Duke Herheart Final

by Olivia Ritch

“And why is that?” She took a dainty spoonful of the delicious tasting soup.

  “I am a stuffy old soldier. You are a fascinating traveler from America.”

  “Actually I’m a lost, shoeless commoner who was lucky enough to meet a nice man, who felt sorry for me and brought me to his palatial home,” she catalogued.

  “Lost and shoeless, yes. Common, no.”

  “You are absolutely blowing your compliment quota out of the water. I believe that was another one.” She gave him a flirtatious grin.

  “I will set about rectifying that by plying you with insults. I believe you are using the wrong fork for your figs, Miss Ragland.” She began to laugh and he watched her glance back and forth from her plate to the remaining silverware.

  “What is funny, Miss Ragland? Am I now dripping my wine?”

  “Oh no, Captain. That was pretty lame as insults go and I was just thinking about how, umm… proper I looked.”

  “Please enlighten me on how that is funny.”

  “Well, just yesterday I was wearing shorts, with my hair pulled into a pony tail and presenting a picture about as unfeminine and improper as well, as opposite as this.”

  Shorts! He was visualizing men’s smalls! “Tell me, what are shorts 40

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  and a pony tail? It sounds intriguing.”

  “Shorts are short pants, cut off above the knees. Shorter than your riding pants…I believe your society matrons would call them positively scandalous. ”

  He laughed out loud at her very successful imitation of those feared ladies.

  “A pony tail is the way of wearing hair pulled back into a rubber band so that it has the effect of looking like a horse’s tail.”

  “You choose to look like a horse’s tail?” he asked with a low rumble barely concealing his enjoyment at her expense.

  “No, not look like a horse’s tail. Just the hair part—the tail—not the… Ahhh, it makes doing strenuous activity easy, gets your hair out of your face,” she chided.

  “Your hair is now out of your face.” He could not wait to see how she would answer his challenge. With a sigh, she put down her spoon and recognized he was once again, teasing her.

  “Okay, this…” she swirled her finger over her head “…is not a hairstyle conducive to any activity except sitting demurely and looking pretty. For fishing or almost any physical activity, a pony tail is much preferred.”

  “Well, I must say, you wear the sitting-pretty-and-demure-style rather well. I shall take you fishing so I can also see the pony tail style.”

  “Captain, you and your staff are being so gracious but I don’t think I’ll be here long enough for fishing or pony tails. I’ve got to try to get on the road to London in the morning.” At that moment that he was looking at her with his eyes glassed over and there was a muscle twitching at his jaw. Was he angry? He sure looked like he might explode.

  Then he did that eyebrow raise thing he did and the footmen in the room disappeared. He used that look very well. She could imagine the privates in his units shaking in their boots and wondered how many of them had actually wet themselves when he called them out for doing something wrong. She was certainly shaking in her shoes under the enormous pressure of being in this house, thinking of the distance she had to travel and the absolute absurdity that she had landed in this dream.

  “Miss Ragland, I believe it is time you told me where you are from and how you got to Wilton. The truth would help.”

  That stung but she wasn’t surprised he still didn’t believe her. “I know it sounds nuts but the honest truth is I went to bed in my own house and woke up here. I have no idea how I got here. I don’t expect you to believe it or understand it because I don’t either. I just know that I need to make my way back to London so I can figure this thing out.

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  Maybe catch a ship leaving for America.”

  “You’re going to ‘catch a ship’ and that will get you home?”

  “That sarcasm is not particularly flattering on you, Captain. It makes you look severe and sound well…mean. But to answer your question, I’m not sure. But staying here…” unless falling asleep with the picture again works… “I truly have no idea how to get home.

  “Where is home?”

  “The US. I told you that and I’m not lying. Surely you can tell by talking to me and looking at me that I am an American?”

  “Actually, your accent is quite unfamiliar as I believe I mentioned earlier. You sound like no one I have ever heard. As to your circumstances, I was now ready for more specifics. Where in America?”

  “Okay, so if you thought the part about my being beamed over here was a doozie, well, I am from the state of Alabama which I don’t really think was even a state in your era. It’s in the South.”

  Michael shook his head and tried to fathom just how he had landed with such a woman who was a best described as a conundrum. Bright, charming, an honest face and smile, with looks that had grown on him considerably but yet, clinging to a bizarre lack of trust in him. “Miss Ragland? If I concede that you are far from home and don’t know how to get back, will you concede that there is not indeed any reason for your precipitous departure tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes. That’s it?”

  “Yes. I can’t really fault your logic. Since I don’t know how to get there, I might as well organize my travel plans better first.”

  As the last dish was cleared, Michael wanted to prolong their time together. Being with Kathryn was the most fun he had in years. He had thoroughly enjoyed this verbal contest with her. “Would you care to take a ride with me? I had thought to make my return known to the farmers whose cottages lie along the western boundary of my lands.”

  “I would absolutely love to ride with you but I’m saying up front I’ll only do it if I can ride with my legs on different sides of the horse like we did coming here.”

  “Astride?”

  “Yes, that’s it. I can ride that way but I’m not about to get on a horse holding my legs on one side. Whoever invented the sidesaddle was not a woman!”

  His fingers clinched and released as he all but blurted out the reason for women to ride sidesaddle. She was clearly unconcerned with that particular consequence. Her strident declaration just made it all the more 42

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  deliciously scandalous. A woman, on one of his prized beasts, riding astride down to the cottages of his tenants…Michael shook off the image. “You shall ride astride as you wish.”

  “Awesome…I mean, oh thank you. That’s wonderful. Maybe as we ride you can show me how to really ride. All I’ve ever done is ride in circles at summer camp.”

  “Summer camp?”

  “Look at you raising those brows at me. You wield those things like weapons!” she teased.

  “I guess I do. It’s a habit that I am too old to break. It worked very well with my soldiers. But, tell me of summer camp.”

  “Summer camp…when city girls go off for a week in the country and live in tents, ride horses, fight off bugs, cook over open flames, go days without showering or shaving, swim in murky lakes, drink spring water, take long hikes…you know?”

  “Yes, I just spent the last several years doing that. It was called war.”

  “Are you always so on?”

  “On?”

  “Funny.”

  “No.” It’s something about you that makes everything funnier, brighter, more. When she appeared at the stables in the same dress, Michael wondered what happened to the proficiency of the maid who had done such a remarkable job with the hair but this…

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you can’t ride astride in a dress with your legs…”

  “With my legs showing? Don’t worry. I’ve got that part taken care of. I borrowed another pair of your riding pants. See?” And she lifted the hem of her dr
ess enough to reveal a pair of buckskins that molded to her sculpted calves. The sight of her dressed so provocatively sent his blood thrumming. His mind dimly registered that the fabric of his pants was caressing her most private parts. Shaking his head to clear his unhelpful wayward thoughts, he moved away from her lest she see how she disturbed him.

  Catherine’s mare was the obvious choice for her but he was not enamored of having to explain just whose horse she had been. True enough she was now his horse and had become the one that inexperienced young ladies rode when visiting the estate, but she had been Catherine’s and a wedding gift to boot. Michael knew women well enough to know she would be offended later if he did not tell her now who the horse had originally belonged to but he weighed the threat and 43

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  decided he did not want to break he pleasant mood. “Her name is Jasmine.”

  “Beautiful. It fits her.” He watched as Kathryn ran her hand down the velvet head of the gentle horse. “My memory is that jasmine is a delicate, creeping vine with small white scented blooms. This horse seems delicate.”

  “She is that,” Michael assented absently. He would not tell her that Jasmine had been named for his late wife’s favorite fragrance, not because it was delicate but because it was her favorite. He didn’t believe she had actually been thinking of the horse when she named it.

  He much preferred this woman’s description of the mare. He had thought her delicate and a safe mount, which was indeed why he had bought her for his wife and any girls they might have. As he watched the tantalizing picture of Kathryn Ragland whispering to the mild animal, he was struck with the realization that his first wife had not ridden Jasmine even once. Jasmine had been waiting all these years to meet her mistress.

  Her mistress? Bloody hell and damnation.

  He made the mistake of stealing a glance at her as they departed the drive for the bridle path leading to the cottages. The picture she cut with leanly muscled legs encased in his breeches, her small booted feet clinging desperately to stirrups while the breeze tugged at straying strands of spun-gold hair stole his breath as surely as if he had run headlong into an immovable object. Worse yet, as he watched her settle on Jasmine, he remembered Kathryn’s heavy-tongued words as she had talked about the rocking motion of his horse’s gait. Pressed up against her as he had been, the words had echoed the sensations his body had been feeling. Watching her again this afternoon, he was flooded with that new sense of anticipation, eroticism, and longing

  “You said you might teach me a little about riding. I know when you’re just walking, sitting is okay, but what should I do when we start going faster?”

  “Rise just off the seat with your thighs supporting your weight,” he said as he showed her the correct position.

  “Okay, this is like riding a bicycle so that when you go over the bumps your skin isn’t slapped silly.”

  “Exactly. Shall we try a faster speed?”

  Michael eased Fury into a trot and Kathryn naturally assumed the position on Jasmine. The delicate horse stepped properly into Fury’s wake and as both horses responded to his pressure to increase their speed, they began eating up ground. He hadn’t told her he was going to make them gallop so that she would not have time to be afraid. She had 44

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  made it clear she had not really ever ridden, but for an American female with no particular riding experience, she was taking to it rather naturally, her strong thighs showing remarkable stamina in holding the position.

  While she was so much smaller than he was, her lithe form was perfectly suited to riding.

  When it was clear Kathryn was straining and unable to hold herself off the saddle any longer, Michael slowed and turned. “I must compliment you on your lesson.”

  Rather than answer him, Kathryn nodded, likely because she held a mouthful of ribbons since hair had come loose entirely from her delicately spun coiffure. With the mass getting more unruly, she had gathered it into her hands then began winding the ribbon about the length. With her hands working her hair thus, it was at that moment that the Viking warrior goddess came to life. Michael drank in Kathryn’s flushed cheeks, barely restrained mane, wildly sparkling eyes and the upturned corners of her mouth. The sun loved her, made the bronze skin and honey hair fairly glow. The woman was a stunning vision.

  “That was amazing. I feel so good. Don’t get me wrong, it totally exhausted me and my quads are burning but oh my gosh, I now know why people love riding horses. The power, the freedom. Ahhh…”

  It was almost as if she had been made to order just for him.

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  Chapter Five

  The tenant visits were, in a word, instructive. Each and every female he encountered regarded Kathryn Ragland with awe and the deference he would expect to be afforded his presumptive Duchess. It had not occurred to him how specifically she would be viewed by literally everyone they encountered; he had merely been seeking the excuse to spend the afternoon with her.

  “Have we just passed another apple orchard?”

  Her question shook him from his reverie. “They’re not apples. We have pears, too.”

  “I love pears. We had those pickled figs at lunch. What do you do with the pears?”

  “Probably anything you can imagine. Stewed is my favorite.”

  “That doesn’t sound quite as good as fresh off the tree,” she mused.

  “Then you will have to try one when they ripen.”

  She looked at him then glanced away. He realized she was probably going to say she wouldn’t be around that long, but had caught herself. He was sure she would be wrong.

  He let the silence stretch. “Do you like cider?”

  “I appreciate cider but I don’t much drink it. I don’t really drink any juices. I just prefer to avoid all the sugar calories.”

  “Is that why you are so trim?” He couldn’t help himself.

  “That and a fortunate combination of genes from remarkably well built people and a lot of exercise.”

  They arrived at a small residence with well trimmed shrubbery growing against the high, small windows.

  “Here we are.”

  As he lifted her down, Michael heard her in-drawn breath and felt the shiver that ran down Kathryn’s spine. She was not unaffected by him.

  He released her reluctantly and she stepped quickly to the side. They moved toward the first home side by side, not touching. At the blacksmith’s home, the third they had visited, the man’s young wife and his three children were in awe of his companion just as the others had been. Kathryn stepped up to the woman with her now familiar self-assurance. “Your daughter is gorgeous. She looks like my sister did when she was little. What is her name?”

  “H-Her name is Te-ess,” the woman stammered and Michael 46

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  realized she was searching for a title to call the exquisite lady in front of her. Kathryn with her striped golden tresses, surprisingly well fit gown, glowing eyes and genuine smile looked positively expensive and yet she compared this woman’s small lowborn girl with her own sister. Mrs.

  Smith’s face was glowing with pride.

  “Captain Stafford, I don’t believe I have seen a prettier little girl.”

  She turned to him, beaming, and his soldier’s heart fluttered. He had not realized until these moments what message he had been sending to his tenants by presenting the lady. He might need to deal with the notions at some point but right now, with her conquests, she was making his life so much easier. This lady was charming his tenants and building exactly the kinds of relationships with their wives that would make their loyalty absolute. He reminded himself to thank her properly when they were on the way back.

  In hindsight, he decided that it was not a mistake to allow the supposition to grow in strength. From what little he already knew of her, Kathryn Ragland would be a formida
ble partner to help him rebuild the strained relationships with the tenants and villagers that had festered due to his Father’s inattention.

  “My sister’s name is Christine but we call her Christy,” Kathryn explained. “She has thick brown hair just like yours and pure green eyes.

  You are a little beauty.” The small child could only stare wide eyed at the lady until she finally reached out and touched Kathryn’s shoulder. It was at that moment that he saw Kathryn recognize too what was happening. These were poor people, commoners, and laborers, and now she must realize they thought she was a noble. Did she also realize that they thought she was soon to be their Duchess? She seemed to take the moment at face value and then with ease pulled the child toward her into a motherly embrace.

  Michael almost reached for her because he knew, just knew, the family would be petrified but he should not have worried about Kathryn for as he moved he could see the girl sink into the embrace.

  Mrs. Smith’s in-drawn breath caught his attention. Her eyes were huge and filled with horror as her daughter embraced what Mrs. Smith surely thought was nobility. But Miss Kathryn Ragland, enigmatic beauty personified, was not finished. She hugged the child and he watched a tear run down her cheek as she squeezed little Tess.

  “Thank you, Tess for that wonderful hug. I very much miss my sister. I think you just made me feel better.”

  And little Tess twisted some of Kathryn’s hair about her hand and laid her head on Kathryn’s shoulder once again slipping her stained 47

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  thumb into her mouth.

  “Gold,” she lisped. The two of them embraced rocking slowly back and forth and his soldier’s heart melted a little more.

  This was also the first time he had heard Kathryn mention a sister and really understood she was indeed far away from her family and her home. He had not believed the first word of her story at the inn or her insistence at luncheon that she was magically transported here but her genuine expression of loneliness while cuddling the child, well it had been telling.