Once Upon a Duke

by Sandra Masters

  Miss Arabella choked a bit.

  “Is this a vintner’s addition to our country entertainments? If so, I like it. The men have their drinks and we have ours. I wonder how Almack’s would rate the liqueur?” Serena took another, somewhat larger sip. Her nose wrinkled. “Good show, Lady Rebecca. It is potent.”

  Soon the men returned and the pairing of partners resumed its pace. The musicians played and dancing began.

  “We have been introduced to Grappa, an Italian wine derivative I swear could curdle your blood, Lord Geoffrey. Henry, there’s some on the side table. Do take a taste, but beware,” Serena said.

  The conversation went on to Grappa’s benefits. Serena concluded the Italians must have stomachs lined with steel as giddiness enveloped her.

  The men sampled the concoction and agreed it tasted strong. The musicians played a quadrille, and a number of waltzes. During the course of the next hours, everyone switched partners and gaiety abounded. They reverted to their original partners for the last waltz.

  Dancing in Geoffrey’s arms, Serena whispered, “This evening moved too fast. I must admit to unusual warmth. It could be the potent effect of the Grappa. Please hold me close lest I fall.”

  “With pleasure.” His arms tightened around her. Lord Geoffrey twirled her around the room, but at the third rotation, she deliberately slowed her steps.

  “Is something amiss?” His eyes held curious concern.

  “I’m not sure. It’s been a long day and evening,” she sighed. “I fear I must retire.” Geoffrey escorted Serena to her brother and she bid Henry and his guests a good night.

  He took her arm and led her to the veranda where the footman waited in the carriage.

  “Let me come to you later,” he said in his slow seductive voice, yet he prepared for rejection.

  “Yes, but not for the reason you think. My creative mind whirls. I would like to have you sit again for the portrait. It needs more detail on the face. I don’t know if I can finish both portraits of you, but I will attempt one. My head throbs.” Her hand went to her throat. “I’ll leave the door unbolted. Sad to say, our time together here is short. Enter quietly so as not to wake Emma.

  “Too short, I agree.” His hand splayed over her back with strength to steady her. “As soon as the house is retired, I will walk to your studio. It is more discreet. I will be there soon, my lady.”

  The sound of his voice waved over her like a lover’s kiss.

  “Don’t be long, dear Geoffrey. I long to see your face reflected in the candlelight.”

  Chapter Eight

  Geoffrey, Henry and his guests bid each other good night and retired to their chambers. He counted the minutes it took for everyone to go to their respective rooms, and paced an additional twenty. The house settled into silence. Geoffrey peered out the door and neither saw nor heard anyone. He left his room, descended the steps in utmost quiet, and went out the kitchen door leaving it unlocked for his return.

  A three-quarter moon lit the path. Geoffrey stayed in the shadows and, when out of sight of the main house, quickened his pace. It occurred to him he had a collection of bits by which to remember her—the ribbon, hairpin, and barrette. They made for a good reason to visit her several times, one decadent night at a time.

  Or keep them in order to obtain more? The graphic visions that came to mind of pillow talk lying on the four-poster bed; they would for certain get him incarcerated.

  He entered Serena’s home through the unlocked door and closed it quietly. He ascended the stairway with soft steps. The door to her studio was ajar. Soft candlelight wafted into the hallway.

  He entered, closing the door. “What have we here?” he whispered. How could one woman be more adorable in a pinafore apron than a glittering ball gown? Serena slept curled on the settee. He would wake her, but not before he took a few moments to savor the sight. She’d changed from the red gown into a more comfortable dress that he presumed allowed better movement to sketch.

  His picture sat on the easel, awaiting her finishing touches. Charcoal pencils lay on the tray. She was serious about his sitting for her. That hadn’t been his intent at all.

  Serena, part little girl and part female deity, held an appeal like none other. What man didn’t dream of a wanton goddess at his beck and call? He gazed at her peaceful face; her breasts rose and fell as she breathed in quiet repose. She slept deep in the arms of Morpheus. His arms ached to hold her. Geoffrey kissed her forehead with a gentleness new to him. She stirred, but didn’t wake. On the tableside sat a decanter of wine and two fluted glasses. He poured a drink, sat back and relaxed.

  A cozy fire warmed the room. The firelight caught the blue-black of Serena’s hair. It occurred to him the Italian Grappa could be the reason for the deep sleep that disturbed both their plans. He choked on a quiet laugh. Geoffrey went to her escritoire and took a quill to write a note for her.

  Sleeping Beauty,

  I came, but you were not awake. I should have warned you not to trust Italian liqueurs. My years in Italy could attest to that. I will leave a recipe for your maid to make your recovery easier. Send word when you are ready to continue our sitting.

  Your faithful rake, Geoffrey

  Despite his foiled plans he found the situation humorous. “Not tonight, sweet Serena, but I will make you mine and I know just where and when.” He thought to stay and watch her slumber. What he could do with such a woman in his bed. Would he gaze upon her in sleep and not awaken her with his touch, with his need, with his aching desire?

  What secret did she withhold from him? He covered her with an afghan that rested on the arm of the small couch. He placed the note and the recipe in envelopes, sealed them. He wrote Serena’s name on one, Emma’s on the other. He slid the message beneath her hand where it lay against her stomach. Geoffrey took one final look at his sleeping beauty. A smile curled around his heart.

  As he passed the maid’s quarters, Geoffrey slipped the instruction for the recovery recipe under her door. Tomato juice with pepper and a bit of the hare that bit her, he’d recommend, if she’d brought any of the Grappa home with her. If not, second best was a generous swig of straight dill pickle juice. Either would settle her stomach.

  Geoffrey walked in silence, his mind muddled, and his body in full arousal, only to find himself at the lake. The moonlight undulated over the ripples like ballerinas in pirouettes as they tiptoed on one foot. With great care, he stripped his clothes, waded to the center, and treaded water. The effort it took for him to accomplish all this eased his physical discomfort. He swam back. To his good fortune, the sultry night air dried most of him within minutes.

  He donned some of his clothing, including his boots, and held his jacket and cravat over one arm as he walked in darkness back to the manor house. Should he encounter anyone, it would be obvious he took a midnight swim. His hair was still wet.

  He entered the way he’d left and the house remained quiet.

  Back in his room, he removed all his clothing. He sat in front of the fireplace deep in thought. The decanter of brandy on his side table beckoned, and he filled a snifter.

  “I don’t want to be fogged by lust and brandy.”

  Did the lovely lady know how much she tormented him?

  Geoffrey wanted her as much as he believed she wanted him, even though she hadn’t yet admitted it. Electricity in the air, akin to lightning just before the strike, surrounded them whenever they were together.

  Next time, my lady. There is always a next time.

  ****

  Serena awakened with a headache pounding like ten marching battalions. She called to Emma as she slipped off the settee rubbing her neck.

  Emma came in holding a glass of liquid in a revolting green color. “Good morning, mistress. I have something to help you recover. His Grace gave me the remedy and swears it will work.”

  “Goodness, he did come last night?”

  “He must have, my lady. There was a note with the recipe beneath my door.”

>   “What is it? No, I do not want to know. Maybe it is best I just drink it.” She took a small sip, scrunched her nose. “Do I have to finish it?”

  “Yes, mistress. It will make you feel better.”

  Serena managed to drink it all without cashing in her accounts.

  When she set the glass on the table, she noticed an envelope bearing her name in the folds of her coverlet. His words touched her heart. Serena lifted her hand to her mouth, emotional at the salutation—Sleeping Beauty—and the closing—Your Faithful Rake. “Mistress, Lord Geoffrey was so kind last night to realize your weariness from the long day and not wake you. His thoughtfulness in leaving the recovery recipe with me makes me think well of him.”

  “Indeed.” Serena walked to her art supplies, still as she’d prepared them. “I shall not breakfast at the main house. My stomach begs me to take caution.” Her hand went to her abdomen, her other hand poised at her head, rubbing away the pain.

  Serena sat at her desk and penned two notes. One to her brother to explain the reason she couldn’t attend breakfast. I met with the Italian spirit, Grappa, whom I could not resist. I slept like the dead, but awoke with the headache of a beaten rowdy. Forgive me, dear brother, for not being at the morning fest. I will, however, join you for the evening meal.

  Lord Geoffrey’s note followed asking him to sit for her in the afternoon.

  Dear Geoffrey, I regret I slept through our liaison last evening. I shall always wonder how our time together might have been spent. Please honor me with your presence at my studio this afternoon at two, so we might conclude your portrait.

  “I’ll arrange for your letters to be delivered, mistress.”

  “Thank you, Emma, and if possible, see to it that his Grace receives his discreetly. No need to alarm Henry to think Geoffrey and I are exchanging secret notes. Serena smiled and handed the monogrammed stationery to her maid.

  Secret Notes? She suspected she and Geoffrey would share many other secrets. One might be bed sport.

  Chapter Nine

  Geoffrey joined Henry and his guests in the dining room. He bid everyone a good morning. Noticeably, Serena was not present.

  “Geoffrey, I’ve received word from my sister who is under the weather. She sends her regrets and advises she will join us for supper. It appears the Grappa was too much for her system. There’s a note for you from Serena.”

  With a smile, the Duke accepted the note and read it in haste. “I am summoned to sit again for my portrait. Serena wants to finish at least one of them before I take my leave.” He didn’t offer any facial expression so as not to give his emotions away to her brother. Inside, he couldn’t wait to see her again. He liked being in her sacred sanctum, the studio. Intense desire swelled within him as he fantasized about another sacred place, between her thighs.

  “I’m so sorry Serena is under the weather,” said Lady Rebecca.

  “Nonsense,” Henry answered. “If she feels well enough to continue Geoffrey’s portrait, I do believe it will be a lesson well-learned.”

  “I would like to see her work, but most artists do not appreciate the interruption of their creative inspiration. In what medium does she paint?” Rebecca looked to Henry, but it was Geoffrey who answered.

  “In oil, although she does charcoal sketches first. You would enjoy her canvasses. I think she will make a fine children’s book illustrator, if such opportunity were afforded to a woman. It is more of a man’s arena.” He folded the serviette. “Perhaps Lady Serena has the gumption to challenge the trend.”

  “She has no need of money. I do not want her engaged in such vulgar endeavors.” Henry said. Geoffrey’s hackles rose. His instincts warned that Henry might have unfavorable plans for Serena that she wouldn’t be of a will to accept. He made an issue of his legal guardianship clear to her, and frequently reminded Serena of her dependence on him. Geoffrey remembered the emotion that crossed Serena’s face when Henry did so. He determined to speak to her to discover the reason behind her discomfort.

  “If you will all excuse me, I need to tend to Solomon and check a scratch on his leg. He took the last hurdle a bit low.” Lord Geoffrey smiled. “I do not wish to leave good company, but must attend my animal. I will rejoin you soon.” On his way to the stables, his thoughts became anxious.

  He walked to his horse’s stall and leaned down to feel the foreleg for swelling. Solomon’s small cut was treated with salve and wrapped just as he’d instructed the groom. It appeared no real problem existed.

  He heard unusual sounds and walked toward them. There in a corner he saw a dog being nuzzled by greedy pups.

  The groom came up to him. “Cute, aren’t they?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to the mewling puppies. “How old are they?”

  “Ten weeks old, my lord, but you can see she is of good stock.”

  “Are they for sale? I should like to purchase one for Miss Serena.”

  “They are not for sale, but you may choose one for her ladyship. The mother dog is a stray that I took in at the stables. The pups are ready to be set on their own. If you wish one for Miss Serena, I’ll fetch it. Which one would you select, my lord?”

  Geoffrey kept his gaze on one particular black pup. The white circle around one eye held an impish appeal. “Hunting dogs?” he asked.

  “Yes, I believe so. Will you visit her now?”

  “I would like to surprise her. Is there another steed available? I do not want to ride Solomon until I am confident he is fully mended.” He selected the precocious pup that caught his attention.

  Lord Geoffrey embraced the wiggling animal, and spoke in a soft voice. “You will do fine. If you go to Miss Serena, you will lead a spoiled life.” The pup stopped whining.

  The groom smiled and went to prepare a horse. The stable hand presented a small basket in which to place the pup. “It’s not a long ride, and he will be comfortable on the blanket until you reach the house.”

  “We shall be fine.” He guided the horse out of the stable with the strength of his knees. On the short ride to Serena’s house, the gentle motion of the hoof beats lulled the pup to sleep.

  Geoffrey arrived at the studio, dismounted, and left the basket with the sleeping animal on the veranda while he took the horse to the stall. He returned with haste, held the basket and lifted the knocker.

  The maid answered, smiled, and curtsied, then stepped aside for him to enter. “Good afternoon, Emma.” She took his crop and hat.

  He handed her a container. The curded cheese is for this visitor. He raised the basket and lifted the blanket to allow her a peek. “If our lady likes him, the groom will send over appropriate food.”

  Emma smiled broadly, “Pups are so precious. This one warms the cockles of my heart.”

  “Is our lady better?”

  “Oh, yes, your Grace, your pickle juice worked.”

  He laughed.

  She led Lord Geoffrey up the stairs and announced him. He entered, and closed the door before handing her the basket.

  “Geoffrey, is it for me?” She reached into the basket and brought the squirming pup to her. Serena’s squeal of joy at the sight delighted him. “Is it male or female?

  “I checked myself, it is male. I know about those things.” He smirked.

  She sat on the lounge and patted for him to sit next to her. “I haven’t received a gift that could mean more.” A bright smile engulfed her face. “This is a living gift, and I will cherish him as I treasure you.” The pup settled against her breast and nodded off again.

  “He seems quite comfortable.” Geoffrey grinned. “Is there room for me too?” he jested.

  “I think not. You would not sleep.” Serena stroked the pup’s head. “What shall I call him? What does he like to eat?”

  “I gave Emma the instructions. The stable groom will further advise her.” Geoffrey warmed at her side and touched the puppy’s head with his finger. “He should have a special name.”

  “I would name him Duke but it would be too obvious.
Perhaps King? Or Majesty? I will need to think on this.”

  “When he gets bigger he will protect you when you take your midnight walks to the lake. I will help you train him. Would you like me to?”

  “Midnight walks with me or your help to train the pup?” she asked in her usual humor.

  “I would prefer both, dear lady.” Geoffrey stroked the dozing pup. “I am pleased you like my gift.”

  “Diamonds could not compare.” Serena gave the pup a kiss on the tip of his nose.

  “What? None for me?” Geoffrey pointed to his cheek.

  She kept the pup between them and gave Geoffrey a kiss on his scar. His mouth curled, his eyes gleamed with naughtiness.

  “Do you want me to sit in the same chair so you can finish the sketch?”

  He picked up the dog, nestled it in the blanket and set it near her. “I think it is time we put him back in his basket while he sleeps.”

  After several hours, the puppy awoke and Geoffrey set him on the stone floor. The dog walked in a circle and then piddled. Alarm shone in Serena’s eyes.

  “Don’t worry. I will clean it up. It is a natural thing when so young. Give me something I can use.”

  Geoffrey bent. His breeches stretched to reveal the strength of his muscular thighs as he leaned to wipe up the puddle. He stood. His broad shoulders and massive chest seemed to fill the room.

  She was impressed by the tenderness of his care for the pup and awestruck at his elegance, when he extended his hand to her, she accepted. Overwhelmed by an unfamiliar emotion, she went to him. His embrace more than satisfied. Suddenly overcome, she didn’t know whether to laugh—or cry.

  Was she in love with him? Was she worthy of him? Could he love her in return and not leave her behind?

  Serena ached with desire, longed for his touch, yearned with a burning need for him, a feeling she’d never before experienced.

  Could she give herself to him without fear? Could he shoo away her demons? Would the quaking inside ever stop? The important question, could she trust him not to hurt her?