Page 8 of The Untamed Duke
Brushing the pillowy fullness of her lower lip, the pad of his thumb dipped in exploration. The tiny indentation in its middle was bewitching. Grace’s frown unfurled in an instant as he rubbed her lip. Her breath rushed across his thumb, her mouth falling open with the soft pressure.
What a pleasant diversion she could be. If he seduced innocents. And shewasinnocent, her gaze startled and curious. A shame his jaded tastes were indecently carnal—a sweet thing like her would never survive him. Maybe, after a year or two of marriage, bored with whatever husband they pushed upon her, maybe then he might pursue her. When there was no chance of entanglement. Until then, he would remain ignorant of how delicious she surely tasted. He also could not forget she was Sebastian’s cousin. The relation she shared with his oldest friend and sworn enemy was enough to keep him hundreds of miles from her.
"You know that’s not true, Tristan. How cruel you are, entertaining such thoughts. Grace is kinder than we deserve. Especially you, dear brother. Why you persist in vexing her, I’ll never understand," Celia admonished before offering unenthusiastically, "Perhaps she ventured into the maze. Should we look?”
"It’s like Satan’s lair in that maze," Tristan grumbled. "I lost Grace within it yesterday, and it was two hours before I found my way out of that hellhole. When I returned to the house, hot, sweaty, and scratched from foolish attempts of cutting through hedges, there she sat in the parlor. All cozy. Sharing a pot of tea with Mother and Lady Calmont. She enjoyed more than a few giggles at my expense. No, thank you. I’ll not enter this maze, nor another of its kind anytime soon."
Nicholas’s hand dropped. The thought of Tristan pursuing this girl sent an uncharacteristic jolt of anger coursing through him. If it happened again, Nicholas decided he would teach the viscount a lesson he’d not soon forget.
“Oh, my darling brother." Celia’s tone was soft with sadness. "Did I not warn you? Not to waste your affections? I adore Grace, we all do, but she does not regard you in the same manner. She loves Bellmar Abbey, her books and those horses. And not necessarily in that order. It’s better you turn your attention to another. Lady Violet, for example. She’s so sweet, and beautiful, and she—"
"Who? Lady Violet…? Oh, damnation, Celia! It’s Grace, and only Grace, that I want. I can make her love me. If she would just listen to reason." Tristan’s voice rang ugly with frustration and brandy. "She's run wild far too long. I don't know why Father approves of these ventures to Cornwall, wasting time with those damned nags and no supervision. Why does he allow her to go back there again and again? She must be taken in hand. And she won’t be able to hold the estate without a husband anyway…”
Feet stomped with haphazard heaviness down the gazebo steps.
“What do you mean to do, Tristan? Don't you dare walk away without telling me.”
"It doesn't matter. Forget I said anything. I'm going back to the party now, and I need another drink. Besides, aren't you looking for Richeforte? He arrived a while ago, I hear.”
Celia's lighter footsteps followed her brother's unsteady gait. Her reply was annoyed. “He’s proving very elusive, capable of disappearing at the snap of a finger. I saw him depart the house, but before I could catch up, he was gone.”
"Careful what you wish for, Celia. They call him a wolf for a reason, you know. Nicholas has no interest in the virginal set or securing a wife, for that matter. Prefers livelier game—and no strings attached. While I value his friendship, he's not someone I’d choose for my own sweet sister. He would chew up a little morsel like you, then spit your bones aside without blinking an eye." Tristan chuckled, not unkindly, but in the easy manner of a man intoxicated. "He’ll never marry, but if he did, I would actually pity the girl. Richeforte uses the fairer sex for one purpose, and it’s not one meant for innocents like you. I wish I was present when you set your cap for him. I would have saved you the trouble."
As the voices grew fainter, the danger of discovery lessening, Nicholas eased away from Grace. She observed him silently, no doubt curious why his friend spoke with such brutal honesty.
Celia's words drifted on the warm breeze, a thread of self-deprecating humor readily apparent. “Don’t be crude, Tristan. Perhaps when you abandon the pursuit of Grace, I'll do the same with Richeforte. Although, I suspect it will be far easier for me to remove my cap than you to remove yours.”
Chapter 3
Silence held before Grace trusted herself with words.
"Let me go, Richeforte."
Her voice was breathlessly high-pitched, a hand still pressed against the duke’s hip, their fingers still laced together. For unfathomable reasons, his free hand cupped her jaw, and were it possible to die from pleasure, Grace thought she might expire on the spot. Something fluttery sharp, like a thousand bees set free all at once, tumbled about her stomach.
How strange it was, her willingness to remain a complacent hostage in his arms for this long. This stranger, this man, held her too close, touching her with knowing hands. Searching out secrets she usually hid with precise care. That he was known as the Winter Wolf shook her more than she cared to admit. Was the title a result of his notoriously icy nature or because he devoured women and their foolish hearts? She suspected a combination of both. There was nothing wintery about his touch. His fingers were practically burning her skin.
"Richeforte." The name slipped from her lips in a shaky plea.
Eyes the color of an angry dragon glittered down at her, scorching and fierce. "May I impart a word of advice, Lady Willsdown?"
Grace swallowed, sensing a restrained violence inside him. It lurked below the civilized exterior. She felt it in the hand on her jaw. Advice? The infamous, immoral Duke of Richeforte offered advice?
"Endeavor not to find yourself alone with Longleigh again."
Grace’s mouth tightened. "I assure you, Tristan has always..."
A feral snarl interrupted her. "I’ll not repeat myself.”
"He is your closest friend."
"And why I know you should not be alone with him."
“What of you?" she responded, brow arched. It was foolish, challenging him, but she couldn’t help herself. "Should I be wary of you?"
"Yes. Especially me." Richeforte’s grim scowl confirmed. "I am the worst of the worst. Inquire of anyone. Or perhaps you might seek counsel from your own dear cousin and heed his advice."
"Let me loose, and I’ll heed yours now."
