Page 80 of The Untamed Duke
And love a sickness
Romantics do enjoy
But a wolf takes what he wills
Love be damned
~Nicholas August Harris March
Ninth Duke of Richeforte
Nicholas scribbledhis signature on the document, rubbing a hand over his eyes. His head ached again. But no more than his heart. He rubbed that, too, hoping it would assuage the dreadful pain there.
“Too much activity, Your Grace,” His efficient housekeeper grumbled, placing a second pot of coffee and a fresh cup on his desk. She patted his hand. “You are overdoing things. It’s too soon for you to be up and about like you are. Why, the doctor said you should…”
“Never mind the doctor, Martha.” Another lecture revolving around his abysmal role as a patient was dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Do you have today’s post?”
“Of course.” Martha withdrew a stack of envelopes from the deep pocket of her apron. She loaded the tea tray with used dishes, then exited the study, muttering how stubborn men were.
Nicholas tossed aside each piece of mail until he saw the one he wanted.Sir Cedric Barrymore.Tearing the heavy vellum open and scanning the contents, he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. Being a duke carried some benefit. At the very least, it proved useful in luring England’s favorite architect away from official duties in Her Majesty’s employ.
He picked up the document he was working on. It was a transfer of ownership, releasing all rights and benefits of his Scottish stallion. Not into the estate of Bellmar Abbey, or even Lord Darby, her guardian, but directly to Lady Grace Willsdown. She alone would own Skye, and no one would be able to say otherwise. There was another document too. One dissolving the encumbrance against Bellmar Abbey. Now she could marry anyone she wished, if she chose to, not because she had to.
Just the thought of her marryinganyonemade Nicholas’s head pound with even greater ferocity. Eventually, she would marry. If not Tristan, then some other man.
He remembered how bravely she stood on the steps of Bellmar Abbey days before. Her lips trembling, heart-shaped chin raised with determination while he rode away. She didn’t know it, but he'd gripped the handle of the coach door, ready to fling it open. Wild thoughts of leaping from the vehicle, racing back and showering her face with kisses had assailed him. He almost stopped the coach, demanding she leave with him. He would have kissed her without mercy all the way to Oakmont. Would have told her he couldn’t live without her. Would have made sure she understood his survival wasn’t possible without her.
Instead, he reclined against the creamy leather. Instructed himself not to look back. Willed his heart not to love her.
Which was ridiculous. His heart beat for Grace with strange, erratic thumps he knew would persist for eternity. He would stand silent while she married another, dream of her at night, and curse his wicked life that made being with her impossible.
Nicholas reached for the coffee pot, then abruptly reconsidered.Brandy, instead. Bourbon would be better.Something stronger, which might erase this damnable heartache. A bottle of the finest whiskey from his cellars was in his grasp sometime later. After a while, he almost believed he could forget her.
Almost.
* * *
“Nicholas.”
He shook his head. Dreaming again. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he woke, hearing Grace’s sweet voice. The demons inside him would rage until he put thoughts down on paper. But even that wasn’t working in his favor anymore.
Mumbling, he reached for the whiskey bottle, positive he’d placed it within reach of his bed. He groped about, then half-remembered he was in his study. He’d fallen asleep, exhausted from restless nights and hours engaged in frantic scribblings in his journal. God, he thought he was actually going crazy. Could one go insane from heartbreak?
“Nicholas. Wake up.”
Her voice again.Wonderful.Now she’d come to haunt him in truth, her lilting voice tumbling about in his head. Driving him mad.
A gentle hand stroked his hair, brushing back a lock where it fell into his eyes. He groaned in actual pain. This dream was so real. He smelled the heather and lemons that always drifted around Grace. Felt the light, drifting brush of her fingers on the nape of his neck. He trembled.
“Would you rather I go? I won’t venture very far. Just outside the door. I’ll wait for you to wake up…”
What an odd thing for dream Grace to say.
Nicholas slowly opened his eyes, staring into golden ones. She stood beside him, bent over and peering into his face. Lines of worry etched the corners of her mouth; she looked tired and pale. Hanging in a golden waterfall, her hair tumbled mostly free of its pins.
It’s always doing that, Nicholas thought with a smile.
“Hello,” Grace whispered when his mouth lifted at the corners. “Are you awake? Nicholas…?”
