Page 44 of The Untamed Duke
They silently returned to the mansion for their own breakfast, avoiding numerous rain puddles and downed tree limbs scattered about the pathway. Grace watched the groundskeepers haul away a large branch that had fallen from an oak tree. She was so overwhelmed by the tornado of Nicholas’s attentions, she’d not realized the intensity of the night’s storms.
Oakmont’s butler, imposing and of an indeterminate age, opened the mansion’s doors as she and Nicholas ascended the last half of the numerous stone steps.
“Thank you, Teaks,” Nicholas said, guiding Grace inside with a hand in the middle of her back. She could barely breathe with the weight of it, and she smiled nervously at the stoic butler.
“Your Grace. Milady.”
Teaks’s grey head nodded, closing the front door quietly behind them. In the massive center hall, decorated in rich tones of emerald and gold, boasting an impossibly high barrel ceiling encrusted with medallions and ornate trim, a pair of young maids paused in their dusting duties. In wide-eyed wonderment, they stared at Grace before dipping matching curtsies.
Nicholas’s lack of concern with the household staff seeing her, when she should not even be there, eased Grace’s apprehension. Her impulsive smile at the girls sent them into even more curtsies and a chorus of “Good Morning, milady! Good morning, Your Grace!”
Upon viewing the seating arrangements in the huge dining room, a frown of consternation furrowed Grace’s brow. Nicholas purposefully placed her at one end of the impossibly long table, giving her a formal bow before taking a seat at the end. A space wider than the English Channel stretched between them. Conversation was impossible. A hundred people could easily fit between them, and Grace’s fingers lightly drummed on the pristine, white tablecloth as she considered methods of erasing the distance.
One of eight footmen leaped into action when her empty teacup clinked on its saucer. In a matter of seconds, the cup was refilled while Grace squirmed. Why two people required so many servants for one meal was mystifying. She was never comfortable having servants hovering about, anticipating her every move. And these footmen were so impassive. Not even the tiniest of smiles cracked their expressionless facades. But their eyes were kind, each man nodding respectively whenever she glanced their way.
Still, they unnerved her.
She leaned over, peeking around three magnificent porcelain centerpieces overflowing with a profusion of lilies, roses, snapdragons and greenery. Nicholas could barely be seen. Six towering candelabras with no less than twenty candles each also adorned the dining table. A breakfast service for the duke and one for her, complete with domed platters, pots of tea, coffee and hot chocolate, occupied each respective end of the table as well. Grace decided a map might be necessary if she wanted to locate her host.
She fidgeted with the neckline of her lovely borrowed dress as egg soufflé, strips of bacon and a fluffy scone were placed on her plate. When a footman delicately smeared currant jam and clotted cream on the scone, Grace couldn’t help tsking beneath her breath.
“Would milady prefer a different flavor?” The servant politely inquired with a raised eyebrow. He appeared both differential and genuinely puzzled by Grace’s show of faint exasperation.
She smiled, nodding at the scone he held in one hand and the small knife in the other. “No, thank you. Currant is my favorite. Only, I prefer doing such things myself.”
“Of course, milady.”
Silence filled the room again, and as the seconds passed, Grace became certain Nicholas was intentionally avoiding her. Were their moments of shared intimacy so disturbing? Did he wish to be rid of her as quickly as the other women warming his bed? Her jaw tightened. Motioning the footman closer, she murmured her request and rose from her chair.
At the other end of the table, Nicholas tilted sideways until Grace filled his line of sight. A scowl darkened his features. “Is the food not to your liking? The kitchen will prepare anything—”
“It’s not that, Your Grace.” With purposeful strides, she stalked the length of the room. Juggling plates, silverware, teacup and saucer, three nervous footmen trailed in her wake.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Grace plopped into the chair on Nicholas’s right. “There. Much better, don't you think? I wondered if I should send a message from my end of the table, requiring permission to join you. But in the time it would take sending an answer, breakfast would be over,” she teased while her meal was reassembled.
“This is not how it’s done,” Nicholas growled.
“No doubt that’s true.” Grace took a bite of eggs, chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I’ve not yet learned how it’s done. Lady Darby has done a terrible job instructing how one should properly take breakfast at a duke’s table.”
He snorted. “A paltry excuse, and you know it.”
“Perhaps, but Your Grace, you honestly could not prefer I remain a world away while within the same room. Besides, I was lonely down there.”
“Lonely,” Nicholas repeated, taking a sip of coffee, gaze narrowed as he examined her. “You don’t understand the danger you are in.”
Her eyes collided with his. “Yes, I do.”
“Should you value even an inch of your tantalizing hide, you will return to your former seat.” Emerald green eyes flashing, he said, dangerously soft, “Now.”
“I’d rather not,” Grace replied just as softly, determination lacing her words.
“Stay, and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
Grace flicked a glance at the impassive servants, hesitant in light of the quietly heated statement. Hopefully, the duke’s words were difficult to understand in the cavernous room.
Catching the path of her concern, Nicholas gave the slightest wave of his hand. Precisely five seconds later, the footmen exited, and they were now alone.
“Who will prepare my scones now?” Grace murmured, biting back a nervous laughter. “They haven’t enough cream, and in such a short time, I’ve become accustomed to being coddled.” She licked the clotted cream from the top of the little biscuit.
