Page 43 of The Untamed Duke
These were previously his mother’s rooms. When his father died and Nicholas claimed possession of Oakmont, she took up residence in a different wing of the house. She insisted her old rooms were for the new Duchess of Richeforte, whomever that might be. Nicholas didn’t have the heart to remind his mother he had no intention of ever marrying. She was pleased when he redecorated the space in shades of soft creams and light sage green. A far cry from the severe black and gold his father insisted upon in all the private living spaces.
Nicholas listened for a moment, hearing voices coming from within the room, followed by the click of a door as someone exited out into the hall. With a deep breath, he pushed the antechamber door open and entered as if braving a lion’s den.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Grace trilled.
She sat perched beside the fireplace in a lovely chair upholstered in cream and gold damask. A small fruitwood table held a tea tray, and she cradled a delicate cup as if warming her hands. Swamped by black silk, her bare feet were curled in the seat under the excess fabric, all but hidden beneath the robe. Her freshly brushed hair was a cascade of sunlight streaming over her shoulders.
“You just missed Miss Martha. What a delightful woman...you are certainly fortunate having her as your housekeeper. She’s promised my clothes shall be clean and dry by tomorrow morning.”
Grace smiled at him. As if he’d not ruined her the night before. As if he’d not thrust his fingers inside her. As if he never ravaged her mouth with his. As if he wasn’t intimately acquainted with the curves of her lush, golden backside.
Nothing could be lovelier than seeing her features light up at the mere sight of him. Nicholas’s heart skipped. Yes, skipped. And then clenched when he heartlessly crushed his own reaction. She was so bright and shiny. The silk wrapped about her like a thundercloud trying to encompass the sun. And he was the frantic storm, roaring in, destroying everything.
Tilting her head, her eyes traveled his form. Then she blushed, remembrances of the night staining her cheeks a pretty pink.
Nicholas’s cock twitched. He remembered too. It infuriated him.
“You must go.” His words were a guttural rasp.
Grace’s eyes snapped up, meeting his, and her wide smile almost broke him.
“I must? Miss Martha said the bridge at Riverbend Road is underwater. How do you propose I go home?” She took a sip of tea, watching him over the cup’s gilt rim. “I could take the long way about. It would mean a four-day journey and two nights at an inn. And, of course, there’s no way of knowing the conditions of the roads so far from here.”
Damn. His luck could not be any worse. No way in hell could he allow Grace to undertake the trip alone, even with a couple of his footmen and her groom accompanying her. And should word leak he traveled with her...the repercussions could bury them both.
“It appears I’ll be here for a couple of days, at least. I suppose I shall need something other than this robe to wear.” Grace plucked at the hem of the garment, shooting a glance at Nicholas from beneath a fringe of sable dark lashes when he did not respond. “May I beg a favor, Your Grace? I’d like to check on Llyr’s welfare. As well as my groom, Robbie. Will you accompany me? I realize you are very busy being a duke, but I welcome your company. And if you will show me the library after that, I’ll occupy myself there and keep out from underfoot.”
Underfoot? All Nicholas could envision was Graceunderhim. That was dangerous. He should stay as far away from her as possible until she departed Oakmont. “There are matters I must attend—”
“Oh, please. Won’t you come with me?” she interrupted. “I’d rather not go alone. It shall be less awkward if you are with me…”
Soundlessly touching down amidst his orderly life, destroying his walls with a sweet smile and sparkling eyes, Grace Willsdown was truly the little storm others called her.
If Nicholas could manage it, he would see that she quickly whirled out of his life.
Chapter 17
The duke was jumpy as a scalded cat, maneuvering around Grace as if she were made of glass.
After obtaining the necessary items, Grace pulled Llyr from his stall and set about currying the horse. Robbie, devouring a bowl of porridge from a nearby bench, offered his help, but Grace shook her head to the contrary. Brushing the horse out with brisk, efficient strokes, she laughed softly whenever he nudged her with his large head. It was only when she pulled out the tool to clean Llyr’s hooves did Nicholas intervene.
“Let me do that,” he ordered. Realizing her borrowed dress might be ruined, Grace silently handed over the instrument. He began with one of the stallion’s rear hooves.
Llyr stood immobile, sleek and hewn of ebony stone. When the first hoof was done, Nicholas released it from his grip, then grunted in pain. That same hoof, the size of a small village, currently sat atop Nicholas’s boot, stomped there with the willful nature of a bully eager to prove his mettle.
Nicholas shoved the horse’s flank, finally moving the beast off his foot. He bent over with a sigh of relief when Llyr let out a nicker that sounded curiously like a chuckle. Swishing his thick tail into Nicholas’s face, the horse peered over his shoulder as if checking on how the duke was taking things.
“Grace,” Nicholas bit out. “I highly recommend this horse be gelded.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Grace exclaimed. “Llyr! What a naughty boy you are! I’m sorry, Your Grace. He’s likely a bit out of sorts because of the storm and unfamiliar surroundings. He’s not done that in a long time.”
Catching Robbie’s incredulous squint, Grace shook her head, encouraging the lad’s silence. The stallion did this sort of thing on a regular basis. Never with his full weight, but enough so a person understood the necessity of hoof cleaning was not a favorite procedure.
“Gelding will temper bad behavior.” Nicholas quickly finished the other three hooves, carefully stepping aside before letting the hoof fall from his hand.
“Then I would have no stables to speak of. Llyr is the heart of Bellmar Abbey. He is the very reason Bellmar still exists,” Grace commented cheerfully, smoothing a hand down the stallion’s thick neck. Llyr leaned into his mistress, dozing like a sleepy cat in the sun. “Besides, gelding is an extreme measure and completely unsuited for a horse of his caliber. One must allow concessions for such a magnificent creature. Don’t you agree?”
Nicholas merely grunted. When Llyr was groomed to Grace’s satisfaction, the duke led the horse back to his stall. He stood silent as she kissed and whispered in the stallion’s ear. Grace did not care it was silly or that Nicholas probably believed her foolish in forming an attachment to an animal. Showering the beast with love, she found herself thinking Nicholas would benefit immensely from such affection.
