Taming the Duke

by Jackie Manning

  Walking hand in hand with her among the people, Dalton couldn’t help but be amused as each man, woman and child greeted him first, as was the custom, but it was Alicia who held their attention. Young and old reached to touch her, as though she were a lovely talisman, bringing fruitful crops and good health to their hamlet.

  His gaze fixed upon her as she settled beside him, laughing with Olivia and Robert as they watched the three-legged men’s race. Perhaps Alicia was a Lady Fortune, bringing healing and good with her touch.

  “…don’t you think so, Dalton?” Robert asked.

  Dalton grinned. “I’m sorry, I must have been woolgathering.” Robert smiled a quick look with Olivia. “I said, the men are lighting the bonfires. It will be dark soon and the dancing has begun. This might be a good time for you and Alicia to make your leave.” He reached for Olivia’s hand. “Do you remember our wedding, dearest?”

  Olivia’s only answer was a becoming blush to her cheeks. “Perhaps Robert is right. If you remain for any more toasts, you might not be leaving at all.”

  Great-Aunt Mary barked a huff of laughter, narrowing her eyes. “Speak for yourself, child. I intend to toast some more and dance until dawn.” She motioned for a servant to refill her champagne glass.

  “Perhaps we should leave,” Dalton said, taking Alicia’s hand. Her fingers were like ice, and he couldn’t help feel disappointed. She knew their arrangement included bearing him a child. Did she detest him and their wedding night this much?

  A servant pulled back their chairs as they rose, and Dalton brushed back his frustration. Tonight, in the privacy of their bedchamber, man and woman would become one.

  “Will there be anything else, your grace?” Ives’s bored monotone wavered slightly, the only indication that earlier, he had led the servants’ celebration of the occasion by drinking the most ale.

  “Yes, one more thing,” Dalton said, reaching for the small gift in his desk drawer. “A token of the day from my wife and me,” he said. “Your new mistress picked this out especially for you.”

  Ives’s gray eyes brightened as he took the elegantly wrapped box. “Why, thank you, your grace.”

  “Go ahead. Open it now.” Dalton grinned with pleasure as the old retainer, who had served him, his father and grandfather before him, ripped open the wrapping with childlike glee.

  “A watch! A gold watch.” Ives’s face lit up as he recognized the value, and heartfelt gratitude spread across his face. “Thank you, your grace, and our new duchess. I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

  “Thank you, Ives. Now run along and rejoin the others for the festivities.”

  “Of course, your grace.” Ives bowed, then turned on his heel, eager to show off the gift to the other servants.

  Dalton stole a glance at the clock. Heaven help him, but he had never dreamed his bride would be reluctant on their wedding night. A terrifying realization washed over him. He’d never bedded a woman before who wasn’t willing. And he wasn’t about to begin now.

  Alicia. Beneath her feminine curves was a woman of passion, he knew. But what was it she wanted from him? He raked his fingers through his hair. Well, whatever it was, he’d find out soon enough. Women never remained silent for long if they wanted something from a man.

  But that didn’t apply to Alicia. No, his bride wasn’t like other women he’d known. Although she was the most desirable woman he had ever met, she appeared to have no desire to share his bed.

  Good Lord! What was he going to do?

  Alicia glanced around the oak paneled master suite as Hortense pulled back the heavy gold curtains surrounding the bed. “You may go now,” Alicia said, hoping Marie and Hortense would leave before they noticed she was trembling.

  Hortense squealed with surprise as she turned back the gold satin comforter on the great four-poster canopied bed to reveal carmine rose petals scattered across the fragrant sheets. “Kimbra was in here earlier with Marie,” she said with a laugh. “Now I know what they were up to.”

  “It was Kimbra’s idea,” Marie said as she brushed Alicia’s long, lustrous hair.

  “Kimbra has always been the romantic of the family,” Alicia said, touched by her sister’s lovely gesture. If only she could be as lighthearted about the occasion as Kimbra, she thought, tension mounting by the minute. With trembling fingers, she untied the white ribbons at her throat so Marie could remove the silk negligee, revealing the virginal white lace nightgown.

  “Should I put another log on the fire, my lady?” Hortense shuffled toward the bronze woodbox. “There’s a dampness to the evening, and you don’t want to catch cold.”

  Marie laughed merrily. “His Grace will not allow that to happen, Hortense.” A pink blush darkened Hortense’s cheeks and she clucked her disapproval at Marie’s brazen remark.

  “Another log would be fine,” Alicia said, shivering.

  Marie put down the hairbrush. “Perhaps her ladyship would like a glass of brandy?”

  Alicia climbed upon the feather bed and almost sank out of sight. “No, thank you,” she said, attempting to contain her dignity. “Please close the door when you leave.”

  Marie and Hortense exchanged knowing smiles, but bustled quickly from the room. When she was finally alone, Alicia pulled herself up from the thick feather bed and donned her silk robe. She refused to wait in bed for Dalton like a trussed-up Christmas goose. She stepped to the mantelpiece and blew out the only lamp the maids had left burning. Now, the only light came from the fire crackling in the grate.

  Minutes passed as she stared into the fire, the sound of the ticking clock on the mantelpiece growing louder. She bit her lip and glanced at the gold numerals. Almost midnight. Where was Dalton? How long would he keep her waiting?

  She glanced over her shoulder and peered at the massive canopied bed. Opulent, imposing and intimidating—just like the master.

  She rubbed her temples, her head spinning with apprehension of what the next few hours might bring.

  When Dalton stepped inside the shadow-filled bedchamber he wasn’t prepared for the sight awaiting him. In the chair in front of the fireplace, Alicia curled in repose, eyelids closed in sleep.

  He would have thought she was too tense to sleep, but then he realized how exhausted she must be after the past few days. Despite the flurry of wedding activities, Alicia had been up before sunrise, fitting in Bashshar’s training sessions between endless wedding details. If anything, she had spent more time with the stallion. Nor had her other duties prevented her from teaching Penn how to read after dinner, often late into the evenings. He smiled, savoring the new and unexpected feelings as pride filled his heart for this unusual woman who was now his bride.

  In slumber, she looked like an innocent temptress, if there was such a thing. Firelight caressed the silken gleam of her skin and the red-gold of her chestnut hair. The delicate silk of her dressing gown did nothing to conceal the feminine curves beneath. Dalton swallowed, aware of the hard response of his body as he watched the soft rise and fall of her creamy breasts peek from the inviting opening of her dressing gown.

  How he wanted to lift her and carry her to bed and drive himself into her. He wanted to see her rapturous face when he made passionate love to her. He wanted to teach her all the delights of lovemaking and watch her melt with desire for him.

  She shifted slightly, her full mouth drawn in slumber. She moved her head, her hair slipping from her shoulder to reveal the exquisite curve of her neck and the delicate hollow of her throat.

  He watched, fascinated, as the low-burning fire cast golden shadows across the perfect oval of her face. She was beautiful, yes, but he’d had beautiful women before. Women even more beautiful than she…but not with that soft, full mouth, or that unguarded innocence.

  For some reason, the picture of her with the village children flickered into his mind. She’d picked up a little boy who’d been crying, afraid of the coaches’ horses. She’d held him on her shoulder with his dirty face and copious tears ruining he
r gown. She hadn’t given a thought to it. She’d made the little boy smile, too.

  Dalton gazed at her mouth, the soft, full lips, the rich, delicate coloring of them against her fair skin. Would she smile at him with tenderness if he made love to her? Would she whisper his name? Would she murmur the sounds a man could lose himself in, lose his pain in?

  He reached to touch the silky strands of firelight in her hair when he noticed that his hand was shaking. Surprised, he drew back.

  A tumble of new emotions welled deep inside him, feelings for a woman he had never felt before. He wanted to protect her, comfort her, make the world safe and secure for her.

  What the hell was the matter with him? He desired his bride, his body was responding with a violent surge, so what was stopping him?

  What was stopping him, indeed? He sucked in a deep breath. He felt more than mere lust. He was in love with her. She was a woman, and any man who thought himself in love was a fool. And Dalton hadn’t been a fool for many years.

  Abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode quietly from the room. He needed a drink. He needed a dose of fresh air and a level head.

  But glancing back at her before he closed the door, he had a bridled, puzzling image of that frightened little boy who had reached out to her as she smiled at him.

  A log tumbled off the grate crackling into white embers, the noise startling Alicia. She lunged forward, her breath catching in her throat. Glancing around the shadowed chamber, she was, for the moment, disoriented; then she remembered. Her wedding night. She swallowed hard, running her hand through her unbound hair.

  Three-thirty in the morning! She stared at the clock. It would be dawn soon. Where was Dalton? The question hammered at her.

  For no reason that she could understand, she hurried across the room, pulled open the heavy door and peered down the empty corridor. What had she expected to see? Feeling foolish, she closed the door, leaning against the carved wood. As she watched the flickering shadows from the low-burning fire play across the walls and massive furniture of the bedchamber, her gaze fixed on the bridal bed, waiting untouched, just as she was.

  Didn’t he want her? Surprised by her disappointment, she was also amazed at her growing feeling of rejection. The idea that he wouldn’t come to her bed had never occurred to her. Did he find her so undesirable or lacking in appeal?

  Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She wasn’t the type of woman that he fancied. She wasn’t knowledgeable in the art of satisfying men, as was Elizabeth, or the other women who fawned over men like Dalton. She felt a squeezing hurt in the pit of her stomach. Despite her earlier fears, she was disappointed. Yes, she had wanted Dalton to come to her, make love to her as though he really cared.

  The silence of the room, forlorn and desolate, brought a sweep of perplexing feelings that chilled her. Pained by the unbidden truth, she felt the loneliness and isolation to her very soul. She fought back the hot sting of threatening tears. Pride. Thank God, she still had her pride. If she wanted him, she’d be damned if she would show it. If he didn’t love her, then she would force herself not to love him.

  Alicia stormed out of the room, down the hall to her own suite to change into a day gown. She had some serious thinking to do, and there was only one place where she could find the peace she craved.

  When Alicia stepped into the stable, she was immediately comforted by the familiar smells of hay, animals and leather. She hurried past the horse stalls until she reached the last box at the end of the corridor.

  Penn had left the lantern burning, she thought with irritation. Then she noticed Bashshar’s stall door was ajar. Before she had a chance to react, the door creaked open.

  Dalton stood, staring in surprise. Instead of speaking, he opened the door wider, almost in invitation. Beside him, Bashshar whinnied, tossing his head in greeting. She noticed the currycomb in Dalton’s hand, then she realized that he often worked with the horses after the servants had retired for the night. Perhaps he had sought the one place that brought him peace, too.

  He was dressed in a white shirt, open to the waist. Whorls of black hair covered his chest. She couldn’t help but stare. He ignored her as he gripped the currycomb in one hand and the stiff brush in the other. Both hands began the long, slow strokes across Bashshar’s flank. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow. She had never seen his bare arms before, she realized, and the sight brought strange little flips in her stomach as she admired the flex and play of the long, thick muscles in his forearms.

  “Did you come looking for me?” he asked finally, not taking his eyes from his work.

  “Of course not!” Her cheeks grew hot as she realized he was arrogant enough to believe she might have sought him out. “I—I couldn’t sleep. I thought I might see how Bashshar was doing.”

  “Hmm.” Dalton’s long easy strokes across Bashshar’s back never slowed. “You were sleeping quite soundly a while ago….”

  Surprised, her eyes fixed with his. So he had come to their bedchamber. She hesitated, afraid to reveal the joy that knowledge gave her. “Then, why didn’t you…remain?”

  A look she didn’t understand crossed his face. “I…thought you needed to sleep.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her gaze to Dalton’s beautifully shaped hands as the brush slid across the ebony satin of the stallion’s hide. She watched, mesmerized, as the corded muscles flexed with each stroke of the brush and currycomb. A strange sensation twisted in her stomach.

  Had he found her so undesirable that he could simply walk away from his bride on his wedding night?

  Maybe she should leave, if that’s what he wanted. He hadn’t come looking for her, after all. But somehow, here in the familiar comfort of the stable with the horses, she didn’t want to return to the cold elegance of his bedchamber. She had always felt more at ease with Dalton, here, working with Bashshar. At least here, she wasn’t alone. “It will be dawn soon,” she said, then immediately wondered why she had said something so incredibly silly.

  “Hmm.”

  In the lengthening silence, she watched him groom the horse, and she felt increasingly as though she didn’t belong. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she turned to leave. “Well, since Bashshar seems to be content for the night…”

  Dalton glanced up. “I’ve never thanked you properly for all you’ve done for Bashshar.” His voice was deep and thick with emotion. Bashshar nuzzled Dalton’s neck and shoulder as though he understood. Alicia’s throat tightened as she saw the rare glimpse of his caring that Dalton tried so hard to hide.

  “After Bashshar’s accident, I was racked with guilt for not putting him down. Every trainer, including the royal horse trainers had urged me to put him out of his misery. But…I just couldn’t bear to lose him. Somehow, I’d hoped for a miracle—” Dalton turned his loving gaze on her “—and then I found you.”

  A rush of tender gratitude squeezed her heart. She wasn’t sure if he was speaking about her, or about her healing. “I—I’m glad,” was all she could trust herself to say.

  He straightened, then laid the brush and currycomb down. In several strides, he came beside her. Taking her small hands in his, he gently rubbed her fingers. “Such small hands for such great healing.”

  “I wish I could heal what troubles you.”

  Immediately his brows lifted. “Heal me? Of what?” he asked playfully, refusing to take her seriously.

  What had just passed between them gave her courage. She pressed forward. “Heal you of your fear of love.”

  He took her hand and smiled lazily; his white teeth flashed against his dark, sun-bronzed skin. “You haven’t forgiven me for my earlier careless remarks to Justin. I apologized, Alicia. Won’t you forgive me?”

  “Then you’re admitting that you believe in love?”

  “Of course.” His words came much too quickly. She knew he was just saying what he believed she had wanted to hear.

  Oh, why couldn’t she let matters lie? Now, he would think she wanted him to confe
ss deep affection for her. Embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to the straw-strewn floor. “Are you planning to remain here for the rest of the night?”

  “Is that your way of asking me if I’ll come to your bed?” he asked lightly, a teasing glint in his eye.

  “Of course not! I mean, I expected to…I don’t…”

  Dalton smiled. “That’s not a very clear message, my dear.”

  A feeling of vulnerability that he could see right through her caused her to snap. “I’m sorry. I’m not experienced in these…arrangements.”

  “That’s obvious.” His voice was low and rough. “If you were, you wouldn’t have come looking for me here, now, if you didn’t intend to offer…an arrangement.”

  “Believe me, your grace, I have no wish to trouble you with offers you do not want.”

  Dalton’s heated gaze grew darker. “Believe me, Wife, you could not make any offer of yourself that I would not want.”

  She took several steps backward, reaching the door of the stall. She turned and pushed opened the door. He walked up behind her. “I think I’ll spend the remainder of the night in my cottage,” she said.

  “Now there’s a thought.”

  She stepped into the corridor and paused, peering over her shoulder as he followed her. She watched him draw the bolt across Bashshar’s stall. “What do you mean?”

  “The cottage,” he said, his voice silky. “We can spend what remains of the night at your wee cottage.”

  “Certainly not you…I mean, there’s not enough room for—” Her fingers nervously played with the ribbons at her neckline.

  He laughed. “How much room do you think we’ll need?” He leaned closer, his face within inches of hers. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, the familiar, fresh masculine scent of him suddenly unsettling. Her pulse hammered in her throat.