My Darling Duke

by Stacy Reid

  Taking up the bar of soap and dipping the washcloth into the cold water, she washed herself as thoroughly as possible. Several minutes later she was trembling but blessedly cleaned. She finished drying the heavy mass of her hair to the best of her ability with the small towel before pinning it haphazardly in a loose chignon. Then she wrapped her body into the blanket, forming a bulky toga around her frame. Taking a bracing breath, she peeked around the screen.

  The duke’s head was tipped to the cottage’s ceiling, and his fingers were dug into the armrest of the chair.

  Kitty strolled over to him with the second basin of water, which she had not used. She placed it by the side of the armchair, and without speaking, she lowered herself to her knees and tugged at his knee-high boots. The fingers clenched into the armrest flexed, but he remained silent, his regard on the ceiling.

  She removed his boots one after the other with careful consideration of his discomfort. Placing them neatly by the side, she took the washcloth and dipped it into the basin, then gently lathered it with the soap.

  Coming onto her knees, she leaned forward and reached up, wiping the caked mud from his cheek and chin. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at her. Swallowing away the nerves, she cleaned away the mud and twigs as economically as possible. She dipped the washcloth into the basin, so very aware that his brilliant, piercing stare watched her every movement.

  This time she lifted the washcloth toward the scarred section of his face. A terrible tension wound itself through his body, leaped from him, and twined itself around her. His skin pulled taut over the sharp edges of his cheekbones. The eyes that stared at her were so cold and watchful, it was a miracle her teeth did not chatter.

  Holding his stare, Kitty pressed the washcloth to his scarred skin. His jaw clenched under the tip of her finger. Then she wiped away the mud, her stomach knotting at the ridges of scars felt through the cloth.

  One of his hands released the armchair, and a finger slipped beneath her chin and lifted her face to his penetrating stare, searching her upturned face.

  “How brave you are, Miss Danvers.”

  Unaccountably, the softly spoken words felt like a threat.

  He lowered his hand back to the armrest.

  It was impulse that guided her to use her fingers to brush locks of hair from where the wet strands touched his forehead. Cynicism and pain were carved in the ruthless lines of his patrician face. Not allowing herself to be drawn into crossing wits, she lowered the cloth to the basin, pleased with the job she had done.

  Then she reached up, unknotted his cravat, and tugged the muslin cloth from around his neck. It slid through her fingers, soft and supple, the slowness of her motions feeling sensually intimate. She dropped the scrap of cloth onto the floor. She undid the top buttons of his shirt one by one, revealing the strong column of his throat. There, too, he had twisting scars. Unable to help herself, she dipped the washcloth once more and brought it to his exposed throat. The flesh there was clean, but she carefully wiped along the ridge of his wounds.

  There was a perceptible stiffening of his posture. The duke followed each movement with his eyes, his expression carefully inscrutable, but now…now she could see the beat of his pulse at his throat. He was not as serene or unaffected as he presented to her, for his pulse fluttered like a caged bird seeking escape. And the knowledge acted as oil to kindling. A flame of heat, unexpected in its intensity, blossomed through her.

  What would he do if I leaned in and kissed his throat? The wildly improper thought burned shame through her. It was as if the situation had encouraged all her good senses to leave her and to draw forth the wild heart she’d always struggled with.

  She stood, gripping the edges of her blanket. “If you will stand, Your Grace.”

  He obeyed, and she tilted her head slightly to hold his unflinching regard. Her gaze lingered one second too long on the golden skin at the base of his neck. “Am I to act as your valet?” she murmured, a blush crawling over her entire body.

  “Alas, I am quite able to undress myself, Miss Danvers. I’ll not shock your sensibilities anymore.”

  There was that provoking amusement again in his tone, and she was glad for it, because now some of the tension that had been thickening the air like smoke had dissipated.

  “If you will make us something to eat, I shall tidy myself posthaste.”

  Make them something to eat? Having never prepared a meal in her life, Kitty’s mind blanked for precious seconds. But never the one to shy away from impossible tasks, she made her way toward the small kitchen. Once there, she was grateful to see a few tallow candles had been lit. The counters were neat and tidy, and it did not take her long to discover the cheese. There was little else in the way of food that she could prepare. Still, by the time she returned to the small room, the duke was standing by the fire in clothes that were decidedly not his, yet fitted his lithe frame well, raking the towel through his thick dark hair.

  “Cheese and apple?” she asked, placing the plates on the small table in the center of the room.

  His gait was very slow and uneven as he made his way over and lowered himself into one of the two chairs. She sat, conscious her sole claim to clothes was a blanket. They ate their simple fare of a few chunks of cheese and apples in silence. Kitty was of a mind to think they might starve for the next few days.

  A clap of thunder had her jerking and glancing out the lone window into the darkness. “Do you believe George has made it to your estate?”

  “He is clever, adaptable. And used to the terrain. He’ll be quite all right.”

  Then dratted silence again. Sudden exhaustion pulled an indelicate yawn from her. Flushing, she glanced at him. “I believe I shall go to bed.”

  “There is not much else to do,” he replied, an amused twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes.

  She nodded, pushed from the chair, and all but marched over to the armoire. The lady of the cottage was in possession of a nightgown. Rummaging through the armoire, she grabbed the voluminous dark cotton garment. It would have to do.

  She went behind the screen, pushed off the blanket, and slipped the gown over her head. It hung ridiculously on her smaller frame, the hem dragging several inches on the ground. The front gaped, and she gathered it to her chest, made her way from behind the screen, and scrambled onto the bed.

  She lay there for several moments, cursing the fact she’d agreed to his ridiculous command to travel with him here. But could she truly have resisted? And Kitty wondered if she had tried enough to resist his blackmail coined as mutual bargain, or had she too willingly tumbled merrily down the path of ruin? Surely he wouldn’t have ruined her…

  The silence lingered, and it felt awful and uncertain. With a gusty exhalation, she jumped from the bed and fisted a hand on her hip.

  The duke had reclined once more in the armchair, his head tipped to the ceiling.

  “Your Grace.”

  He lowered his regard to her. “Are there ants on the bed, Miss Danvers?”

  She scowled and he smiled. Odious, odious man! Still… “Do you plan to spend the night in that chair?”

  “I have little wish to further traumatize your sensibilities.”

  “Your Grace, we are adults. You are honorable, and I am a lady of good sense,” she said with a touch of desperation. “Surely we can spend the night together in a bed without any inappropriateness or discomfort in each other’s presence.”

  The intensity of his gaze kissed over her in a heated caress. “And I’ll not be met with swooning and hysteria in the morning?” This was demanded with a healthy dose of skepticism.

  “I’m not a silly miss!”

  “No…you aren’t.” He stood with pained slowness. “You are quite safe with me. You can rest assured on my honor you will be.”

  She circled the bed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “You will rest on this side. And I wil
l take this side.”

  Then she grabbed one of the two pillows and placed it in the middle. Kitty was nervous. Silly to be, of course, with all the shocking intimacy she just endured with this man.

  With a huff, she settled on the bed once more, lying on her side with her back to him. Several moments later, the bed dipped. Fighting the temptation to turn around, she slammed her eyes closed, until they naturally remained that way because of her exhaustion.

  Chapter Ten

  An odd sound roused Kitty from slumber. It took a few seconds to realize she was precariously perched on the edge of the bed. It was little wonder she had not tumbled to the floor. The chamber was dark, the embers from the fireplace were barely lit, and the air was chilled. It was then she observed a blanket had been tucked under her chin and around her body. She snapped her gaze to the duke in bemusement. He lay flat on his back, without the benefit of the covering of blankets, his chest rising raggedly.

  A rough groan slipped from him. There! It was that sound that had brought her awake. She noted the terrible tension in his frame and that his fingers clutched the bedsheets.

  Another tortured groan echoed in the small chamber.

  Tentatively, Kitty slid one of her hands across the bedding and touched his clenched knuckles. She sensed the moment he surged awake. His entire body stilled, and he commanded his breathing so it no longer sounded ragged. Yet he did not pull away from her tentative touch, and she did not withdraw her hand.

  “Your audacity should not be able to surprise me any longer.”

  “I had to rouse you, Your Grace. You were dreaming,” she whispered.

  He turned his hand in hers so they were palm to palm.

  “Always…I dream every night.”

  His low response hinted of torments she would never understand. But he did not sound ravaged, more accepting.

  She stared at their clasped hands, uncertain if she should pull away or stay. “I’m sorry.”

  “You were not the cause, Miss Danvers.”

  “I’m still sorry.”

  A pause. “I like my dreams.”

  She shifted closer, all but climbing over the pillow that was between them. “I thought they were nightmares.”

  Something naked and vulnerable flashed across his face before his expression shuttered. “When I dream of that night…I do not dream only of the fire.”

  Her gaze jumped to the scarred side of his face. She could barely discern those dreadful marks. “I wondered what had caused your pain.”

  “Hmm.”

  He made no other reply and she did not probe, though she wished to know all his secrets, the good and the bad. A very silly yearning, but nonetheless it was there. She pulled her hand gently from his clasp and folded it beneath her chin.

  “Would you share with me?”

  “I’ve never shared before,” came the soft reply.

  “Why not?”

  “No one has ever asked.”

  A jerk of her heart. “They were perhaps scared or too intimidated by you to pry,” she whispered, sensing it to be true with the force of personality she’d witnessed in the duke. “How would they dare?”

  “And you are too impudent to be scared, hmm. Just as how you were not scared earlier to help me save George. I admire your bravery.”

  Heat burst inside her heart. “I’m glad that you do.”

  It felt as if the very air shifted, and something unknown but pleasant settled between them.

  Several claps of thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain turned into a heavier downpour. “Perhaps it is safer between strangers already sharing secrets. Upon my honor I would not betray your trust, Alexander.”

  A slow curve of his lips, yet he remained silent. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, letting the pitter-patter of rain on the roof lull her back to slumber.

  “My mother had the loveliest laugh. That morning as I made my way to the breakfast room, it was the first sound that greeted me. My father had shockingly stolen a kiss, and my sister, Penny, all of seven at the time, was equally delighted and appalled to have been a witness. We always broke our fast together in the morning. Penny was never banished to the schoolroom but dined with us adults.”

  Kitty opened her eyes slowly, not daring to move or breathe.

  “Afterward, Mother spent the morning with Penny on the lawns reading, and Father and I discussed estate matters. Then we all took a jaunt to the village in the carriage. That evening, instead of attending a local charity ball, Mother and Father stayed home. And we dined together, Penny included and quite pleased to be at the table with us. We retired to the drawing room, Mother played the pianoforte, and I sang.”

  Another pregnant pause, and the rain drummed with more insistence on the roof. Kitty shifted closer and, acting on impulse, tugged some of the blanket from her side and tucked it about his waist. He said nothing, but another small smile curved his lips.

  “That night, it was Penny’s distant cries that woke me. Somehow, Penny had made her way to my chamber. The drapes were already on fire, and it was a wonder we found breath in the stifling heat and smoke. I lifted her in my arms and rushed into the hallway. Fire razed the west wing of the castle, and everything was chaos. The stairs were engulfed, and the way to escape had been blocked. The only means seemed to be back into my room. I waded through the flames…and as you can see, the monster caught me. I shoved open the window…and jumped.”

  “It must have been horrifying.” The fear would have been so overwhelming. The agony when he realized what had been lost…

  “Whenever I dream of that day…I see the entire day, from the joy and laughter to the screams and agony, and for that reason…this nightmare I revisit so often is very precious to me.”

  Something shattered inside her, and the ache in Kitty’s chest grew until the pressure threatened to smother her. “Then I shall not wake you the next time.”

  His lips tipped. “I am not sure how to feel that you believe there will be a next time. But I thank you, Miss Danvers.”

  She flushed and was grateful for the barely-there light in the chamber.

  Kitty had the most ridiculous urge to scuttle closer and hug him. His strength awed and humbled her. They remained unspeaking for several moments, and gradually his breathing evened out. Still, she wondered. “Are you asleep—?”

  “Are you asleep—?”

  He chuckled, and the low, rich sound heated her from the inside.

  “It seems we are like-minded in our questions, Miss Danvers.”

  She smiled. “Evidently so. Please, you go first.”

  “I am curious about you, and since knowing of you, all the space in my thoughts has been dominated by you.”

  She faltered into astonished stillness. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of anything to say. So she simply waited, her heart tripping a sweet beat.

  “You seem remarkably adept at taking care of your family. You would sacrifice all for them. I find that admirable.”

  She snorted. “So admirable, you found it necessary to blackmail me?”

  “Oh? I thought our negotiation one of mutual satisfaction.”

  She huffed out a breath.

  He folded his hands behind his head. “I wonder, what do you dream of?”

  Well, that was quite easy to answer. “My sisters—”

  “For yourself,” he murmured. “What do you hunger for?”

  She stared at him in bemusement. No one had ever asked her that, had they? In truth, Kitty wasn’t certain she’d ever asked herself the question. Since the death of Papa, every thought had been about how to make her sisters and mother happy. “I haven’t had time to dream.”

  “Then dream for me now,” he murmured.

  She gasped softly. “Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?”

  “Tell me the secret hungers in your
heart. The ones you’ve suppressed as you put your family and duty even above your reputation and happiness.”

  “And are you so certain hidden desires of such a kind exist?”

  “Every man, woman, and child possesses them. From the whimsy to the grave ambitions. Only a few have the audacity to transform a dream into reality. You are in that category.”

  A peculiar warmth flowered through her entire body. Had she ever wanted anything for herself?

  She rolled onto her stomach and propped her chin in the palms of her hands, very much like she did when conversing with her sisters. “Once I dreamed of acting on the stage, like my aunt Harriet. She shocked the family, you know, and they’ve all but disowned her.”

  “But not you,” he said musingly.

  She laughed lightly. “Not me. I’ve snuck away to watch her onstage. She is beyond wonderful. Her talent immeasurable. Before Papa died, we visited her often whenever she was on break. She taught me all she knew about being an actress. Mamma was horrified, but Papa was more indulgent.”

  “Had you any serious pursuits?”

  She recalled a time before Papa died, a time she hadn’t thought about in years. “I wanted to see the world. We spent most of our lives in Hertfordshire. And I imagined the world to be quite large. Papa bought me a globe for my fifteenth birthday and a fire lit inside me. I wanted to see it all, Egypt, the Americas, China, India. Even when Mamma lamented how unrefined everyone else was, how uncivilized and savage, I wanted to see it for myself. Overnight, Hertfordshire became a grain of sand, and I hungered for the entire ocean. It was all I dreamed about, it was all I spoke of. Mamma wanted to ship me off to school to reform my manners,” she said with a ripple of mirth. “Papa would not hear of it, and because she loved him so much…somehow Papa convinced Mamma that my oddities were practical and sensible, and my whimsies were indulged.”