The Wolf Duke

by K. J. Jackson

  “Yes. I can do it.”

  Reiner edged his way off the bench and motioned Vicky to the open spot. “If it will get you to willingly practice, then I am a fool to say no.”

  Vicky quickly sank down onto the bench, arranging the sheets of music in front of her. She played a couple of bars, speeding up as she went until she was at the pace Reiner played at.

  He walked across the room to Sloane and held out his left hand to her. “Shall we?”

  She hesitated for one second, staring up at the man. She’d never imagined the first time she truly danced the waltz it was to be with a man she wasn’t in love with—and of all things, the man that was currently holding her captive.

  She glanced at Vicky. The girl was looking at her—her wide blue eyes pleading as she nodded her head.

  Wrong. This was wrong for so many reasons.

  But she lifted her right hand and set it in his.

  His free hand slid around her side, settling just below her shoulder blade, and he pulled her a step closer than she ever would have dared to be near the man on her own.

  Her head bowed, looking at the scant slice of floor between them.

  “No, your eyes must be up,” Reiner said. “Watching in my face where I am to lead you next—not staring at my feet. By the time my feet are moving it’s too late. You have to see it in my eyes.”

  Of course. Of course he’d have her looking at him. All the better to pin his cold skeptical stare on her.

  Her gloved left hand moved to sit along his shoulder and Sloane lifted her look to meet his.

  His light brown eyes weren’t the slightest bit wary. Warm even, the brown turning into a warm golden honey. Nothing like she’d seen in him before and it gave her pause—sent suspicion deep into her look.

  “Flip it in your mind. You’re going backwards now.” He looked to Vicky. “You can begin.”

  He let Vicky get through four measures before his look centered on Sloane and he started forth.

  The first steps went fine, but at the point she was to switch starting feet, her gaze dropped between them.

  “Up. Eyes up.”

  The order made her jump and her gaze lifted and locked onto his.

  She moved into the steps, letting his grip along her back guide her body, his hand covering hers dictate direction. One, two, three. One, two, three.

  He shifted her around the cleared space of the floor three times before it felt natural, before she could read in his eyes exactly what his intention was for the direction of the steps.

  His eyes had relaxed even more. Golden brown eyes. She studied them. Almost amber in the warm light of the library. Yet still eyes that would unnerve her if she wasn’t so intent on concentrating where her feet were moving.

  She was waltzing. For the first time in her life, she was sweeping across the floor in the scandalous, beautiful dance.

  She cleared her throat as he shifted her around a turn. “You dance well.”

  “You expected I could not?”

  “You aren’t married, so I assumed you hadn’t yet gone through your paces in the marriage mart, which would have honed your prowess on your feet.”

  His lips pursed for a moment. “Who said I wasn’t married?”

  Her head snapped back. “But Vicky said—you are?”

  “No. I’m not.” A grin came to his lips. “I was just curious how you get your information.”

  Her fingers on his shoulder lifted and she tapped him. “That was unfair.”

  “Convenient.” The grin didn’t leave his face. “To be honest, I haven’t participated in the marriage mart because it’s tedious and I have no need to go trolling for an heiress.”

  “Don’t you have to produce an heir?”

  His shoulders lifted slightly. “Eventually. Though it’s not a priority for me.”

  Sloane nodded, a smile playing about the corners of her lips. “So you will just order a random, irreproachable lady from London when it comes to it?”

  “I hadn’t considered that, but it does sound like a palatable option.”

  A chuckle escaped her lips. “At least you will be able to woo the lass with your dancing skills.”

  “I don’t imagine the wife I have will lower herself to waltzing, of all things.”

  “No?”

  “No. Virtuous and of good birthing lines, as that would be her purpose. Not dancing.”

  She shook her head, averting her eyes from him.

  “You think otherwise?”

  Sloane met his look. “It sounds like you want a horse. What woman would willingly accept that in a marriage?”

  “Anyone that married me.”

  Her fingers on his shoulder flipped up into the air. “Posh. Not when there is so much more to life than birthing heirs to a title.”

  His eyes flipped far too fast into frosty cold. “You are an expert on what women want in a marriage?”

  “I am at least of the same gender—so that makes me more of an expert than you.”

  “I think you overestimate the women that would trade anything away to be a duchess.”

  She shrugged. “You’re correct. I am not an expert in those women. I’ve frankly never understood them.”

  “I’m going to create scandal and spin you.”

  No time to prepare, the words were out of his mouth the exact moment he flung her out from his hold, spinning her under his high left hand.

  The gasp in her throat ended just as his right arm clamped back about her body.

  Laughter bubbled up from her chest. “That—that is what I would take over a title any day.”

  His eyebrow cocked. “A dance and a spin?”

  “Yes.” Her head nodded. “Aye. Absolutely. This is what I’ll wait for. Thank goodness I’ve been able to avoid the trap of chasing an almighty title.”

  Reiner set them back into even steps and Sloane became acutely aware that their bodies were closer than before. Too close. The tips of her breasts grazing his chest with every step. His hold around her back clamping her more fully than before. Her neck craning her head upward just to keep eye contact with him.

  This was why this dance was dangerous. Why her governess had scurried her away so quickly from it. The speed, the closeness, the spin. It sent blood pumping fast through her veins and wicked thoughts into her head. Wicked thoughts of the devilishly handsome man that was holding her captive.

  The very offense of that thought hit her hard.

  She shouldn’t be enjoying this—shouldn’t have laughter falling from her lips. Her gaze dipped to stare at his chest, at the cut just above his dark waistcoat and below where his cravat was tucked neatly in place.

  “How many brothers do you have?”

  Her head snapped backward at the question. She blinked hard, her look lifting to skewer him. “You were eavesdropping?”

  He offered a slight shrug. “I heard the music stop and I was walking by to see if everyone had retired for the evening.”

  “So you stopped outside the door and listened in on a private conversation? That is the very definition of eavesdropping.”

  He stopped all motion, his hands abruptly dropping from her. “Vicky, you can stop.”

  Vicky looked up from the music, her fingers trailing on the last few keys. “What? Why?”

  He turned fully toward his niece. “We are done for the evening. Could you please retire to your rooms?”

  Vicky’s hand waved toward the cleared area of the floor. “But I would like to try the dance again, now that I’ve seen it done properly. I know Miss Sloane could teach me now.”

  “She will have to do it another evening.” His cool voice held no room for disobedience.

  With an exaggerated sigh that dragged out as only a nine-year-old could accomplish, Vicky stood from the bench and stomped across the room and out the door.

  Sloane started to follow Vicky, but Reiner stepped in front of her, shaking his head and pointing to the floor next to her feet. A silent order. She was not to move.r />
  Reiner went to the door of the library and closed it.

  He turned around and strode across the room to her. Stopping far too close, he glared down at her. “There is no such thing as a private conversation with my niece. I need to know every word everyone says to her, and you, of all people, are not immune to that.”

  Sloane looked up at him, meeting his glare with her own. “You sound like a tyrant.”

  “I sound like an uncle that swore no harm would ever come to his niece.” The vehemence in the rumble of his voice made her pause.

  Pause and take a step back. Her look fell to the smooth wooden planks of the floor between them. She had to remember he believed she was there to harm him—that she was an enemy.

  But she couldn’t possibly be there to harm Vicky.

  Could she?

  What in the blasted world could have happened to her to make her want to harm him or his niece?

  But she knew herself. Knew what she was and was not capable of doing, no matter what had happened to her in the void of the past weeks or months. Steady, her gaze rose to him. “I would never harm that girl, Reiner. She’s an innocent.”

  “Yes, and there’s no better way to harm me than through her.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t ken what has made you so spiteful that you distrust everyone—to the extent that you would keep me—another innocent—captive here. And for what? Out of fear of what I could possibly do to you? You found me—I have no idea what I’m doing here or how I got here—and you won’t help me figure it out. You want answers, Reiner, well, I want them as well. I want them more than you do.” Her voice started to shake. “But if there is one thing that I ken about myself, it’s that I would never hurt an innocent child. Never. That you would even insinuate it sends a rage through my belly.”

  His hand flipped up in the air. “What would you like me to do, Sloane? While there are things you don’t remember, there are clearly things that you do recall and are refusing to tell me. The fact that you have brothers? That your grandfather is a marquess?”

  Vicky must have told him that fact, for she’d kept her mouth clamped tight against him learning the slightest thing about her. Her arms clamped in front of her chest. “And I could say the exact same of you. You are refusing to tell me anything that would help me solve the mystery of why I’m here.”

  He inclined his head slightly, pinning her with his brown eyes that swirled in the crossroads between cold and warm. “Yes, so how about I propose a deal?”

  Her eyes narrowed at him. “A deal consisting of what?”

  “For every piece of information you give me, I give you one back of equal importance.”

  Her jaw shifted back and forth as she tried to read him. Tried to discern if the man was even worthy of the trust it would take for a deal like that.

  A deep breath, and she exhaled it in a long sigh. “I will agree.” She held up her hand. “As long as we agree first upon the questions that equate importance.”

  “Agreed.” He nodded. “Your grandfather is a marquess—I want to know his name.”

  “And I want to ken exactly where I am right now—by the accents of everyone in this castle, I cannot imagine we are in Scotland?”

  He pierced her with his stark amber-hued eyes. “You’ll answer mine if I answer yours?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re in England at Wolfbridge Castle in Lincolnshire, thirty miles northeast of Lincoln.”

  She stumbled a step backward, her arm clasping across her belly. Lincolnshire? What was she doing weeks away from Vinehill—from her home?

  “The—the nearest village?” She managed to mumble the words out.

  “Binbrook. An hour ride away.”

  Her hand lifted, rubbing her forehead. Lincolnshire. In the middle of nowhere.

  “My turn, Sloane.”

  Her look jerked up to him. It took her three gasps of breath before she could force air across her tongue. Her look dropped to the flames in the fireplace just behind Reiner. She’d made the deal, now she had to live by it. “My—my grandfather is the Marquess of Vinehill and…”

  “And?”

  Slowly, her look lifted to him, defiant. “And he will send warriors for me once he knows where I am.”

  { Chapter 6 }

  The Marquess of Vinehill.

  Her grandfather was a marquess he’d only heard of once. And at that, he’d had to tease out from vague recollections who the man was. He wasn’t an enemy—at least not one that Reiner knew of.

  Reiner leaned toward the third level open window in his chamber as his fingers worked his cravat. Walking into the castle from his morning ride an hour ago, he saw Sloane and Vicky escaping into the expansive gardens that unfurled out from the south side of the castle.

  His look trailed along the top rows of the evergreen hedges until he spotted a flash of pink. It disappeared, then reappeared a row away. A flash of blue. Disappeared. Flitting into view again two rows away.

  Were his niece and Sloane running?

  In her pink dress, Vicky appeared on the far edge of the rows, just outside the east border of the gardens. He saw the blue dress, saw Sloane sneaking up on her before Vicky knew what was approaching. An arm’s length away, Sloane lunged, catching Vicky around the waist.

  Vicky squealed and then hysterical laughter floated up through the air to him.

  Playing. They were chasing each other.

  He scanned the outer edges of the garden. Claude stood on the far edge of the evergreen rows, kicking at rocks, a bored look on his face. Closer to the castle, Lawrence had moved around the side of the hedges to watch Sloane catch Vicky.

  Sloane released Vicky and darted back into the hedgerows. With another squeal, Vicky dove in, chasing.

  Reiner shook his head. The woman had constant mischief about her and was corrupting his niece. Vicky should be inside practicing her sheets of music. He looked at the mirror next to the window, crisping the lines of his cravat.

  A screaming laugh shrieked into the air. Laughter that unsettled him.

  He stepped to the right, searching the rows of greenery. Vicky must have caught Sloane, though he couldn’t see them past the tops of the hedges.

  His bottom lip jutted up. In just the few days Sloane had been at the castle, Vicky was growing far too attached to their guest. And why not? The woman had a constant spark in her eye—she was clearly accustomed to having the world as her own grand park—hunting out the fun in any situation with uncommon enthusiasm. Enthusiasm that was infectious if one was in the orb of it.

  Even knowing she was captive on his estate hadn’t curtailed her spirits—only when she looked at him. When she looked at him, sharp, incredibly pointy daggers surfaced in her eyes with one aim. Him.

  Sloane and Vicky emerged from the lines of hedgerows and walked to the Butterfly Pond that ran lengthwise along the greenery. They sat on the granite stone ledge that lined the east end of the pond. Vicky was telling a story, her hands animated and flying through the air. A wide smile lit up Sloane’s face and she nodded constantly as Vicky talked.

  He’d never seen his niece talk so much. To anyone. It was as though Vicky had been living in a clam-shell and Sloane had come along and cracked it open, setting her free.

  He shook his head, the scowl deepening on his face.

  Far, far too attached.

  It was aggravating how much happiness seemed to swirl about Sloane. As if her only thought in life was what would make her happy in the next moment.

  Happiness he wanted gone before it could corrupt Vicky.

  His spine stiffened.

  The woman was only here until Reiner could get answers about her purpose for trying to sneak into Wolfbridge. Once he got the answers, she’d be gone, one way or another.

  It’d been four days since she’d told him who her grandfather was, and he’d had to rethink the whole idea of keeping her captive until she broke and confessed all. It would not do, holding the granddaughter of a marquess agains
t her will.

  But he still needed answers before he could set her free. He’d sent Simmons to London to discreetly gather as much information about the marquess as possible, and he was more than irate his solicitor hadn’t returned yet.

  The short message that Simmons had sent back about her grandfather was perplexing. Her family was not destitute, as far as Simmons had been able to discern. So she would not be one that was bound by the debts of her family—willing to break into his home in order to pay them off. Instead, her grandfather owned an impressive swath of land in Stirlingshire. Sloane had been raised a lady, groomed to marry a peer—and while she had attended one short season in London two years past, nothing had come of it.

  Reiner stared at Sloane, watching her pick up pebbles at her feet and plunk them into the pond. The cerulean dress he’d had a maid procure for her fit her well, though tight in the chest. She still wore the long glove on her left arm, even in the warmth of the day. Her right hand was bare. Pinned into a soft chignon, her hair that he’d originally thought was blond showed streaks of red in the sunlight, casting a warm, rosy glow to the color of her hair. She sat utterly relaxed with Vicky, a smile radiant on her face.

  He shook his head. The likelihood of her trying to sneak into his room to do him harm was less a possibility than he’d originally thought. But it still didn’t answer the question of what she was doing there.

  Until he had that, he was stuck. For too much was at stake for him to let her go without those very answers.

  ~~~

  They trailed through the beds of late summer roses and asters, Vicky stopping every other foot and plucking fresh blooms to add to the quickly expanding bouquet in her hand. Bending over deep purple asters, she looked back over her shoulder at Sloane, wrinkling her nose.

  “I just don’t see the purpose in practicing my French as it concerns flowers.”

  “Well, one, we promised Miss Gregory we would practice your French as we took in a breath of fresh air,” Sloane said. “And two, you never ken when some fine French gentleman will want to discuss with you the intricacies of the flora in France.”

  Vicky snorted, standing up as she tucked an aster stem into her hand. “I don’t think I would ever like to discuss with a man any sort of flora. Especially in French.”