber had its own bathing room, the duchess’s suite did not. She also relayed that beneath the oldest wing of the house, down a set of stone steps and dipping deep into the earth, a series of caverns existed, complete with a tiny lake constantly fed by warm spring waters. The duke occasionally took his baths there.
Grace was fascinated that such a place existed somewhere below them. A similar spring was present at Bellmar Abbey, although it was not underground, but rather along the coast. She wondered if Nicholas would allow her to see the lake, especially as the maid exclaimed over the beautiful blue-green water that was somehow illuminated with light from deep below the surface.
Perhaps inviting interactions with the duke other than seeing through the terms of their contract was unwise. Contemplating her actions, the circumstances driving her to this point, Grace sighed, giving the girl permission to leave with a wave of her hand and a soft “thank you.”
When Nicholas was not present, alone with her own thoughts, Grace found herself much more level-headed. When he wasn’t kissing her like she was his last breath of air and he a drowning man, she could think clearly. What possessed her to offer herself without trying all options? This—this was a last resort, and she’d tossed it on the table at the first hint of Nicholas’s resistance.
Resistance. What resistance hadsheput up? The moment he touched her, she crumpled like scrap paper in his fist. In the hallway, he overwhelmed her. With heat. Excitement. Feelings unfamiliar infecting her bloodstream and running rampant through her veins while Nicholas appeared capable of turning off his emotions at will. In the blink of an eye, there outside his study, he became the icy, hard, wicked, and unmoving Duke of Richeforte. And when he commanded her, she obeyed without question.
Lost in her thoughts, she never heard the door open, nor his approach until a sound similar to a strangled groan alerted her. Nicholas stood motionless in the middle of the enormous suite, and Grace was reminded again of how beautiful he was. A beautiful, fallen angel. Then his spine straightened with such purpose, she knew something momentous was coming.
"Get out,” came the curt order. He’d changed from rain-soaked clothes into a coat of darkest black and a blinding white shirt. An equally pristine ascot was wrapped about his throat. He was dressed formally as if prepared to escort her into dinner.
She sank further into the copper tub. "I'm not done."
He ground his teeth; Grace was sure of it. She heard it clear across the room.
"Yes," he said, a strange tightness in his voice, "you are."
Dunking the sponge, she raised it level with her chin, then squeezed until warm, soapy water cascaded in rivulets over her shoulders and collarbone. Her eyes fluttered shut.
She must stand up to him, or this man would run roughshod over her during the course of the contract. If she didn't show a backbone, an ability to resist his commands, she'd never survive him.
He’ll consume me...
"You are a dreadful bully, my lord. Regardless of our arrangement, you will soon discover you cannot order...oh!!!"
His footsteps fell silent on the thick Aubusson rug. One moment she lounged in the tub, the next she was hauled from it, Nicholas's hand wrapped tight on her upper arm.
“How many times must I tell you to address me properly, little bee?” The growl was a silky threat, issued as he crushed her against his chest, heedless of the soaking his clothes received. “A lesson is in order, don’t you think?”
Grace’s squeal of protest landed on deaf ears; her struggles at wiggling free laughable at best.
"You are pushing me beyond the limits of mortal men."
Snatching up a plush towel, he held her in place with one hand. His other dragged the cloth across her body, scrubbing her skin as if intent on removing it from bone.
"Stop it!" Grace cried.
Grabbing the towel and covering her nudity while he dried her was impossible. Either modesty or tender flesh would suffer the consequences. A silent tug of war ensued, the cloth balanced as the prize.
When the towel delved between her legs, Grace gripped his hands with a desperation never experienced before. Dry-mouthed, knees wobbling, her command was shaky.
“I'm not a child! Stop this at once!”
Incredibly, Nicholas stilled, glittering green eyes boring into hers. His breath touched her cheek, hot and quick in direct contrast to the thick, icy control draped like a cloak about his massive shoulders.
"I've no intention of treating you like a child, Grace. Far from it."
Easily yanking the towel from her fingers, he continued the task of rubbing her down, his gaze never leaving hers, his breath coming fast and shallow until it matched her own. Together they sounded like a pair of blooded horses, heaving air into starved lungs after a prize race.
Panic flooded Grace. Was this it, then? The first night he would claim? The initial pound of flesh forfeited in exchange for her beloved stables suddenly seemed very dear. The cost too high. The magnitude of it, the reality of the agreement seeped in....clanging against her rib cage, battling for space with her wildly pounding heart.
