A Duke Changes Everything

by Christy Carlyle

  “Who knows. It was a piece Eustace installed after one of his jaunts to Europe.” Mina shrugged, strangely less concerned with the broken vase than with the outing she hoped the duke would agree to. “Would you care to accompany me on a short journey?”

  At her words, the duke snapped his gaze up from his perusal of the broken shards at his feet. “Yes.”

  Mina couldn’t hold back a smile at hearing the single word spoken so eagerly. “You don’t even know where we’re going.”

  “You’re right. Perhaps I should know more.” The duke’s mouth twitched as he laid his father’s sword on his desk, sidestepping the pieces of porcelain on the carpet. “Does it involve heights or crumbling masonry?”

  “Neither, I’m happy to say. Just a bit of fresh country air and a well-run farm.”

  “A farm?” He braced his arms across his chest and frowned. “Not the seaside?”

  He sounded so disappointed that for a moment Mina imagined venturing with him to a place that had nothing to do with duty and Enderley. But it wasn’t why she’d sought him out.

  She had a plan and much she wished to show him.

  “I think you’ll find much to interest you at the Wilcox farm.”

  He cast her a dubious look, then the edge of his mouth quirked in an inscrutable smile. “We’ll see, Miss Thorne.”

  Nick let out a grunt when a rut in the country road they were traveling pushed Mina’s body closer to his. Their thighs had been locked against each other for a quarter of an hour, and her arm brushed his every time she shifted the reins.

  She’d opted to take the pony cart, with its very narrow seat and Nick was beginning to wonder if she’d meant the conveyance to be quicker to prepare or simply a means of torturing him with her sweet-scented nearness.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” she asked for the third time about some feature on the estate.

  First, it was the glittering arched roof of the conservatory his mother had loved so well, then the topiaries a groundskeeper had carved with unexpected whimsy, and now she pointed at an old flint stone wall that Barrowmere’s villagers had constructed ages before either of them were born.

  Nick turned to look at her—the strands of hair fluttering against her cheek, the sharp line of her upturned nose, the soft curve of her chin.

  “Yes, lovely indeed,” he agreed, as he had every time.

  This time she seemed to take his meaning, to realize he was watching her and not the passing scenery. She turned to look at him, her gaze soft and searching.

  “Mina—”

  “The farm is just ahead,” she said breathily, then turned the cart onto a narrow path girded by a low stone wall.

  There was much he wanted to say to her, and so much he couldn’t explain. He’d kissed her and then barked at her. She’d have questions. She always did. But he couldn’t give her answers. He’d never told anyone about his time inside the tower’s dank walls.

  When she pulled the carriage to a stop, Nick jumped down and offered a hand to help her down. Neither of them wore gloves, and the slide of her bare skin sent warmth dancing up his arm and shot a flare of heat straight to his groin.

  “The threshing barn and granary first?” she asked blithely, as if their brief touch didn’t affect her at all.

  “Lead the way, Miss Thorne.” Nick was almost grateful one of them could still manage to be sensible.

  “As you see,” she said as they entered a long, high-ceilinged barnlike structure, “it’s used for both processing and storage.”

  “Most impressive.” Nick’s gaze widened as he took in the scene. He’d once visited one of the cotton mills he’d invested in and the Wilcox barn had the same air of productivity and organized efficiency.

  Mina waved to two young gentlemen working machines, and they tipped their hats as if seeing his steward wander around the farm didn’t surprise them in the least.

  “This used to be a horse gin.” She pointed to a series of pulleys and flywheels with a wide shaft attached. Inside lay grain that had been threshed and ground. A spout of steam nearby indicated why horses were no longer required. “As you can see, it’s been adapted to run on steam power.”

  Another machine arranged along the wall of the barn took canvas sacks strung on hooks attached to a conveyer belt down to where one of the farmworkers tipped a shoot of grain to fill each bag. The grain itself was carried by another long belt above. All of it powered by steaming boilers.

  “How much does this single farm produce?” Nick had no great knowledge of farms, but the speed with which they were filling bags and threshing wheat seemed far quicker than what a few men and horses could do.

  “Enough to provide for Enderley’s livestock year-round and take feed to markets throughout the county. They’re among the best tenants on the estate.”

  She smiled at him so proudly that Nick felt an answering smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

  “And nothing’s broken or in need of repair,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  “What a refreshing change.”

  “Are you ready to see more? I’d like to show you the apiary next.” She was already striding toward the entrance of the barn, as if she knew full well he was prepared to follow her all day.

  “Be on the lookout, Miss Thorne. One of the cottage hive lids is damaged.” The young farmhand made the admission almost sheepishly, as if loath to contradict her declaration that everything on the farm was in good order. “I mean to fix it right away.”

  “Thank you, Billy. We’ll be cautious.”

  “Hive?” Nick asked as they walked side by side. “As in bees?”

  Mina didn’t answer but suddenly stopped short and stuck out an arm to keep him from going any further. Her hand landed on his stomach. Even through his layers of shirt and waistcoat, he could feel the warmth of her skin.

  “We should approach slowly, just to be sure. If the damage has disturbed the cottage hives, the workers may be restless.”

  Nick heard the insects first, a steady rustling hum that carried on the breeze. He’d never much liked bees, but when she started forward, he followed close behind.

  “Take care, Mina.”

  “It’s not as bad as I imagined,” she said on a relieved sigh. “Let’s have a closer look.”

  The woman was either fearless or foolish or a bit of both. She strode straight toward several tall multi-story wooden structures and approached one capped by a broken wooden lid.

  When she bent to examine the damage, Nick stepped closer and laid a hand on her arm.

  “You are aware they sting, aren’t you?”

  “They’re busy right now,” she told him, reaching down to take his hand and guide him closer. “See for yourself.”

  Nick took one wary step forward and winced when Mina gingerly removed the broken lid to look inside at the hive.

  “When the temperature dips, they work harder to keep warm.”

  Nick was amazed to find she was right. The little creatures were assembled tightly on honeycomb-lined frames and took little notice of their curious inspection. Only two flew out when the lid came off.

  “This farm supplies some of the best honey in Sussex.” She swept her finger along the edge of the frame and held it out for his inspection. “See how dark it is? Something about the flowers they grow makes for a richer flavor.”

  Nick looked at the dark drop of honey on her skin and his mouth watered. Not because he was longing for a taste of the county’s finest sweetener, but because he longed to take her finger into his mouth.

  He licked his lips and looked into her eyes. The heat there made him want more. More moments like this with her. When there was no Enderley boxing them in, no duties that needed their attention. Just Mina and the odd, undeniable spark he’d felt between them from the day he arrived.

  “I’d like a taste,” he told her quietly.

  Mina bit her lip, and her brows dipped in concentration. She locked her gaze on his mouth and seemed to hold her bre
ath as she slid a honeyed finger across his lower lip.

  Nick swept his tongue out to taste and reached for her hand. Flavor burst inside his mouth in a shock of floral sweetness.

  “Delicious,” he whispered before leaning closer, flicking his tongue out, and tasting the tip of her finger once more. “But I honestly can’t tell whether it’s you or the honey.”

  He half expected her to chastise him for his boldness. Instead she swallowed hard and took one step closer.

  “We should . . .” she began on a husky whisper.

  “Kiss,” Nick said decidedly.

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” She let out a breath of laughter, and her mouth tipped in the hint of a smile. Then she looked around them as if recalling where they were.

  “I came to show you the farm. I wanted you to see that something about the estate is worthwhile and productive.”

  Nick released her hand and clenched his fingers against the spot that was still warm from her skin. He was a damned fool. Of course, her intentions were about Enderley and had nothing to do with spending time in each other’s company.

  “We should probably go back.” The Wilcox farm was indeed admirable, but he’d seen enough and desperately needed a drink of anything that would wash the flavor of honey off his tongue.

  “Yes,” she finally agreed, her tone full of the same sense of disappointment Nick felt like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.

  He wanted the moment five minutes earlier back. And, damn it all, he still wanted to kiss her. But when Mina took a step away, he knew the chance was gone. His head, where he’d convinced himself to value a life unencumbered by personal entanglements, knew she was right to draw a boundary line between them.

  But his heart, that rarely used thing that thrashed every time Mina was near, didn’t seem to agree.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nick stood on Enderley’s front steps, let out a yawn, and watched his breath dissolve into the morning fog.

  Sleep had eluded him since arriving at Enderley, but he was more restless since the visit to Wilcox farm with Mina.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. Or worse, he remembered how it felt to hold her and taste her lips for a far too fleeting moment.

  They hadn’t spoken in days.

  She avoided him but continued to do her duty diligently. She left documents on the desk in his study before he could ask for them, brought in masons to begin work on the ballroom, and had arranged the removal of several pieces of furniture to the auction house.

  He needed to make peace with her, regardless of all the other things he wanted to do with her but never could.

  For days, he’d stewed over his errant desires, but this morning a peculiar impulse had begun jabbing at him like a persistent finger. It was no mystery what Mina wanted from him. She longed for him to do some good for Enderley before he departed forever.

  For her sake, he’d decided to do it. Not because he’d made peace with the place. Among all their other sins, Tremaynes were stubborn to their cores.

  But for the first time his thoughts weren’t of the past nor of his loathing for Enderley, but for Mina. She had done something to him. Altered him, so that her expectations mattered more than his desire to blot out his past.

  He couldn’t imagine ever loving Enderley, but he walked the halls now and no longer wished to burn it all to the ground. He entered the library and focused first on the window cushion where she’d daydreamed and shoved ribbons in books. Even his father’s study was now a place of fresh memories with Mina rather than ugly nightmares of the past.

  Nick patted his upper coat pocket where he kept her list of repairs. There was much to do before he could return to London, but being a businessman had taught him to see a project through to its end.

  Rehabilitating Enderley made good business sense. Refurbished, it would fetch a renter more quickly. And overseeing repairs would be a welcome distraction. A funnel for energy, a diversion from the chief distraction in residence at his ancestral estate.

  As if on cue, Mina approached from behind.

  Nick was already becoming ridiculously attuned to the woman. Blindfolded, he would have recognized her scent and the insistent clip of her boot heels.

  “Shall we depart?” she asked with what sounded suspiciously like forced exuberance.

  Of course, she didn’t mention the awkwardness of how they’d parted at Wilcox farm. Miss Thorne, it seemed, understood how to be businesslike too.

  She’d convinced him to hold court in the village, as a means of preventing every member of Barrowmere society knocking down Enderley’s doors. They’d been calling in a steady stream since his arrival, and he’d put off every one of them, except for Lady Claxton and her granddaughter.

  “I’ve asked Tobias to bring the carriage around.” There was a tautness to her tone that disturbed him.

  Turning, Nick braced himself for his first sight of her. He felt the same disconcerting tingle across his skin that came whenever she was close. She’d done something different with her hair. The tight bun at her nape had been transformed into an artful arrangement of curls and waves. The same cold misty morning air that had him clenching his fists to warm his fingers, painted her cheeks in pink and her lips a riper shade.

  She wouldn’t return his gaze.

  Horse hooves crunching gravel drew his attention toward the carriage approaching from the stables. Like a nightmare come to life, the black brougham crawled through the fog, its ebony sides scuffed and unpolished.

  Just as it had on that day he tried so hard not to think about, the carriage stopped before him, looming at the bottom of the stairs.

  Mina started down, but Nick called her back.

  “We could walk to the village.”

  “We could,” she admitted hesitantly, “but it would take thrice as long. The carriage is warmer.” She returned to stand beside him. Pulling a knitted shawl tighter around her shoulders, she cast him a questioning glance. “Do you take umbrage with Enderley’s carriages too?” Her breath billowed when she spoke, and her teeth chattered as soon as she fell silent.

  One look into her irritated gold-brown eyes persuaded him.

  “Fine. We’ll take the brougham.” His throat closed and every muscle in his body seized, but he could endure it. He’d endured much worse, and the village wasn’t far.

  She ignored his offered hand and climbed into the carriage on her own. Nick held his breath and launched himself onto the opposite bench.

  The interior was the same. The sapphire velvet squabs he’d sat on the day he’d been sent away had been faded by time, but the memory remained sharp. He’d been so small. When he’d settled all the way back on the seat, his feet hadn’t touched the carriage floor.

  “You see. The carriage is quite accommodating.” She pushed the foot warmer his way with the toe of her boot. “And infinitely warmer than walking into the village.”

  Nick nodded. It was all he could manage. His mind spun for any thought that didn’t make him want to hurl himself out the vehicle’s window.

  “I do admit,” she said with a sigh, “this carriage is probably the oldest at Enderley. Your brother sold the others.”

  “I remember it.”

  Realization seemed to hit her all at once. Her forehead buckled, then her brows winged up and she lifted her hand as if she’d reach for him.

  Nick was disappointed when she didn’t.

  “Is this the carriage you departed in that day? It must bring back unpleasant memories.”

  She couldn’t imagine. He didn’t want her to know how ugly the truth could be.

  Nick focused on Mina. Her quiet voice and lovely face. “Tell me about your father.” Tell me anything to make me forget.

  Her eyes softened, but her tone turned wary. “Why do you want to know about him?”

  “Because he’s the reason you’re here, pretending to tolerate a man you dislike.”

  “I don’t dislike you, and he’s not the o
nly reason I’m here.” She bit her lip and then added, “I’m not sure what to tell you about him. He was a good man.”

  Nick couldn’t help hearing what she left unsaid. The oblique contrast between him and her father. Thomas Thorne had been a good man. Nick was not.

  She dropped her gaze to her gloved hands, then looked out the carriage window, scanning the passing countryside. Perhaps she was uncomfortable being near him. Or unused to talking about herself. Nick suddenly had the sense her desire to escape the vehicle matched his own.

  “I disappointed my father a great deal,” she finally said with a gusty sigh.

  “That’s impossible.” A daughter so earnest, so loyal, so willing to take on her father’s duties could never be a disappointment.

  “I assure you, it’s true.”

  “Why?” Nick leaned closer, balancing his elbows on his knees. “Because you liked to read fairy tales?”

  She faced him, bit her lip again, and Nick couldn’t help staring at her mouth. He told himself to fight the urge building inside him. The urge to touch her again. To kiss her properly. To discover whether she truly tasted as sweet as the honey he’d licked from her finger.

  “He wished me to be more ladylike. To behave properly.”

  “And propriety isn’t your first instinct.” Nick grinned. “Is that why you stayed at Enderley? To make amends to your father?”

  Mina shook her head, notched up her chin an inch. “He would never ask that of me.”

  She was magnificent when she was declaring her loyalty, whether for Enderley or her father. The quality seemed an inherent part of her nature, and Nick admired it. Hell, he was beginning to adore it.

  “Everyone thinks I must regret the life I have, that I should be pitied.” She leaned forward, until they were inches apart. “Don’t pity me. I’m perfectly content.”

  Her clenched jaw made her claim far less believable.

  “If you’d ever left Enderley, you might have made a different sort of life. One with dancing in ballrooms and strolls on parapet walks that aren’t crumbling.”