Page 38 of The Untamed Duke
He spoke nonchalantly, as though this were an everyday occurrence for him. A peer of the realm, a duke, rummaging about in the darkened kitchens gathering his own meal. Since her recent immersion into society, Grace knew there were members of the peerage unable to bumble their way out of their own homes without a map and assistance, much less find the pathway to the kitchens. Constructing a sandwich from two slices of bread required even more cleverness.
"Are you shocked by my resourcefulness, or the fact I can focus on something other than sex?" Nicholas asked as he poured two glasses of wine.
Grace blushed at the casual mention of lovemaking.
"Is it very late?" Her voice was a husky murmur. Strange even to her ears, it did not escape her notice when Nicholas’s grin faltered.
Staring as if mesmerized by the very sight of her, he finally shrugged and took a sip of wine. "Just before twelve. The witching hour." He gestured toward her with the wine goblet. "Come, come. Surely, you must be hungry. I promise I shall not bite you." His grin was a quick flash of blinding sunlight. "Or kiss you."
She clutched the covers tighter. His smile made her pulse leap in crazy spikes. She did not recall seeing him smile so easily at Calmont Downs. He’d been quite stone-faced there.
"I’ve nothing to wear, Your Grace. Unless I use the bedsheets..."
"I've no objections seeing you dine au naturel at my table. Indeed, I prefer it."
Grace's chin tilted. "I'm not your plaything." Only four hours ago, Nicholas pulled her from the tub. A lifetime ago. She became a different creature during that interlude. Now, she wasn’t sure what she was, but she was positive she would not be a toy for his amusement.
His eyes glittered with the fire of rare emeralds as he considered her calm assertion. Then his shoulders lifted in casual shrug. "Very well."
Setting his glass down, Nicholas stalked to the dressing room and Grace stiffened. When he disappeared into that room before, he’d emerged with silken ties and the ability to steal her soul.
This time, he merely tossed her a black robe similar to his own.
"I apologize for its size, but it will suffice for the occasion." He turned his back, a subtle gift of privacy. "It may surprise you that my legion of female conquests do not keep articles of clothing here."
"I would think at least one would have left something behind." Grace despised the tiny thread of jealousy coloring her voice.
"You are the first woman to sleep in this bed—that is, the first since I became Duke and began sleeping here myself. I've never allowed a woman above the first floor of this godforsaken place." A smile colored his words. "Does that please you?"
When she was sufficiently enclosed in black silk, Grace threw back the covers and padded to the table, pulling the sash of the robe as tight as possible. The sleeves flopped well past the end of her fingertips and the garment’s length meant she must gather it up in one hand so she wouldn't trip.
Nicholas swiveled, watching her approach. The corner of his firm lips twitched. "You look quite sumptuous in black silk, honeybee."
Grace frowned. "I fail to see the basis for this nickname you have given me."
He laughed softly, reaching for her hand. "I've my reasons and explained them before. There’s all that sweetness, along with a possibility of finding a stinger in my hand when I touch you. But because I like honey, I’ll keep returning to the hive for more." He rolled one sleeve up past her wrist. "I wonder, Grace, have you always been single-minded in your determination to get what you want? Even if it is to your detriment?"
"Have you?" she countered, already knowing the answer. He’d go to any lengths necessary in gaining what he wanted.
Nicholas did not reply as the robe’s cuff revealed red stripes encircling her flesh.
Tracing the welt with a gentle finger, his brows drew together in a pensive frown.
"Christ, I'm sorry for these..." The moment the hushed whisper escaped his lips, his gaze snapped to Grace’s startled one.
The apology slipped out without conscious thought and his face darkened. Even with her limited social polish, Grace knew that this man never, ever apologized. For anything. He lived with no regrets. His actions never met repercussions.
His mouth flattened. "I'm sure you understand the damage to my reputation if it’s bandied about I've uttered an apology of any kind. I am Richeforte. I never apologize."
Grace pulled her hand back and finished rolling up the sleeve. "You made that perfectly clear once before. Besides, I can't imagine how I would explain the circumstances of this monumental event. Relax. Your secret is safe." She sat at the table, waiting for him to join her.
Nicholas’s usual indifference slipped into place. "Regardless, I shall refrain from leaving such marks in the future." He took his seat, handing her the other glass. "Such drastic measures are no longer needed at this juncture anyway."
She blushed at his observation and the reference to the pleasure found at his hands. Taking a quick gulp of her wine, she murmured, "No, I don’t suppose I will fight you on the remaining nights."
Lifting her clear, direct gaze, she found Nicholas staring as if he found her quite fascinating.
"A pity," he murmured. "I enjoy having you at my mercy. An intriguing situation. As were your responses."
