Page 52 of The Untamed Duke
“I was devastated it didn’t occur sooner. He was a miserable bastard.”
Grace did not immediately respond. Nicholas knew she compared the affection for her own parents with the hatred he carried for the man who sired him.
In a little exercise of courage, she cleared her throat. “Is he the cause for the marks on your back?”
The question was asked so tenderly, Nicholas almost discounted it. His eyes narrowed slightly in warning. “What did you say?”
Grace traced the pattern on the tablecloth with a forefinger. “It’s just...I felt them. I cannot understand what they are. Or why they are there. But, I think I know and only a monster would—"
“Enough!” Nicholas’s hand slammed down on the table, shaking the cutlery and causing the glasses to teeter precariously. He trembled with emotion. Anger; at Grace or himself, he wasn’t sure. Despair. Because his father really was a monster. Hatred. For his father. Always for his father.
“It is none of your concern,” he finally managed, biting the words out because they tasted bitter on his tongue.
Grace tilted her head as if attempting to solve a puzzle or perplexing riddle. “When my father’s ship sank five years ago, Llyr was one of three living creatures that survived. He was trapped in a cove for more than a week before anyone located the wreckage, and since he was but a two-year-old and only trained to a halter, he was quite wild. I can’t imagine what he endured. Trapped on the ship, then breaking free and swimming to shore during a horrible storm. It’s why I named him after a god of water. He conquered the sea. Survived. I chose the perfect name for him.”
Her sweet, soft voice drifted over Nicholas. Soothing. Calming. Entrancing. “A pitiful thing he was. Starving. Frightened. Savage. He’s a magnificent horse, but that wreck nearly destroyed him. Hugh MacCormac, our stablemaster, thought we should put him down. Llyr suffered numerous gashes on his flanks from debris and rocks, but the worst injury was to his mind. Hugh said Llyr would never recover from the trauma. And even if he did, he would always be dangerous and unstable.”
Nicholas glared at Grace. She was sucking him in, lulling him with her gentleness. She miraculously struck him silent when he wanted more than anything to rail and curse.
“Every day for a year, I cared for Llyr, putting special poultices on his wounds so they would fade away. Gaining his trust, accustoming him to my touch until the dear thing was restored to health and I could train him. But do you know what I discovered, Your Grace? Even when wounds heal, they leave a trace on the flesh and on the mind. Although the marks faded, something as simple as a rainshower would refresh the scars in his memory. It was quite dangerous, for one never knew if he would lash out. However, I was persistent and stubborn. It took nearly three years before he realized the sound of thunder or the crack of lightning did not mean the end of him. Or maybe he simply forgot the cruelty of the shipwreck. He began greeting me at the gate, looking for an apple or scratch under his forelock. Nickering when I entered the stables. Letting me ride him bareback, with nothing but a grip on his mane. Trusting me...”
The blazing heat surely evident in his gaze finally provided results. Grace’s words trailed off in awkward silence while Nicholas nearly bit his lower lip in half, fearing the release of his own savagery. But it couldn't be helped.
“Are you goddamn serious?” he breathed in furious wonderment. “Do you think it is such a straightforward matter as treats and a caress? Or affection? Are you so simple-minded, you believe it's possible I can be cured of my past? Make no mistake, Grace. Sharing a bed does not change anything. Fucking you will not magically erase my darkness. You hope it does, don’t you? You hope our time together is so astounding and breathtaking, I’ll realize how I’ve hurt and used you and take steps at rectifying the situation.”
Nicholas reached across the table, grabbing her wrist, holding tight even when Grace cried out, twisting in a useless bid for freedom. “Foolish girl. You see, I enjoy using you,” he hissed. “I enjoy hurting you even more. Because,thatis my true nature, honeybee. Do not seek anything deeper than what you see on the surface. And understand this. When our time is done, I will forget you and find the same pleasures between another woman’s legs. And another after her. And another.”
Tears welled in Grace’s honey colored eyes, her lower lip quivering. She looked at him as though he truly were a monster come to life. Nicholas’s lips curved. Hewasa monster. His father’s son. A man without honor or friends. It was best she learned that lesson now.
“Go,” he ordered suddenly, in a voice deep and raw. He released her wrist. “Wait for me in your bedchamber. I can see you need proof of my cruelty to understand it. I’ll show you. I’llenjoyit more than you can possibly fathom...bloody hell, how I will enjoy breaking you.”
A mocking laugh escaped him when she sprang from the table, toppling over her wine glass in her haste. Nicholas thought she would run from him as fast as she could, but at the terrace doors Grace came to a halt. She slowly turned back to face him. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, the sounds of the night gliding about them. Her voice drifted over him, soft as a doe’s hoofprints in the forest.
“You won’t forget me, Nicholas. I won’t allow it. You’ve more in common with Llyr than you can possibly understand. A lost, dark, frightened creature deserving of kindness and understanding, and patience, no matter how dreadfully you kick and bite anyone who comes near. You delude yourself if you believe you will ever be able to forget me. And you won’t break me. No matter how hard you try.”
In response, Nicholas drained the wine in his glass, then reached for the nearly empty bottle. His jaw set in a tight clench when the salon doors clicked shut behind her.
Chapter 20
Grace stalked from the salon, fury and despair combining in a dizzying cocktail of emotions. She was trembling and there was no doubt if she stayed on the terrace a moment longer, she would have slapped Nicholas with all her might. For the hateful, disrespectful way he spoke. For making her care. For making her hope he would ever possibly care.
His attentiveness during dinner surprised her, as well as his willingness in discussing his mother. And his father. Grace appreciated his dry wit, how he seemed relaxed but wary. A state of being she related to, having now spent time amongst society. One could never truly let down your guard, but Nicholas had opened up, even if it was just a little.
Then without warning, he lashed out, hating either the truth of her words or the emptiness he carried inside himself. Perhaps both. Regardless, his cutting words hurt her terribly. He truly had the power to draw blood, and although the effort of staying her hand tested her willpower, the incident also steadied her resolve.
I will succeed! I will! He needs me, even if he is not yet aware of it.
More than an hour passed before the faint sounds of movement came from the adjoining room. She heard low, masculine voices and assumed Strawn, Nicholas’s valet, was there assisting him. It was still early in the evening, and Grace wondered if he might indulge in a brandy or cigar before retiring.
She’d already disrobed with the help of the same sweet maid who assisted her that morning. Now Grace stood at the door of the antechamber wearing nothing more than a flimsy chemise. Indecision froze her limbs. Was she supposed to go to him? Or would he come to her?
The door to the duke’s chambers clicked shut, and the valet’s footsteps echoed in the hall. Grace shifted from one foot to another for what seemed an eternity. Waiting. Wondering. God help her—hoping.
Her temper, successfully stifled until now, grew like a summer weed watered with Nicholas’s neglect.
She entered the antechamber, a hand on the doorknob to the master chamber. One twist of her wrist, and she would stand before him.
And what then?
