The School for Brides

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  As long as she held tightly to her disguise and repelled him with her plainness, she might be able to convince him to seek his vile pleasures elsewhere and leave her be.

  It was a notion she very much worried was futile. The duke longed to make her pay, and what better way than to force her to suffer his lecherous attentions?

  Eva urged Muffin on when she stopped to nip at a clump of grass. The mare snorted and clopped slowly down the lane with bits of grass hanging from the side of her mouth. Since the park was empty at the early hour, Eva had plenty of time to think without interruption about her most troubling topic: His Grace, and how to defy him.

  Eva was so caught up in her worries that it took her a moment to realize Muffin was walking in an uneven gait. She drew the mare to a halt.

  “What is this?” She dismounted and tipped back her hat. “Have you picked up a stone?” She led Muffin a few steps down the path to discover the injured foot, then lifted the mare’s leg for an examination. Sure enough, a small pebble was wedged in her hoof, just sizable enough to cause discomfort. “Oh, dear. Let me see what I can do to get that out.”

  Eva pulled off one glove and dug at the area around the pebble with her nail. The pebble seemed quite determined to stay where it was. She released the hoof and looked around for something to pick it loose. At that moment, a squirrel darted across the road and Muffin shied into Eva. A hoof came down on her foot before she could jump out of the way.

  Eva yelped as the full weight of the plump mare ground into her toes. Pain shot through her foot.

  “Well done, Muffin,” she said scornfully. “You put full effort into crushing my toes.”

  Unconcerned, the mare lowered her head to push a leaf around with her lip.

  “I did not plan to consummate our arrangement in the park.” A sardonic voice floated out of the misty fog. “But I suppose I can find a large bush behind which we can have some measure of privacy.”

  His Grace appeared out of the bleak backdrop atop a huge bay. Muffin swung around, her rotund belly heaving, her legs splayed for flight. Eva gripped the reins to keep Muffin in check.

  His Grace was clad from hat-covered head to Hessian-covered feet in black, except for a white shirt with a high collar that brushed his cleanly shaven cheeks. He sat confidently atop the bay as if raised in a saddle, even as the beast pawed the ground and tossed his head in an effort to get closer to Muffin.

  Were she not familiar with the duke and his hidden devil horns, she’d have admired the cut of his fine figure in spite of his arrogant smirk.

  The man was so very handsome, from the strong cut of his jaw, to his green eyes, to the sculpted mouth that made her shiver with unwelcome attraction. She hoped he would never know how his punishing kiss had affected her.

  The duke handled his restless horse with ease, his eyes never leaving her face. A hint of dark humor tugged his hard mouth as if he knew secrets about her he’d never share. Perhaps he was picturing the night he’d have her at his mercy.

  Eva shuddered. Muffin lost her desire for flight after a few sniffs in the bay’s direction, and the two horses eyed each other warily.

  “As delightful as it would be to frolic in the wet grass with you, Your Grace, I regret I must decline.” She fought a wince as she put weight on her injured foot, and stared with what she hoped was a good dose of disdain. “Unfortunately, I am on my way to rut with a drunken hackney driver, in the gutter, and I fear I am quite late.” She ran a slow perusal down his body and back up. “Though, if you don’t mind waiting, I can come back for you when I’m finished.”

  The smirk on his face turned into a malevolent grin.

  “If you think you have the strength to accommodate two men, I can certainly wait . . .” He let his voice trail off.

  The impossible man! What would it require to take him down a peg or two? Eva flushed. “I would rather bed an entire ship full of French sailors than spend one second behind a bush with you, Your Grace.”

  “And yet, you will grace my bed or hand over a courtesan,” he said blandly and shifted in the saddle. “Or else you will lose that house of yours. The choice is yours. It makes no difference to me.”

  “Oh.” She wanted to knock him from his horse and let Muffin trample all over him with her small, yet lethal, hooves. Never had she met anyone so infuriating. Clearly he took pleasure in the needless suffering of others. He probably spent his days kicking street urchins and stray dogs!

  “As if I have a choice in the matter. You’ve pushed me into a corner and blocked my escape.” She twisted the reins in her hands. “What can I do to convince you of the error of this revenge? Certainly you can see Arabella deserved more than she had with you. If you ever cared for her, you’d take some pleasure from her happiness.”

  He lifted a brow. “Oh, I am quite happy she has found contentment in her situation. Believe it or not, I cared deeply for her and do wish her happiness.”

  “Then why must you press me into this bargain?” she said, her voice desperate. “Isn’t it enough to know how dreadfully unhappy I’ve been since our association began?”

  He seemed to ponder her plea, and she took some hope. Perhaps there was a ray of light in the blackness of his heart.

  “Though your unhappiness pleases me greatly,” he said finally, amused, “I find the thought of sharing my bed with you, Miss Black, gives me greater satisfaction than your concern over your financial difficulties.”

  She huffed. “You are despicable.” Tears threatened. What started as a lovely ride had turned into a nightmare on two levels. The man was stubborn and unreasonable. A satisfactory revenge depended completely on her degradation and submission. He’d accept nothing less.

  But she would not allow herself to cry in front of him. Her toes hurt, but no worse than her heart.

  Dismissing him, she hobbled around the mare while searching frantically for a stick to dig out the pebble.

  “What have you done to yourself?” he asked.

  “It is nothing,” she said.

  His Grace nudged his horse close and swung down from the saddle. Eva tried to lead Muffin out of his path, but Muffin seemed smitten with the stallion and fought her efforts. The mare bobbed her head and nickered as their noses touched. Traitor.

  “You’ve hurt yourself, Miss Black.”

  With a sigh, she nodded. “Muffin stepped on my toes.”

  He cast a quizzical glance at the mare. Eva explained, “It wasn’t entirely her fault. She’d picked up a pebble.” She pulled back the hem of her riding habit just enough to show her scuffed boot. “When I spend time with Muffin, I need to be watchful of where she puts her feet, lest my toes are trampled.”

  He looked at the crushed boot and nodded. “Then we shall care for the mare, after we discover what kind of damage she has done to your foot.” With that, His Grace bent, took her high into his arms, and settled her against his chest.

  “Your Grace!”

  “Be still,” he commanded. His strides were sure as he carried her to a patch of grass beneath a large oak tree. She had had little time to notice how powerful his shoulders were beneath her hands or how wonderful he smelled, when he slowly lowered her, rump first, to the ground.

  Dazed by his strength, she was only partially aware Muffin and the bay had followed along behind them like a pair of well-trained poodles, their reins dragging. There was something fascinating about the ease with which her body responded to him. Even now, her body longed to be scooped back up in his powerful arms.

  Unaware of her inward confusion, His Grace lowered to one knee at her feet and removed his gloves. He paused, peered into her eyes, then lifted the hem of her habit to fully expose her boot, without an invitation to do so.

  “Your Grace, this is not proper. If you help me mount, I will be on my way.”

  He reached for her boot’s laces and jerked loose the bow. “Not until I have a look. You might have broken your toes.”

  For once there was no hint of lecherous intentions as h
e eased the black leather boot off her foot with infinite care. In fact, she saw only concern on his face.

  The image didn’t fit with what she knew about the man and his heavy-handed ways. His touch was gentle as he set the boot aside and closed his fingers around her ankle. The duke settled her foot onto his thigh and softly caressed her toes with the lightest touch. She winced. He pulled his hand back. “I fear it may be worse than I originally suspected.”

  She nodded, noticing how thick and dark his lashes were against his golden skin. With his lids lowered as he looked down at her foot, the fan of lashes hid his intense green eyes. She skimmed her gaze downward along his nose to his perfect mouth; the same mouth that had, for a brief moment, stunned her with his hard and probing kiss.

  The kiss that haunted her nights.

  “I must remove the stocking,” he said.

  From somewhere outside herself, she nodded absently as her attention turned downward when he eased her habit’s hem up over her knee to expose her garter. She barely noticed the chill on her leg or understood the intimacy of the act. Her focus was on his large hands as they casually skimmed her thigh when he tugged at the garter. Her skin tingled, her lips parted, and her breath escaped little bits at a time.

  His Grace untied the pink ribbons with skill and care. Eva kept her eyes from his, fearful he might see in them the shameful feelings he’d fanned to flame with his bold touch. The warmth of his bare fingers on her flesh caused her to tremble with an unwanted mix of sensations.

  She heard his breath quicken and involuntarily darted a glance upward. For a few heartbeats they locked gazes. His hand tightened on her knee for a second, then he blinked. He quickly drew her stocking down her leg to expose her foot. His examination was brief.

  “Hmm.” Cupping her heel, he lifted her toes into view.

  Eva wanted to whimper at the sight of four slightly purple toes. Only the smallest had been spared. “Are they broken?”

  His Grace tenderly manipulated each one in turn. Eva clenched her teeth to keep silent. After a few minutes, he shook his head. “I see nothing to indicate a break.”

  “Thank goodness.” Her shoulders slumped. She’d escaped a worse problem than a few bruises. It would be difficult to stay abed long enough to allow the bones to heal when she had courtesans to teach and a mother to care for.

  The warmth of his hands seeped into her foot, and her toes felt less pained. She realized then how exposed she was with her foot on his lap, her stocking removed, and her skirt lifted to her knee.

  She blushed. “Perhaps you should replace my stocking, Your Grace, before someone happens along to discover us. I would hate to ruin your impeccable reputation.”

  Her tart comment brought a grin. He retrieved the stocking and shook it out. He rolled it over her foot and began a slow procession up her leg. Eva struggled to ignore the shivers spreading out from his knuckles. He took his time replacing the garment, now that his concern for her foot had been assuaged. In fact, there was a hint of mischief on his face when he spoke. “If I’m to risk my reputation, Miss Black, I would prefer us both to be discovered wearing much less clothing.”

  The devil duke had returned.

  “I will not be your whore,” she said, and raised her nose a notch. She didn’t care if his tone was teasing. He was the same man he was before his concern for her foot turned him toward an act of kindness. The gentleman in him had dissipated as quickly as smoke on the wind once he realized she was not seriously injured.

  “Unless you agree to my other solution, Miss Black, you will.” He worked the stocking into place and made a grand show of tying her garter.

  “Then be about your seduction, Your Grace.” She dropped her arms to her sides and expelled a heavy sigh. “I haven’t the entire day to waste.”

  He chuckled. “You are a puzzle, Miss Black. One moment stiff as starch, the next, offering me favors in the park.” He finished his task, lowered her skirt, and helped her to her feet. He moved around her, shaking out her skirts. “However, I do like my courtesans agreeable, and your offer is tempting,” he said, and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Though I have a suspicion, Miss Black, you have never been agreeable.”

  With his mouth dangerously close to her lobe, Eva forced herself to concentrate on the antics of a pair of larks on a nearby bush.

  “And you, Your Grace, are spoiled and childish. When you can’t have your way, you throw a tantrum and make those around you suffer.”

  “That I do.” He chuckled again. “You would not believe the happiness this moment brings me.”

  The tips of his fingers danced over her, removing debris as he went. She couldn’t think beyond the light brushes of his hands. The duke was playing lady’s maid, but there was nothing innocuous about his intentions. Beneath his touches was something deeper, seductive and dangerous.

  After a time, his fingers found a few loosened strands of mousy-brown hair, freed from the wig, and she held her breath. If he sought to pull her hair from its tight knot, he’d discover her disguise. That would be a disaster.

  Instead, he turned her to face him and released her hair. His eyes were dark and impenetrable pools of deep green. He followed the curve of her mouth with his eyes. “You are tense, Miss Black.”

  “You would be tense, too, if you were about to be violated in the dirt, Your Grace.”

  It was as if the world around them had faded to black. The only thing she could see, feel, was his fingertips dancing across the skin of her jaw, one finger tracing the curve of her lower lip. He was playing a seductive game, and she loathed her response.

  Oh, she despised him. She hated his arrogance. She knew, without seeing his face, that there was smug satisfaction in his eyes. He’d elicited a sexual response in her, and he knew it. Her body was pliant in its betrayal.

  The spicy scent of male mingled with horse and leather to add to his unwelcome appeal.

  “ ‘Violate’ is such a harsh term, Miss Black.”

  With his smug tone came some sanity. “What do you really want from me, Your Grace?” she breathed, and closed her hand around his wrist to stop his exploration before she dragged him off into the bushes and begged him to ease her suffering.

  “I only ask you to live up to your part of the bargain, Miss Black.”

  Chapter Six

  Bargain?” she said. “I have not agreed to a bargain.”

  She attempted to step away, but her foot gave way beneath her, and she wobbled. His Grace caught her tightly against him.

  “Easy. I have you.”

  She tipped her head back and peered up. The look in his eyes stunned her. Her disguise hadn’t repelled him one lick. The desire in his eyes was acute.

  She became aware of a hard ridge against her leg the moment he leaned to drag his mouth across her temple.

  He was steely hard with desire. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he had her.

  Panic gripped her. He was a debaucher of women, willing or otherwise. She was certain of it. But her body ached for his touch with a shocking intensity she didn’t understand.

  Perhaps she was a whore after all.

  Eva felt her eyes burn. Somehow she found the strength to whisper, “No, please. No.”

  His Grace stilled and lifted his head. Slowly he released his hold and his hands dropped away. He was quiet for a moment, then, “As you wish.”

  The duke turned abruptly and walked to Muffin. He lifted her hoof and dug out the stone. Eva wanted to call him to her and slip back into his arms. But the moment was lost. His face was set and his jaw tight as he returned and lifted her into his arms without ceremony.

  The little mare barely acknowledged Eva as the duke settled her back in the saddle. For a moment, their gazes met.

  Eva gathered the reins and gently kicked Muffin into a run.

  Nicholas watched Eva nudge the mare into a jarring lope up the path, his gaze burning across Eva’s back and down to her trim rump. The surprise of discovering a warm and responsive woman in Miss Bl
ack had unsettled him. There was an instant, when he held her, that she’d molded enticingly to his body, close enough for him to feel the delightful curve of her breasts; breasts that she kept well hidden.

  She’d flattened the firm flesh somehow during her previous visit. He shook his head. Her surprises were endless.

  Not once, when he’d stumbled upon her hobbling about in the mist with her fat gray pony, did he expect she would so easily accept his offer to help.

  Instead, she’d sat stiff and quiet while he examined her toes, seeming to accept her fate. There was no weeping and wailing, no begging for mercy, no cutting barbs as he nuzzled her temple. He’d known the moment when she’d surrendered her body to him. And it wasn’t just the same resignation he’d felt at first. He felt her stiff spine bend against his hand on her back and heard her breath catch, then grow uneven. It was desire in its purest form.

  Her desire had taken him aback. The feel of her erect nipples against his chest had certainly left any question of her hidden sensuality undisputed. There was a hunger in her that was deeply buried beneath her ridiculous costume.

  He’d bedded women who feigned desire, and Eva wasn’t one of them. Her response to him was instinctual and passionate.

  When he proposed she become his courtesan, she’d responded, as expected, with a biting refusal. Never once did he believe she’d accept any part of his outlandish plot. He’d never forced himself on a woman and didn’t plan to do so now. He expected that even if she did agree, by some queer twist of insanity, she’d come to his bed and lie stiff, cold, and prickly while he made quick work of getting to his release.

  A very unsatisfying thought he couldn’t stomach.

  This encounter changed everything. Whereas he once looked toward taking revenge on her with trepidation, he now anticipated making her purr. Perhaps he shouldn’t release his hold on her just yet, when there was much about her left to explore. Revenge had turned into a single-minded focus of seduction. He would peel the layers of her spinsterhood away and see all that was hidden beneath.