Page 93 of The Untamed Duke
An image of her, sleek and wet, between his thighs, slipping beneath the water, taking him into her mouth, seared Nicholas’s brain. The memory of her perfect, golden bottom bearing the imprint of his palms, the marks of his fingers, sent a surge of giddy possessiveness ricocheting through his blood. His groan was a mix of amusement and undiluted lust.
He swept her into his arms, licking droplets of water from her jaw, from her throat, from her lips.
“Grace,” he murmured, eyes closing in a belated effort of gaining a bit of sanity, “if someone else doesn’t accomplish the task, I swear you’ll be the death of me.”
Chapter 37
The next few days were ones of idyllic bliss. Days of searing heat and pleasure and sinful kisses. Other than those two encounters the first night, Nicholas was careful in using the contraceptives each time they made love. After much giggling on Grace’s part and heated whispered instructions from Nicholas, they even managed using the sponges. Grace preferred those. There was nothing between them when that method was utilized, but sometimes, Nicholas was too impatient to wait for their precise placement. Instead, he would hurriedly roll on a condom, taking her in a flurry of fierce possessiveness that left Grace breathless.
Wrapped in a cocoon of blindness to anything other than their insatiable need for one another, neither would admit aloud the paradise would surely end soon. They spent nights indulging their passion, and hours in the sun laughing, teasing and touching, heedless of the staff who watched their master in a state of confused awe. Indeed, the first afternoon following the cave interlude, Teaks rushed to Nicholas’s aid during tea, thinking he was choking. The butler was waved away from the parlor by the duke, who was laughing so hard, he couldn't catch his breath.
“And you were how old? Nine?” Nicholas asked.
Grace nodded. “Yes. In my best dress, with new velvet ribbons and pins holding this dratted straight hair of mine in place. We were on our way to meet the new village pastor, but my parents weren’t ready to leave, so I snuck outside. Instead of visiting the stables as I usually did, I went to the little brook behind the house. The day before, I’d read most of Shakespeare’sA Midsummer’s Night Dream,and I’d convinced myself a society of fairies resided there at the water’s edge among the lily pads.
"At first, I stood on the banks, like a good girl. Soon enough, I inched my way further into the shallows and began hopping from stone to stone. I was an enchanted frog, you see, hoping a frog prince would find me. Or maybe one of the fairies, with gossamer wings spun of golden spiderwebs and wearing a crown made from dewdrops.” She giggled, warmed when Nicholas smiled too. “There were dragonflies. And butterflies. And robins calling to one another. Alas, no fairies. Then, in a patch of sunlight, I saw a flash of green and gold in the water. I leaned over for a closer look and slipped. I tumbled right in. Completely. Drenched head to toe. The water was not very deep, but it was so cold, and when I sat up, a very real frog sat perched atop my head, singing a ballad only frogs must know. He was hopelessly entangled in ribbons and my hair.”
In-between their mutual laughter, Grace continued. “I trudged home, my frog riding along, bellowing the entire time, and explained to my mother the circumstances of how I found my prince. Her shrieks echoed through the house every time that poor frog blinked. It took her and Mrs. Cooper some time to cut the poor fellow loose, and either he was terribly frightened or very brave, for he did not move or croak once after making all that racket on the trip to the house. Afterward, I insisted Father carry him back to the brook, and that was the last I saw of my prince. I’m quite sure he and the fairies had a jolly laugh at my expense.”
They collapsed against the settee, and Nicholas tugged Grace into his arms. He wiped a tear of amusement from his eye. “It is a good thing you’ve not set your standards very high since then. I could never compete with such a stoic nature.” He traced a finger over the modest neckline of her rose-pink gown, flicking the lace edging the bodice almost thoughtfully.
Grace wrinkled her nose and half-heartedly shoved his chest. “Perhaps you are my frog prince come to life after all these years. Seeking revenge for that bit of time trapped in my hair ribbons.” She blushed, thinking of their time in the lake beneath the castle and knew he was thinking of it too when his lips lifted in a secret smile. “Now, you’ve stolen and bound my heart instead.”
Nicholas sobered, drawing her closer until their noses almost touched. At this proximity, she could discern all the variants of green that made up his eyes. A sparkling array of emerald and jade and soft moss green. A bit of gold edged the irises, his lashes so long and thick, any woman would be jealous of them. She was reminded of that green-gold burst of color she saw that day in the brook, just below the water’s surface. As a child, she believed something magical existed there.
That same wondrous, beautiful flash was here now, just beneath the glittering wariness in Nicholas’s gaze. Falling into the depths of his eyes didn't frighten her. She would capture that elusive beauty, although she knew Nicholas would be horrified knowing she could plainly see what was within his soul, the yearning for something just beyond his grasp. A chance at happiness he believe he didn't deserve.
“But, you’ve nothing in common with so placid a creature.” Grace’s head tilted as she regarded him and the way his expression turned slightly defensive. “I think instead, you are a golden wolf prince from deep within the forest. Wild and untamed. Savage, yet clever enough that you came for me while I waited in a civilized hedge maze. No... not a frog at all. But a wolf. My own wild, wicked wolf.
“I wish…” Nicholas began thickly, then swallowed. “I wish things were different. I wish I’d done things differently in the beginning with you.”
Grace smiled gently, caressing his jaw. “They are different now, and that’s all that matters, Nicholas. The past, the beginning...they mean nothing to me at this moment. I only care that you want me.”
“I want you.” The words were nearly a growl but not of a sexual nature. It was a sound of frustration and stubborn resistance, and acknowledgment of the emotions between them, their connection, his reluctant affection for her.
Grace pressed a soft kiss on the center of his lower lip, snuggling against him.
“I stole your heart without your consent. I surely don’t deserve it,” he said, almost regretfully. “And I don’t deserve you. You’ll realize that one day.”
“Perhaps. But not today.”
Grace pressed her mouth to his, silencing any further dissent, willing Nicholas to kiss her in that wonderful, all-consuming way he always did, to touch her until she forgot everything other than the two of them. Until he forgot as well.
And while he wasn’t looking, she wiggled a little further into his heart.
* * *
A few nights later,while lying in bed, watching the fire burn down to embers, Nicholas brought up the subject both had so carefully avoided.
“You must go soon.”
He was on his side, Grace nestled against him, her body echoing his, her bottom curving into his groin. She lifted one of his hands, resting snug in the valley of her breasts, and kissed his fingers one by one, as if thinking of a way of responding.
“Yes,” she finally agreed.
Nicholas was quiet for a moment, then said, “You will go to Beaumont for the Ravenswood Ball next week. I will follow you there once I’ve seen to your stable’s progress. The men and materials should arrive at Bellmar Abbey any day now. Possibly as early as tomorrow.”
“Sebastian may be there when you arrive.”
