The Only One

by Samanthya Wyatt

  “Yes, I was expecting him this afternoon.” James pulled at his gloves as he swung to Giles. “Sorry to cut our afternoon short. If you will excuse me.”

  Finally, Giles pulled his gaze from her peephole. “Of course.”

  “Kit. Come with me.”

  Ben came out just as Papa and Kit left. “Sam and I are heading to the river. One of the steamers is bringing a few crates from New Orleans for us. Want to come along?”

  “Thank you, Ben. But I believe I’ll enjoy looking over your fine plantation at my leisure.”

  “Suit yourself. Come on, Sam.”

  Giles swung open the door of the tackle room and halted abruptly. He found himself confronting a very fetching derriere in lad’s breeches. Propping one arm against the doorframe, he smiled to observe the little minx hiding, face down.

  “Lose something?”

  Alex spun around. “Uh, yes. Uh . . .”

  “Or maybe you were snooping.”

  She braced one hand on the wall and stood, brushing straw from her clothes. A mass of tumbling blonde hair surrounded her shoulders. Finely boned cheeks, touched by the sun, gave them color. Full pouting lips boasted a hesitant smile of seduction no young girl should have. And her body? Displayed to distraction in her boy’s clothes, molding and shaping every curve to perfection.

  No man would mistake those curves for a lad.

  Her dark brown eyes flashed. “I was getting a bridle.”

  He stepped forward and lifted a leather strap from a hook. “This bridle, perhaps?”

  She bent and scooped a grey cat into her arms. “Tom distracted me.”

  Giles hung the bridle back on the hook and braced his hands on his hips. “Do you make a habit of spying on your brothers?”

  “I was not spying.”

  “Of course you weren’t. Judging from the conversation I interrupted, no young girl would know the subject they were discussing anyway.”

  Her face flushed scarlet. He arched a brow. Surely she had no idea the boys were speaking of tupping a girl’s skirts.

  “You’re handsome,” the chit stated baldly, expanding a breath as if she’d kept her mouth closed too long.

  He didn’t know whether to be flattered or feel concern at a possible purpose behind her words.

  “What do you know of handsome men?”

  “My brothers, I guess are handsome. But they’re my brothers. I don’t care enough about other men to consider them handsome.”

  Care?

  “Why then, are you here?” He gave her his best glare.

  “I’ve grown out of pigtails. I’m a woman now.”

  Swallowing his amazement, he nearly choked. “Donning a dress does not make you a woman.” His gaze dipped in a slow, silent perusal. The damn girl’s breeches emphasized her curves, leaving nothing to a man’s imagination. And he should not even notice, of course, but . . . Damnation. She didn’t look the least like a child.

  “I see you’ve resorted to breeches again. After your brothers’ reproaching insults, I would think you’d learned your lesson.”

  She thrust out her chest. “Papa always said I had spirit. I am not unwise.”

  “You think it wise to hide in a tackle bin? To be alone here with me?”

  “You’re a duke. A gentleman.”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “Being a duke does not make me a gentleman.”

  “But Aunt Cornelia said English aristocrats live by their honor. You’re a nobleman. You have integrity, and morals.”

  “Morals? Honor? A man lives by his own decree. What if I were to take liberties?”

  “I can handle you.” Her eyes lit up and she seemed too sure of herself.

  The gall of the chit.

  With one quick movement, his hands shot out and jerked her against his chest. A gasp rushed from her throat, but she boldly held his gaze. With deliberate daring, his arms imprisoned her. He watched the emotions flitting over her face. He meant to punish, to teach, to frighten. His gaze lowered to her mouth.

  He’d send her fleeing for good.

  He captured her lips in a forceful kiss.

  Her fingers twisted his shirt.

  Good God, she kissed him back. With such enthusiasm, he was flabbergasted.

  Unconscionable, that one so young should kiss with such skill. Had the damned girl been coached? She should slap him, call him a knave. Push him away, scream at him. Instead, she twined her arms about his neck while her warm, seeking tongue pirouetted in a mating dance with his.

  Chest heaving, he grabbed her shoulders and thrust her away.

  “Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?”

  Languorous eyes flew wide in surprise. And delight.

  “So you liked it?”

  Anger and bewilderment had Giles seething. His intention to scare the chit had missed the mark. Did the girl have no humility?

  Her head tilted, she took a coy step forward. “I know you did.”

  Was there no end to her audaciousness? This was not the result he’d anticipated.

  Before he knew what she was about, she smoothed her hands up his chest and pressed closer. “Are you afraid of a mere kiss?”

  “You’re too damned young to kiss a man like that.”

  “You kissed me.”

  “This is madness.” He pulled her arms from creeping further around his neck and shoved them to her sides.

  “What? That you desire me?”

  “How could a mere child know of desire?” He frowned. How would she know? Twirling her tongue with his, pressing her body against him . . . His head nearly blew off at the possibility the girl did know.

  “I’m not a child.”

  “You’re not a woman,” he nearly shouted.

  “Then why did you kiss me like that? You kissed me the way a man kisses a woman.”

  He couldn’t deny that. But his intentions had been honorable, meant to scare her away. Not create a yearning he felt all the way down to his toes.

  “You can’t get rid of me so easily. I think your silly attempt to scare me backfired.”

  Hoist by his own petard. By God, the woman was astute.

  Woman? His jaw cracked as he ground his back teeth.

  “I don’t know what your game is, but it won’t work with me.”

  “There is no game. I saw you years ago. I decided then I would marry you.”

  Shock didn’t begin to describe his bewilderment.

  Marry! Obviously the brat had lost her mind.

  Chapter 9

  She’d done it now. Alex clapped a palm over her mouth too late. Her nerves bristled with dread. Presenting a bravery she did not feel, she fisted her hands on her hips.

  “When?” Giles growled.

  Puzzled, she repeated his question. “When?”

  “You said years ago. When?”

  She blinked and tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “I was twelve years old.” She glanced down. “Go ahead. Laugh.”

  “I’m not laughing.” His deep voice rumbled.

  When she peeked at him, he stood there glowering. His dark eyes gave no impression of his thoughts. In that instant she knew she had to make him see her as a woman. There might never be another chance. She took a deep breath.

  “Two men laughing and deep in conversation would not be expected to see anything outside their realm of events.” She turned toward the nearest harness and lifted her hand to the leather. “When a small dog was nearly run over by a wagon, one of those men ran out to save the dog, while the other chastised the driver for not controlling his team of horses. Then, those same men calmed two hysterical young girls and delivered the mutt into their loving arms.”

  She peered over her shoulder into perc
eptive eyes.

  “I see you remember the incident. Do you know which one was me?”

  Giles cleared his throat. “The dog was not yours.”

  “No. He belonged to Winnifred. My childhood friend. I’d been allowed to visit and her mother took us to town. We were to wait outside the milliner’s shop with her driver while she went inside to purchase a hat. Winnifred had begged to bring along her new puppy. He was so cute. And as puppies are, his energy overtook his body. When I tried to hand him back, he jumped out of my arms.”

  “You are the child who dashed after him. I grabbed you. Morgan took after the mutt.”

  When she turned and met his eyes, she knew the longing in hers must be apparent. “You saved me.”

  “You scared the life out of me.” Giles shoved a hand through his raven-black hair, curling against the collar of his white shirt.

  “Your friend brought the dog back and placed him in Winnifred’s arms. She fell in love with him.”

  And I you.

  “A child’s hero worship,” he replied dismissively.

  “You may think my infatuation a child’s whimsy, but you were more than my hero. I’d never seen a man so caring.” She took a step closer. “Notice I did not say daring. My brothers are daring. To the point their actions are on the brink of folly. They would have let Winnie’s puppy get trampled, and blistered me for chasing him.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Who knows?” She shrugged. “But you and your friend rushed to save two girls. Save their hearts. Save them from grief. And you did save my life, for I too would have been trampled by that wagon.”

  “You make me out to be some hero. Let me assure you, I am not.”

  “No, you still don’t see.” She raised a hand to his cheek. “You noticed me that day. You looked at me . . . maybe with sympathy. But I saw in you a kind, soulful man. A man with heart. A man with secrets.”

  When he didn’t pull away, she caressed the prickly skin beneath her fingers, absorbing his warmth.

  “You created a flutter in my core. Something new and deep. Something I’d never felt before. I decided then and there you had my heart.”

  Confusion crossed his features. She could tell his thoughts disturbed him. “You were twelve years old.”

  “When I saw you again, only days ago, the same throb slashed my chest.”

  With a grunt he stepped back. “You know not what you speak.”

  “I’m a very determined girl. Aunt Cornelia has schooled me on the customs of the English. I’m not a complete illiterate.”

  “I would never think such a thing.” The slight smirk on his mouth suggested otherwise.

  “I know you’ve heard stories of me in masculine clothing and prancing after my brothers. But as I said, Aunt Cornelia taught me how to be a lady.”

  “Well, you sure as hell don’t kiss like one.”

  “Such language for a duke.” She pretended coyness as her lips curved in a mischievous smile. “You liked it. Don’t deny it.”

  “You never answered me. A girl does not kiss a man the way you did without being . . . promiscuous.”

  “You wound me, Sir Duke.” Her temper boiled suddenly, right under the surface. “I will admit I had practice. I knew you would never look at me seriously unless I could show you I knew how to act like a woman.”

  “Those are not the actions of a . . .” He glared at her. “What kind of practice?”

  “At least I have your attention.”

  “You snared my attention when you had your tongue down my throat.”

  “I did not have my tongue down your throat.” Her face heated. “However, I did have trouble swallowing since you took my breath.” She placed her hand over her middle. “I even had a flurrying in my belly.”

  “Dear God, do not speak of your belly.” He grasped two handfuls of his lovely hair.

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  “No matter if it’s true or not. Now answer my question. How much practice?” Obviously he was losing patience. And if she were to guess, the duke was wound up good and tight.

  “Lots. I had a bursting curiosity. And the same hunger to learn as your inquisitiveness in asking me all these questions.”

  With a throaty growl he took a step closer. Broad shoulders towered over her.

  “Don’t look so ferocious,” she admonished.

  “What the bloody hell did you do other than kissing?” His thunderous expression made his eyes appear black.

  “Nothing. I am not a woman of loose morals. When Henry tried putting his hand on my . . . well, I smacked him.”

  “You should have smacked me.”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head and took an impatient step closer. “You see, I want you. I want to kiss you. I want you to touch me. Only you.”

  Her duke looked like he was strangling. His cheeks puffed out and his eyes grew darker.

  “Good God. You cannot say things like that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “Again, that is not the point. You are a child. And I have no time for foolishness.”

  Anger filled her. His arrogance was wearing on her nerves. She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration but quickly realized he would see it as the action of a child.

  Instead, Alex aimed for what she thought would be a purr, and laid her fingers on his chest. “Kiss me again and I’ll show you I’m not a child.”

  Flinging her hand away, he snorted and jerked back.

  His expression had become so outraged, she struggled not to chuckle.

  “You play with fire,” he growled. “Next time I shall not be so tolerant. If you want to act like a grown up, you will suffer the consequences.” He left the storage room, his strides long and brisk as he strode through the stables, headed for the outdoors.

  “One day you will see me as I am,” she called after him.

  “God help the man you set your sights on when you grow up.” His voice echoed harshly as he disappeared around the corner.

  I’ve set my sights on you.

  One day . . . soon.

  “Harrumph!”

  She’d been caught spying—again. By her aunt, no less. Alex turned from the library door and found Aunt Cornelia with her chin elevated and her hands overlapped in a chastising fashion.

  “And just what are you about?” Aunt whispered coldly, the sound of disapproval in her voice.

  “Uh . . . I, um, nothing.”

  “Since you are about nothing, why don’t you join me in the parlor?”

  She followed her aunt down the hallway. Once inside, Cornelia gracefully sat and perched her elbows on the arms of a wingback chair, giving Alex the impression she was about to receive a lecture.

  She pursed her lips. “Aunt Cornelia, I need your help.”

  Cornelia’s stiff posture relaxed and a look of concern flittered across her face. “My dear, is anything wrong?”

  “No, no.” Alex rushed to alleviate any concern. She marched over to the sofa and plopped on the cushion. “I know you think my behavior is inappropriate for a girl. So I want your help to become a lady.”

  Cornelia sucked in a breath, clutching her abdomen. “You are an imposter. Where is Alexandria? What have you done with her?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’m not that bad.”

  “I’ve been laying the groundwork for a while. I was beginning to think my coaching would never take root.” Her aunt raised a painted brow. “Why this sudden change?”

  Alex blew out a breath, sending a lock of hair flying. “Aunt Cornelia.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I must confide in you. There is no one else I can ask.”

  “Not even your mother?”

  “Mother lives here, and it is because you liv
e in England that I seek your advice.”

  “I see,” Cornelia said slowly. Then nodded. “I will do what I can.”

  “Do I have your confidence?”

  “My dear girl.” Cornelia leaned closer, as well. “You may tell me anything. You have my heart.” Then she shot Alex a hard glare. “As long as it is not something which will put you in dire straits or wish me to my grave.”

  “I want the duke.” There. She’d said it in a rush.

  “Beg pardon?” Cornelia’s expression became blank, her eyes narrowed.

  “Giles Litscomb. The Duke of Nethersall. I mean to marry him.”

  “Oh, Alexandria.” She waved a lace-edged handkerchief about her face, before tucking it into her sleeve.

  “Have you ever seen a man more handsome? He is kind and tall and . . .” She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Oh, Aunt Cornelia, please. If I am to have a chance at all, you must help me.”

  “The Duke of Nethersall.” Her voice measured indulgent disbelief. “I see why you came to me and not your mother. Is he aware of your interest?”

  Alex thought of her attempts at seduction. She cringed.

  “What have you done?” Cornelia frowned fiercely.

  “Followed him. But he catches me at my worst.”

  “That has to stop immediately. If you want his interest you must not appear desperate. A lady should be coy. Mysterious. Enticing.”

  “Will you help me? I must be a lady to acquire the duke.”

  “Is a duke what you want?” Her aunt tilted her head and—as was her habit—looked down her lofty nose.

  “I don’t care if he is a duke or a farmer. His title or position is not important.”

  “Of course, his position is important. You could do no better than Nethersall. A title and a fortune. His reputation is beyond reproach. He is a man of honor, integrity, of moral character. He must pass the dukedom to a son.” She clasped her hands. “Some members of nobility trade old English titles for American money. In this case, your duke could make an alliance with an American family who is still of noble birth. You would be the envy of the ton. And I will sponsor you. What a splendid idea.”