Ten Days with a Duke

by Erica Ridley

  He had never been more flustered.

  “Earn your kiss.” Her cheeks flushed pink as she danced backward out of reach. “Take a ride with me.”

  Belatedly, Eli realized that two of the horses were saddled. Duke, he would not be going anywhere near. The other was Mr. Edward.

  “Mr. Edward is a sweetheart,” she assured him. “Docile as a lamb.”

  So claimed the renowned prodigy unintimidated by wild stallions.

  “I must mount a horse to earn a kiss?”

  “Mount and ride.” She used the fence as a stepping-stool and was astride Duke in the space of a second. When the stallion responded by rearing up in a rampant pose, she laughed and patted his neck.

  Duke returned his feet to the ground and nickered, as if it had all been part of the joke.

  Eli swung his doubtful gaze to Mr. Edward.

  Unlike Duke, Mr. Edward was of a more reasonable size. He looked ordinary. The kind of horse that pulled a sleigh up and down the same road for years without complaint. The kind of horse that gave rides to children. The kind of horse that stood still as a statue when chubby-cheeked toddlers demanded a turn on the saddle.

  Eli wasn’t fooled for a moment.

  “Come along,” Olive urged. “If you do this, I’ll give you a reward.”

  “I don’t deserve the reward,” he muttered.

  She laughed. “I don’t mean marriage. I’m talking about kisses. Besides, I already told you: they mean nothing.”

  To one of them, anyway.

  “Very well,” he said. “On those terms.”

  He had to.

  Only four days to be with Olive remained. This was his last chance to create as many good memories with her as possible before it all came crashing down.

  Even if it involved riding a horse.

  He gazed dubiously across the fence.

  “Mr. Edward is easier to mount when you’re both on the same side of the fence,” Olive suggested.

  Eli liked the side he was on. It was safe and horse-free. He had performed the calculations, and the risk of being trampled was significantly lower on the side without any horses. Only a fool would cross that barrier.

  Or a man in love.

  He tightened his jaw and scaled the fence.

  When his boots hit the hard ground on the other side, all of the horses turned to face him.

  Duke advanced on him suddenly.

  Eli pressed his back into the fence post.

  “Stop that,” Olive scolded her stallion. “You’ve already got me. You don’t need him, too.”

  Not now, not ever.

  “Mr. Edward,” she called. “Be a dear and make things easier on our guest.”

  Eli glared at her. The situation was embarrassing enough without the implication that her horse spoke English and would take charge of the matter.

  With a loud sigh, Mr. Edward ambled over to Eli and stood stock still in front of him.

  He looked at Olive in disbelief. “Your horse understands English?”

  “I cheated,” she admitted. “Although all of the horses recognize my name, the only thing Mr. Edward knows how to do is give rides. I could recite the kings and queens of England and he would assume a brisk walk was in his future.”

  “A slow walk,” Eli corrected. “Or we could stay here. This is a lovely spot. Gorgeous view of the stables.”

  But he eased himself into the saddle.

  There. He’d done it. His leg would eventually stop shaking.

  Olive cast a critical eye in his direction. She shook her head, leapt down from Duke, and made a circular motion with her hand. “Not quite right. Do it again.”

  “Do it again?” Eli stared at her in horror. Mounting the horse once had been disturbing enough. Doing it twice would be madness.

  “I’ll show you how to be smoother,” she explained. “You won’t startle the horse, which leads to a better experience for both horse and rider.”

  “This is a terrible experience,” he informed her. “I’ve had more fun nicking my throat with a straight razor or falling down stairs whilst reading a botany text.”

  “It’ll be fine,” she promised. “Trust me.”

  He trusted her.

  He didn’t trust the horse.

  With ample misgivings, he eased down from Mr. Edward and edged to one side.

  “We’ll work on dismounts, too,” Olive said, which made Eli regret everything.

  It took half an hour for her to pronounce him reasonably capable of mounting and dismounting. Half an hour in which absolutely anything could have gone horribly wrong, but miraculously did not.

  Olive had complete control over her beasts and, with endless patience, managed to impart some of that hands-on knowledge to an amateur botanist who actively resisted “having faith” and the recurring lie of “just one more time.”

  By the time they finally set out on their ride, Eli was so grateful to no longer be mounting and dismounting that it was almost a relief to be carried passively on the back of his horse.

  “We’re almost there,” Olive called over her shoulder.

  He blinked. “We’re going somewhere specific?”

  “Just ahead.” She pointed. “I’ll race you!”

  Duke shot off as though launched from a cannon.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Eli whispered to Mr. Edward.

  Mr. Edward slowed to a stop to chew a hunk of hedera helix.

  Olive and Duke disappeared into the woods.

  “Damn it,” Eli muttered. “We’re going to have to move fast if we want to catch them.”

  He knew how. He just didn’t like it.

  Eli tightened his grip on the reins, raised his hands over Mr. Edward’s head, and pushed with his legs. In moments, he took Mr. Edward from trot to canter to gallop.

  None of which was faster than the racing of Eli’s heart.

  When he rounded the track into the woods, Olive stood in front of a small pavilion with latticed walls. Duke was off to one side, munching on foliage.

  Olive looked at Eli in astonishment. “That was fast.”

  “Just because I don’t, doesn’t mean I can’t.” He slid down from Mr. Edward on legs made of pudding. “Don’t ask me to do it again.”

  “We’ll walk back as slow as you please,” she promised. “You can lead.”

  “Well?” he demanded. “Where’s my kiss?”

  She grinned and wrapped her arms about his neck. “Come and take it.”

  He slanted his mouth over hers.

  Having Olive in his arms made almost anything worth it. Even risking life and limb on the back of a horse called Mr. Edward.

  Who kept pressing his nose into Eli’s side, likely in search of the carrot hidden there.

  Olive lowered her lips from Eli’s. “Let me show you where I like to come and think.”

  He tossed carrot offerings over his shoulder at Duke and Mr. Edward as he followed her to the pavilion.

  Inside, a thick blanket was on the center of a wood floor. Dishes, a bottle of wine, and a small basket containing bread and cheese and fruit covered half of the blanket.

  “It’s a picnic?” he said in surprise.

  She gave him a shy smile. “If we wait until spring, you won’t be here. Is it good enough?”

  “I adore it.” He adored her.

  Over the course of nuncheon and half a bottle of wine, he and Olive talked about everything except the past they’d left behind them and the future that would never be.

  Lying side-by-side in the middle of the blanket, Olive explained the inner workings of a village of perennial Yuletide, described her many friends, and the challenges of managing a stud farm whilst being a woman.

  Eli told her about all of the wonderful physic gardens of London, the marvels of botany, and its potential for healing as well as beauty.

  A slow smile spread across her face.

  He stopped talking about carapichea ipecacuanha. “Too much Latin?”

  “Not enough.” Sh
e rolled onto her side. “How do you say, ‘I am strangely attracted to a man who knows the most intimate details about plant fertilization?’”

  Eli had no idea.

  “Anthurium andraeanum, camellia chrysantha,” he replied with a straight face.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Humph. Can you be trusted?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  “As I suspected.” She tilted her head. “I may kiss you anyway.”

  “I adore your kisses.” He touched her soft cheek. “And that’s the truth.”

  “Shh.” She brushed her lips against his. “What’s Latin for, ‘Just kiss me?’”

  They didn’t need words for that.

  He drew her to him on the blanket and kissed her.

  Having her snuggled up against him was almost too much for his senses.

  Even before he opened his eyes in the morning, all he wanted was to taste her kiss. Whenever she was out of reach, he longed to hold her in his arms. Whenever she was out of sight, he yearned to see her face.

  Here she was. Lying on top of him. Kissing him back.

  He had known before heading north that the reality of having her in his arms again would far outstrip his wildest fantasy. That they were now lying on a wooden floor, out of doors, bundled in layers of wool and leather and yet more wool, only added to the dreamlike quality of the moment.

  How he wished their fathers had remained friends rather than become enemies!

  Eli would have courted Olive properly from the moment of her come-out... and likely sneaked his fair share of kisses a year or two before.

  They might still have found themselves out here in a wooded pavilion on a day like today, but they wouldn’t be counting down to his departure. They would have had the rest of their lives to enjoy one another. This moment would be the first of many such days, not the final and only Christmastide they ever shared.

  Eli told her in kisses what he could not tell her in words.

  He was angrier than she’d ever know that their fathers’ manipulations had brought them back together... and would soon drive them apart. He was not at all sorry to have a second chance with her, no matter how fleeting. Spending the past week with Olive had created some of the best moments in his life. Memories he would cherish forever.

  Just like he wished he could cherish her forever.

  “Don’t forget,” she murmured between kisses. “This means nothing.”

  “What if it did?” he blurted out.

  She lifted her head slightly, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

  I mean, I love you.

  I don’t want to lose you.

  I have no plan.

  Or did he?

  New Year’s Eve was the end of something old and the beginning of something new. Tomorrow, instead of just beginning a new year, what if they started a new life, together?

  “Marry me,” he said, despite all of the reasons he should not.

  If she cared for him half as much as he loved her... If she wanted to marry him, Eli would find a way to do so and keep her safe. Perhaps he could even find a way to continue his research. If she loved him—

  “Elijah...” She sighed and rolled off of him.

  “I don’t want your farm,” he said quickly. “This has nothing to do with your farm.”

  She laughed, but her eyes were sad. “It has everything to do with my farm. If I marry you, it’s your farm.”

  “I’ll give it back,” he said immediately. “My first act as husband will be to place the farm in your name. I’ll create a legal trust. Then no one can take it from you, no matter what.”

  “Or, I can not marry you and my farm will stay mine, with no risk of untrustworthy individuals betraying my trust.” She stacked the picnic supplies back into the basket.

  Eli closed his eyes. He deserved that. He was untrustworthy. He’d told the truth about everything... except the one thing that could ruin both their lives: his father.

  He sat up. There was one thing he had to know. Even if it was a fantasy.

  “If it weren’t for the farm,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “If your father rescinded his threat, and both our fathers gave their blessings, no conditions attached...” He took a deep breath, his heart clattering. “Would you marry me then?”

  She met his gaze and answered without hesitation. “No.”

  Chapter 10

  The Seventh Day

  For the first time, New Year’s Day felt... new.

  Olive felt new. She had not awoken this morning as the same horsey spinster who hadn’t been kissed since she was fourteen years old.

  She had woken a competent, confident, carefree woman who had not only indulged days of scandalous kisses with a devastatingly handsome lifelong rival, but also turned him down straight as you please when he dared to propose marriage.

  Her first act was to take Duke for a ride.

  According to fairy tales, a girl could only be happy once she’d won the handsome prince.

  In Olive’s case, Elijah’s willingness to marry had been a foregone conclusion from the moment he appeared on her doorstep. Marrying was why he was here.

  But he hadn’t come to marry her. He would have married a sack of potatoes if it fitted into his and his father’s master plan.

  Olive was expected to do the same. Marry a scoundrel of someone else’s choosing simply because a man had told her she ought to.

  Saying no had been like... an entire year’s worth of Christmases, all at once.

  She’d said no upon sight of him, and then the next day, and the next. She’d even said no whilst lying spread lewdly atop him in the middle of an outdoor pavilion.

  Olive raced down the forest path astride Duke, the wind unraveling her hair as a smile took over her face.

  She couldn’t believe how strong she was.

  All these years, the mere memory of Elijah’s kiss and the subsequent humiliations he had given her had been enough to crumple her into a useless little ball. To the devil with that!

  Olive wasn’t a lonely little girl anymore, nor an eager-eyed young lady hoping for a magical debut into society.

  The fairy tale wasn’t being chosen.

  The fairy tale was doing the choosing.

  Deciding for herself what she wanted, and then taking it, or walking away.

  It had taken ten long years, but she’d finally realized her life could be up to her.

  She could choose when to say yes.

  She could choose when to say no.

  Her life was exactly what she wanted. She’d made it that way herself. Olive wasn’t about to ruin it now.

  Not for Elijah Weston.

  It didn’t matter if a foolish part of her wished his proposal had been in earnest. They both knew that it was not.

  He had been frank from the first that his motives had nothing to do with her. When she’d told him their kisses meant nothing either, he’d agreed without hesitation. She’d expected no less.

  Olive hadn’t needed Elijah’s warning that he couldn’t be trusted. Olive had learned that detail the day they met. It was a lesson she would never forget.

  She would keep her eyes trained firmly on her target: the family farm. Land was something one could hold onto forever. Something that wouldn’t let her down.

  Duke flew under branches and over tree roots. When they burst from the forest into a wide-open field, she gave him his head and let him race as fast as he pleased. She laughed as they flew.

  Olive felt alive in moments like these. Truly and utterly free.

  Even if that tiny, cursed part of her still wished Elijah’s proposal had been real. Wished that her father hadn’t manipulated him into coming. Wished it had been Papa who offered to put the farm into a legal trust in her name. Wished her father trusted her to make her own decisions about her life.

  Wished she could have everything she wanted, instead of picking one thing over another.

  At last, she turned Duke back toward the farm. They had been rid
ing all day and the sun set early in midwinter. Already, swaths of orange and pink streaked the sky.

  When they broke from the evergreens, a lone figure was visible between the house and the stables.

  Despite her best effort to remain indifferent, her heart did a preposterous little dance.

  She didn’t trust Elijah Weston, but that didn’t stop Olive from wanting to throw herself into his arms and let him kiss her anywhere he pleased.

  Who cared if his intentions were dishonorable? So were hers.

  All she wanted from him were three more days of kisses and caresses, followed by a firm and lasting goodbye.

  She leaped Duke over the fence and up to Elijah. “Fancy another ride?”

  “I knew he could jump that fence.” Elijah narrowed his eyes at Duke accusingly. “I’ll never leave the safety of the house again.”

  Olive grinned. She couldn’t help it.

  Elijah was a knave, but a strangely honest, surprisingly funny one. No matter how hard she tried not to, she liked him a little more every day.

  “No ride?” She fluttered her eyelashes. “How about practicing mounts and dismounts, then?”

  He sent her a look filled with such heat, it was clear the scene he was imagining had nothing to do with saddles and everything to do with Olive.

  She flushed in response. She didn’t need him to tell her what he was thinking. She wanted to experience it firsthand.

  Managing the horses was safer.

  She turned Duke back toward the fence. “Come with me.”

  Managing the horses was an excuse.

  After Olive had got over her shock that Elijah disliked horses—and after feeling smugly superior had lost its allure—she’d discovered that she enjoyed teaching.

  It turned out that helping someone else learn a skill was just as satisfying as trouncing the competition.

  Watching a reluctant student mastering a technique she’d taught him filled her with more warmth and pride than any of her past victories.

  Not that Elijah needed much help. For all his disinclination to ride the horses, he was clearly well trained. What he lacked wasn’t instruction, but confidence. A few more days of exposure might not cure his hesitancy completely, but should help a little.