by Shana Galen
Nathan rode his favorite gelding. Patch was known as such because he had a white patch on his chest. Nathan’s mother had named the horse, and Nathan hadn’t changed it.
He and Vivienne rode to the west. Vivienne had a good seat and when he was certain she could keep up, Nathan gave Patch his head. The two of them galloped for a mile or so, enjoying the morning and the silence broken only by the call of birdsong. At least Nathan should have been enjoying it. Instead he was thinking of the instructions he’d given to Chapple. He had to keep Vivienne away from Wyndover Park long enough for Chapple to arrange everything just so.
“What is over there?” Vivienne asked, pointing toward one of his tenant’s lands.
“That’s the Holland’s farm, I believe.”
Nathan studied the faint spiral of smoke coming from the farm and turned Patch in that direction. “Wait here.”
A moment later, he neared the tenant’s cottage and Vivienne was right behind him. He wasn’t surprised. He doubted she was very used to following orders.
“There’s where the smoke came from.”
A circle of stones ringed still smoldering chunks of wood. The fire looked to have been hastily put out and not very thoroughly. Nathan jumped down and inspected the site then knocked on the tenant’s door.
No one answered.
He walked back to Patch and was about to mount when he head hoof beats.
“Who is that?” Vivienne asked.
“My steward.”
The man removed his hat and dismounted as soon as he arrived. “Your Grace. My lady. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Mr. Husselbee was tanned and freckled from so much time outdoors. He had an easy smile and a friendly face. In short, he was a man who could collect rents and still find a way to remain on good terms with the tenants.
“We saw the smoke,” Nathan explained with a wave of his hand.
Husselbee frowned and examined the site himself. Hands on hips, he turned back to the duke. “The Hollands are away for a fortnight. Mrs. Holland is from Dorset, and her sister wrote to say her mother was ill. I told Holland I’d feed the livestock and check on the farm while they were away.”
“Then who built this fire?”
Husselbee shook his head. “I don’t know. Vagrants, I suspect. I’ll make a thorough tour of the ducal land after I tend to the Holland’s livestock. If I find anyone, I’ll run them off with a strict warning.”
“Very good, sir.” Nathan mounted again. “Come by the house after your tour and give me a full update.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
When they were away, Vivienne spurred her horse and rode beside him. “I don’t like it.”
Nathan raised a brow. “Vagrants? You should know that sort of thing is common enough. My game wardens frequently have to arrest poachers. I let them go with a warning. Times are hard. People are hungry.”
Vivienne studied him, her green eyes sparkling in diffuse morning light. “That’s very kind of you. I do know poachers and vagrants are common. I suppose I feared the campsite might have housed the Glennish assassins.”
He saw the flash of fear in her eyes before she lowered them.
Nathan reached over and grasped her hand. “They can’t have found you here. No one knows where you are. You’re safe. I promised I would protect you, and I will.”
She raised her gaze to his again. “I believe you.”
He released her hand, and they rode in silence again for a time.
“Shall we stop there and walk a bit?” she asked, indicating a stream that flowed along the back of his property. He’d had it stocked with trout, even though he didn’t enjoy fishing.
At the stream, the horses drank and grazed while he and Vivienne walked the banks. Finally, they came to a shady spot where the stream widened into a small pond. It was not quite the size of the Sedgemere’s pond, and certainly not big enough for boating, but he’d swum in it as a boy and had a jolly time playing pirate.
Under a willow tree, Vivienne turned to him. “Should we continue our conversation from last night?”
Nathan’s heart galloped, although he’d been trying to form the right words all morning. “I...yes,” he managed weakly and swore silently at his idiocy. She would be right to refuse him. Sedgemere had been right about him. He’d relied too much on his good looks and had no skill when it came to wooing women. Why the devil hadn’t he memorized some bloody Byron?
“You said last night, you wanted more than just my body and my affections.”
Had he said that? Good God. He had been bold after the wine and her kisses.
“You want my heart.”
“I do. I want more than a...a liaison.”
“I’m not in love with you,” she said, and his heart fell into his belly.
“Of course not.”
“But I could fall in love with you.”
His head jerked up, his gaze searching her face. She smiled.
“Oh, I could very easily fall in love with you, Nathan.” Her hands slid to his shoulders. “Do I have leave to call you Nathan?”
“Call me whatever you want.”
“I’ve never known a man like you,” she said.
He winced. “Is this about my face again.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. This is about how kind and generous and thoughtful you are.”
“In the interest of full disclosure, not all of my actions toward you have been wholly unselfish.”
She laughed. “Thank God. I was beginning to think you were not human.”
“I’m very human,” he said as she pressed against him. “Exceedingly human.”
“Is it enough if I say you have a corner of my heart? Is it enough if I say you could very well have all of it one day?”
“It’s enough.”
And it was because it was not only more than he had ever expected, but he simply couldn’t resist her any longer. His body was on fire with need, and—as she’d pointed out—he was only human.
He bent his head to kiss her, pulling her hand against him. Her mouth opened for him, her lips meeting his with the same passion and same intensity. He was left with no question as to what she wanted from him. He hadn’t imagined he would lie with her outdoors—very well, he’d actually imagined lying with her everywhere, but he hadn’t expected to lie with her outdoors—but he would not argue the point.
He stripped off his coat, dropped it under the tree and allowed his hands to travel down her slim back. He cupped her bottom, brought her hips into contact with his erection. She moaned and rocked against him. Her own hands explored him—his back, his chest, his buttocks, his cock.
When she slid her hand over the fall of his trousers, Nathan grabbed the trunk of the tree for support.
“Your body is as perfect as your face,” she murmured when he kissed her neck. “You’re hard all over.”
He was hard, indisputably hard. His hands skidded over her side and up to cup her breasts. With a groan, her head fell back. Through the layers she wore, he felt her nipples pebble against his hands and wished he could see them, kiss them.
She pulled him down, settling herself on his coat. “My legs won’t hold up much longer,” she said, her voice husky. “You’ve made them wobbly and weak.”
His hand slid under her skirts and up her stocking-clad leg until he reached the bare flesh of her thigh. “They feel fine to me.” He kissed her again, his hand stroking her soft flesh. “Very fine.”
“Don’t tease me, Nathan,” she murmured. “Not this time. Next time, perhaps, or the time after that. Not this time.”
“I am yours to command,” he answered, his hand cupping the warm, wet flesh at the juncture of her thighs.
A sigh escaped her parted lips, but her eyes—so dark now—never left his face.
He touched her, explored her gently, until she arched beneath him. Her cheeks were pink with arousal, and when he slid two fingers inside her, circled her small nub with his thumb, her eyes seemed to blur and lose
focus.
“Let go, Princess,” he murmured. “No one will hear you but me.”
Her hips rose, and he lessened his pressure slightly. In a rush, she bowed back, a strangled cry drifting through the trees. He withdrew, studied her face. She lay with her eyes closed, chest rising and falling, cheeks stained lovely pink, and her lips plump and red.
Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled. “Nathan, do you know how to dress and undress a lady?”
He wasn’t certain how to answer. He’d dressed and undressed his share, but it wasn’t a subject he wished to discuss with the woman he hoped to make his wife.
“I see that you do. Good.” She rose to her knees and gave him her back. “Unfasten me, will you?”
His hands fumbled at the hooks and eyes, the ties and knots, the pins and tapes. Finally, he had her out of the outer layers of clothing, and she stood in her shift.
“I don’t think anyone will come this way,” he said, “but I cannot be certain.”
“Then I suppose I had better not stand about all day.”
With a flick of her finger at the knot at her neck, the chemise came loose and slid down her body. He followed its progress hungrily. The material uncovered ripe, full breasts tipped with dark, erect nipples, a slim waist, lush hips, and plump thighs.
“You take my breath away,” he whispered.
“Good.” She turned and walked to the edge of the pond, her derriere as round and perfect as the rest of her. She dipped a toe in the water, let out a little shriek, then moved resolutely forward.
Finally, she’d submerged herself to just below her breasts. She turned to him, giving him a view he could have enjoyed all day.
“It’s not so cold, especially once you get used to it. What are you waiting for, Duke?”
“Nothing.”
He stripped off his neck cloth and pulled at his boots.
“Do hurry, Your Grace. I’m naked and wet and cold. I need you to warm me.”
“I am hurrying, Your Highness. I haven’t any aid, as you did.”
Finally, he was as naked as she, and painfully aroused as she watched him approach.
“I should hate you,” she said.
He paused, one foot in the water.
“You are the most perfect man I have ever seen. You could at least have a scar or a withered arm or some such thing to even out the face. But no. You could be a Michaelangelo.”
The water was not cold, and he forced himself not to look overeager to reach her. “You act as though that is a bad thing.”
He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. Her warm body was slippery and slick.
“You might have been a Botticelli,” he said, kissing her neck. “You’re lush and soft and—”
She wrapped her legs around him, and he blew out a breath.
“And?” she prompted.
“I can’t think.”
“Then don’t.”
Her legs wrapped around his waist, and he slid inside her quickly and more roughly than he’d intended. She didn’t complain, only tightened around him and kissed him deeper.
He hands cupped her bottom, pulling her harder against him and angling her until she slid up and down in a way he knew would give her the greatest pleasure. Her eyes widened after his first few thrusts, and her breath quickened.
“You’re quite good at this,” she gasped as he drove into her again.
“I suppose...” He clenched his jaw and attempted to maintain control. “You will hold that against me as well.”
“Not at all. This—” She shuddered and clenched around him. “For this I can forgive anything.”
“Even my face?”
“Even that.”
He couldn’t hold on any longer, and he thrust hard into her, hoping it would be enough to bring her to climax. He felt her muscles clamp around him and the satisfaction of knowing he’d brought her pleasure again was almost as good as his own release.
Almost.
Because when they finally climbed out of the water and lay spent and sated in each other’s arms, Nathan felt the one thing he had never felt with any woman ever before: certainty.
Chapter Seven
Vivienne would have been content to lie in Nathan’s arms all day if her flesh hadn’t started to resemble that of a plucked goose.
“You’re shivering,” he said, and his words alone thawed her. He noticed everything about her, wanted to keep her warm and safe.
“I don’t mind. I like it here with you.”
“I like it too, but I did say I had something to show you.”
She rose on her elbow, faced him. “There’s more?” Her gaze slid down his body—his absolutely perfect body—and the color rose in his cheeks. He was so adorable. She wanted to have him again.
“Dress, and I’ll show you.”
It was easier said than done, but with his help, the tedious chore was finally accomplished. Her hair was mostly dry, as O’Connell’s excellent coiffure had stayed in place. Vivienne imagined it was a bit lopsided, but she didn’t particularly care. Today was the first time she’d felt any real joy or happiness since the attack on the palace.
It wasn’t only Nathan’s lovemaking, either. Being with him made her happy. She’d wakened long before dawn this morning, too excited about the prospect of seeing him to sleep any longer. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him he had a corner of her heart. In truth, she’d been modest. He had captured it whole.
The prospect scared her. Everyone she’d loved was dead. Everyone who’d cared for her was dead, and the men seeking to kill her were still at large. She had no right to involve Nathan in this deadly game of cat and mouse. She had no right to care for him. Caring for him might just mean his death.
They rode back to the house, which looked impressive with the streaks of sunlight breaking through the clouds behind it. Nathan led her to the back, but instead of turning in the direction of the stables, he motioned toward the lawn. In the middle of the long expanse of green bordered by pink and purple flowers, she spotted three targets made of straw and painted with red circles in the middle.
A groom took her mount and handed her down, and she joined Nathan and his butler.
“Duke, I didn’t know you had an interest in archery.”
He smiled, the smile of a man with a secret. “I don’t. I know you do.” He held out a hand and the butler reached in a sack at his feet. He pulled out a quiver of arrows followed by a bow and handed them to Nathan.
“What do you think?” the duke asked.
“Very nice.” She stepped closer to better appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the bow. “May I?” she asked, indicating the arrows.
“Please.”
She lifted one out and nodded approval at the straight line of the shaft and the high quality of the fletching.
“For a man with little interest in archery, this is an extraordinary set.”
“It’s for you.”
She jerked her head up, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. “Me?”
“Yours was...lost. This is a replacement.”
“But this is too much.” She’d never given a second thought to the cost of things before, but since the attack had left her with nothing, she’d begun to think of money more and more. That didn’t stop her hand from curling around the handle of the bow. She itched to try it, to pluck the string and see if it sang.
“Go ahead,” Nathan said. “These targets are for you.”
A thrill of excitement raced through her. Archery had always been one of her favorite pastimes, one at which she excelled. Now she fitted the bow around her hands, took a moment to accustom herself to the weight and the feel of it. Then she pulled an arrow from the quiver and pointed it at the target on her right.
“Not that one,” Nathan said.
She glanced at him over the bow.
“Start on the left.”
Strange request, but she didn’t argue. She shifted until she faced the new target, notched her arrow, and pulled bac
k the string. With a satisfying twang the arrow soared toward the target, hitting the red center circle just to the left.
“Very good, my lady,” the butler remarked.
Vivienne narrowed her eyes, calculating her error. She squared her shoulders and, facing the center target, pulled another arrow from the quiver. She made a slight modification in how she held the bow and let the arrow soar. It hit the center dead in the middle.
She allowed a small smile to curve her lips.
“If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace,” the butler said and started back toward the house. Vivienne hardly saw him go. She turned to the last target and positioned the bow then pulled another arrow from the quiver.
She was aware Nathan stood beside her, feet braced apart and arms crossed over his chest. He shifted slightly, and she had a moment to wonder what he was nervous about before the target consumed her focus.
She narrowed her eyes, pulled the string of the bow back, and let the arrow fly. It made a small ping when it hit.
“I hope I didn’t break the tip,” she said. Without waiting for his answer, she marched across the grass and examined the center of the target.
Something gold glittered in the filtered sunlight. Her arrow had pierced it through.
She pulled the arrow from the strawy and the small circle came with it, balanced precariously on the tip of the arrow. Vivienne’s heart lurched.
It was a ring—a ring with a rather large diamond in the center surrounded by green stones she assumed must be emeralds.
She jerked around almost bumping into Nathan who had come to stand beside her. Before she could say a word, he bent to one knee.
“The ring was my mother’s—not her wedding ring. She still wears that. It was a gift from my father on my birth. I always think of you when I see it because of the emeralds. They’re almost as beautiful as your eyes.”
“Does this mean what I think it means?” she asked, her voice shaking. Every part of her shook now—her legs, her belly, her hands.