Page 3 of The Untamed Duke
Approaching in a leisurely fashion, hard boot heels punched out a restrained staccato on the marble floor. Grace’s insides spiraled in frantic eddies of suspense. She dared not move a muscle. Not even when tiny hairs on the back of her neck shifted, each wisp arching, lifting from her skin. They leaned and strained toward that husky voice. The hair on her arms did the same.
What the devil…?
“You’ve no more fainted than I have. Get up. Now.”
Indecision froze Grace’s muscles. Should she continue this subterfuge? Or obey the quiet command? How inconsiderate he was, forcing such a choice on her. The cad. Temper sparked with panic at the impossible situation.
Oh, please go away. Please.
“You obviously require my assistance after all. If one can consider it such.” The interloper’s voice dropped a noticeable degree, cold and hot all at once. His offer did not convey the impression of benefiting the situation at all. “I won’t be as gentle as Longleigh. Of that, you can be certain.”
Gritting her teeth at the man’s rudeness, Grace rolled onto her back, moaning in what she hoped was a convincing act of someone recovering from a faint. Her eyes screwed shut as he crouched beside her and something inside her stomach clenched at the overwhelming sense of power emanating from him.
Lashes fluttering, she blinked a few times. “Wh-what happened?”
Piercing and cold, the greenest pair of eyes Grace had ever encountered stared back. Pinned her in place as if she were a helpless rabbit at the mercy of a hungry wolf. In some vague corner of her mind, she registered the ruthless beauty of the masculine visage looming over her.
“How very... theatrical.” A thin line of impatience stretched his mouth.
“Wh-what?” she squeaked.
Those emerald eyes narrowed. “What a waste in this refined setting. The stage is your calling, I think. Are you an actress? I’ve not much luck with actresses, unfortunately.”
While he spoke, gorgeous mouth forming words, Grace considered his stunning features. With such long legs, he was undoubtedly tall. As tall as Tristan, possibly more so. And definitely muscular but contained in a lean, sleek frame, with broad shoulders blocking her view of the gazebo ceiling. She almost expected a graceful spread of gilded wings to unfurl behind him. He could be a fallen angel, with that head of dark, tousled gold hair and those magnificently colored eyes.
As if contemplating what to do, the man leaned on his haunches, his hand rubbing over a scuffed, well-defined square jaw. Thick, black eyelashes concealed his thoughts.
“Longleigh has no inkling of the deception you’re capable of.”
Grace’s senses rebounded, and with them came indignant outrage. “An actress...are you mad? I’m not… oh, my God. You— you watched Longleigh attack me.”
“Attack?” A smile that wasn’t really a smile, then, “A trifling of a kiss. I’d say the viscount got the worst of the encounter.” His arm draped casually over an upraised knee. “And if not an actress, you must be one of the annoying offerings on the marriage mart this Season.” He casually switched topics with barely the flicker of an eyelash. “This is quite tedious, you know, kneeling in this manner.”
Grace’s jaw clenched.Did he truly insinuate kissing me is worse than being mauled? After calling me an actress? And annoying?
“I should have struck Longleigh harder. He certainly deserved harder.”And so do you!
“Quite the performance, regardless.” An overtly masculine brow lifted. “Do you intend on lying there all afternoon? If so, I’ll join you and make this incident worthwhile.”
“Oh! How dare you!”
Her skirts were hopelessly tangled— to the point that shifting her bottom to get her legs beneath her was necessary. Rolling sideways, face flushed pink with embarrassment and annoyance, Grace gave the excess silk pinned under her arse a twitch, followed by a desperate, furious tug.
Her mouth formed a startled “Oh!” of surprise when she was snatched to her feet. Released in equally rapid fashion, she stumbled, but the stranger readily caught her. While he held her upper arms, steadying her, Grace experienced a strength that left no doubt of the man’s authority. Beneath her palms, which landed somehow on his abdomen, there was a smoldering power. Power granting him the key to anything he wanted.
Those muscles contracted with her touch, and his hands constricted around her arms. Tight, yet exquisitely gentle, those large, strong hands told Grace everything in the compacted space of a few seconds.
Possessive. Restrained. Any lesson will be swift, explicit and unforgettable. He will handle his horses in the same manner...
The next thought sizzled her brain.
...and his women.
Wearing a slight frown, the stranger released her, bending to retrieve her book. The title was examined before he handed it over.
“Studying up on battle maneuvers for your next encounter? Viking invasions were rather brutal affairs.”
Goodness, the man was sinfully gorgeous, his suit coat stretching across bulges exquisitely restrained beneath black cloth. Grace was reminded of a large, tawny wolf, his air of authority leaving her nerves in a puzzling tangle. He was slightly taller than Tristan, so it was necessary she tilt her head when meeting his gaze. She did not care for men so much taller than she. It resulted in an awful crick in her neck when carrying on a conversation for any length of time. However, she didn’t mind at the moment, and she was breathless just looking at him. His features could have been sculpted by a master artist. With those high cheekbones and his straight nose, she’d never before seen a man so insanely handsome.
