by Stacy Reid
“Shall I summon your manservant?” she asked tentatively.
He grunted a reply that she missed. Worried that he might be hurt, she spun around and gripped the doorknob. A book slammed into the door above the handle. She whirled toward him. “Alexander!”
“Summon no one,” he growled irritably. “I shall be able to move soon.”
She marched over to him. “You threw a book at me, Your Grace.”
“At the door, Miss Danvers. At the door. I was quite confident it would not hit you or else I would not have risked it. Now stop shooting daggers at me with your eyes.”
This was said with wry amusement, but in the gaze that peered at her, she spied discomfort and a simmering anger. That slow brew of emotions she could hardly understand had her stomach fluttering in nervousness.
The duke was not pleased she’d come upon him in this vulnerable state.
She removed the shawl and let it drop onto the sofa, then glanced around the library. “I came to borrow a book.”
“Did you now?”
How cutting his tone sounded.
She paused, hesitating for a moment or two, and then said, “I was dreadfully bored holed up in my room. The constant rain is ghastly, and I daresay you are a poor host. I am not at all surprised you receive little to no visitors.”
His lips twisted in a cynical smile. “You are not my guest.”
She folded her arms and scowled. “I’m not?”
“You are my captive,” he said repressively.
“You are the most provoking creature I’ve ever encountered!”
Kitty lay down on the carpet beside him. She mimicked his posture by lacing her fingers together and placing them behind her head. They did not speak for several moments, and Kitty was acutely conscious that if she shifted ever so slightly, her shoes might brush his.
Acting on the impulse, she inched her booted feet over and nudged his shin. “So, you fell,” she finally murmured.
“So, I fell.”
Her heart squeezed at the dry flatness in his tone.
“How long have you been lying here?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You are boorish whenever you are embarrassed.”
He grunted, and her lips twitched. “Would you like me to summon Hoyt or one of the other servants now?”
“No.”
“Whyever not?”
“The reason is irrelevant. Simply know that is my wish and you will obey.”
She turned her head on the carpet and stared at the starkness of his profile, which spoke of an ageless strength. An unexpected admiration for him swelled within her heart. “Would you like me to leave?” Her stomach went tight at his quiet contemplation.
“No, it would please me for you to stay.”
It was hard to explain the happiness that swarmed through her veins. “But you do not wish my help, either,” she murmured.
“You are getting to know me, Miss Danvers.”
Kitty scoffed. “I doubt that. I’ve barely scratched at your surface, though I daresay I would like to.”
“To scratch me? How unusual.”
She was maddeningly conscious of his body next to hers. “To get to know you.”
As if sensing the weight of her curiosity, he slowly turned to look at her, his gaze flickering over her in a thorough appraisal. His eyes glittered with such intensity, Kitty was almost discomfited. She became flushed and breathless but filled with a strange sense of anticipation. With a muttered, indiscernible curse, he glanced away. What are you afraid of, Alexander?
“Ask me any question and I shall answer.”
“Truly?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think of our time in the cabin?” And Kitty had not realized those words had escaped. Her cheeks grew hot, and she instinctively pressed her hands to them. Why had she asked that?
His seemingly bemused silence encouraged her mortification.
“I do,” he finally answered.
Kitty waited a few beats before saying, “That is all you have to say on the matter?”
“Yes.”
“You are a maddening creature!”
“You still like me,” he said with rough amusement. “It is a part of my charm.”
He had a rare gift for rattling her nerves and causing her to blush. Kitty swore that before the duke, she had never blushed more than once per year. “I… One of the old rumors when I announced our engagement was that you had been poised to marry the Countess Lynwood.”
“Lady Daphne, a lady of exaggerated sensibilities and a propensity for crying pretty tears.”
“Did you love her?”
“I enjoyed her company, but it was not love. It was a match encouraged by our parents. Our joint holdings would have been one of the most powerful in England. I agreed with my father’s suggestion of Lady Daphne as my bride, and she was content to marry for the sake of a great position.”
Kitty shifted slightly on the carpet so she could observe his expression better. “Do you regret not marrying her?”
“No.”
The swift reply and surety soothed the unexplained ache that had risen inside her.
“The lady cried off after seeing my scars and broken body. The memory is hazy because of the laudanum, but I still recall her fainting at least three times and wailing to her father that she would not marry a monster.”
“But you are such a charming monster,” she murmured.
His lips twitched; he tugged one of his hands from behind his head and ran a finger over his scarred cheek. “Besides Penny, you may be the only woman of my acquaintance who looks upon me and does not flinch from my ugliness. Quite admirable.”
“I believe people look away because it is uncomfortable to gaze upon another’s pain when it is bare for the world to see. How do they relate? Or offer words of compassion when they truly cannot understand your pain? It would seem pretentious to say the least, and they are aware of it, and thus become flummoxed and perhaps act like fools. You are one of the most handsome men of my acquaintance.”
“I can easily believe it is your eyesight that is sorely compromised.”
With a grunt, he pushed himself to his elbows and closed his eyes. His jaw clenched against the pain he must be feeling, but he did not ask for her help. Frustration bit at her, and she wanted to shout that she did not pity him but quite admired his fortitude, yet she knew he would reject such assurances.
Kitty swung herself into an elegant sitting pose and watched as he grunted and heaved himself into the same. She stood, walked over to the wheelchair, and rolled it over to him. She expected to see anger in the gaze staring up at her, but instead there was warm amusement. It flustered her, and she walked around the chair and held out her hand.
“You are determined to help me, hmm?”
“I daresay it equals your desire to not ask for it.”
She held out her hand; he grasped it and tugged her to him so she tumbled onto the floor into his lap. With a pained groan, he fell back and she sprawled over him, quite inelegantly. Her face was pressed to his chest, one of her legs draped across his thighs. Kitty was practically lying on top of the duke, and the shock of the position froze her for several moments.
A choked noise, which suspiciously sounded like laughter, came from his chest.
“I cannot find anything humorous in the situation,” she gasped, trying to scramble off him, pressing her palms flat against his chest and rearing upward.
An exaggerated moan of agony slipped from him. “Dear God, Miss Danvers, pray do not move.”
“Good heavens! I am hurting you,” Kitty cried and remained still atop him. “I’ll be gentler,” she breathed, trying to reassure him. Except with each minute shift atop him, another overly long groan came from him, and Kitty found herself unable to
move for fear of hurting him. “I am going to ease toward your left side; please remain still and—”
A perfunctory knock sounded, and with a gasp, she turned her head to the door. It opened and the housekeeper bustled inside. “Your Grace, I—”
She gaped at them, and then to Kitty’s astonishment the most delighted smile creased the woman’s face and she clapped her hands together twice in her excitement, for it was certainly not alarm at a witnessed impropriety. Without another word, the housekeeper turned and hurried away, closing the door behind her.
“Why, I cannot credit it!” Kitty gasped.
She snapped her gaze to the man beneath her and stilled. His eyes were glowing with something wicked. “You wretched tease, you are in no pain! And your servants are in serious need of correction!”
Ignoring his laughter, she pushed herself off his body, uncaring her knees went perilously close to his man’s part. Kitty stood, fisted a hand on her hip, and sent him a glare that promised retribution, before storming away and out of the library.
She did not make it far before she paused and pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling her laugh.
The odious man.
She hurried back and gently eased the door open. He was in the wheeled chair, clasping the edges in a white-knuckled grip, bracing against whatever pain ravaged his body.
Understanding dawned, and her throat burned. Alexander had not wanted her to witness this pain…that he possibly saw as weakness.
His head was tipped back against the headrest, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he conquered the pain. She made her way over to him, uncaring he would want her gone, desperate to offer some comfort.
She stepped behind him, and the eyes that had been shut and lifted to the ceiling snapped open.
“You came back,” he grunted, his lips tightening.
She brushed a damp tendril of hair from his forehead with acute tenderness. “I came back.”
He stared at her, and she wished he would voice the questions in his gaze. Perhaps then clarity would come to her heart and she would understand the feelings growing for him. She leaned down. “I forgot my book.”
Appreciation lit in his eyes, but the pain lingered.
“I’ll sing for you,” she offered.
“Dear God, no, I am already in enough agony.”
Kitty gasped in outrage and started to sing. He shrugged in mock resignation, as if he would just have to bear it. But upon his lips a smile curved, the hand that had gripped the chair loosened, and the frown that had split his brows disappeared.
An odd sense of happiness and belonging burst inside her when he started to laugh, realizing the song was about a young lady who ended up strangling a duke while he slept.
A short while later, Kitty left the duke nursing a whiskey and reading a book, a small smile seeming to be permanently affixed to his lips. She grinned, knowing she had put it there.
She settled into a chaise longue beneath one of the wide windows in the parlor, peering out into the rainy landscape.
“Ahem,” a voice said, dragging her from her whimsical musings.
She glanced at the butler, startled to see him with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.
“These are for you, milady. And is there anything special you would like for supper?” he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Behind him, the housekeeper lingered, beaming at Kitty. She flushed, recalling the compromising position the woman had seen them in earlier. Surely, they would think her a doxy. Yet all the servants seemed to stare at her with a bewildering degree of pride and hopeful excitement.
A couple of the servants were hastily dabbing at their eyes and noses with handkerchiefs. It occurred to her that her presence meant something profound to them. A blanket of hope had settled over the castle, infusing the servants with fresh smiles and far more solicitous natures than she’d ever witnessed. Kitty had even heard a maid singing while she dusted.
Do not be so silly in your hopes, she warned the servants silently, accepting the flowers.
Though if she admitted it, the warning was more for herself.
Kitty tethered on the edge of a most dangerous precipice—falling in love with a man who had no lasting interest in her.
Chapter Sixteen
Alexander held the binoculars firmly in front of his eyes, all thoughts of examining the estate ledgers his steward had sent him from his manor in Kent forgotten. A rueful chuckle escaped him.
Ladies did not climb trees. Though clearly she was a different sort, he still did not expect such an unconventionally audacious nature. Nothing Miss Danvers did would ever surprise him again. With her, he would learn to anticipate the unexpected. He studied her as if she were an exotic creature that had fallen from the sky and landed in a perch high in the gnarled branches of an elm tree near his favorite grotto, the hem of her blue day gown whipping in the wind. She was without her half boots, and her stocking-clad feet dug into the branch with firm purchase.
Evidently, she was an experienced tree climber.
Several feet from the ground, Miss Danvers balanced perfectly on the branch, her forearm resting on another that was in line with her chest. He watched her for several moments, and from the movement of her lips and the delight on her face, he surmised the woman was singing.
Perhaps the reason she traveled so far from the main house was to spare the household.
At the bottom of the tree, a basket leaned against the trunk; a blanket was spread on the soft, verdant grass; and a book rested atop the blanket.
Swinging the binoculars back to her, he noted with some surprise how alone she appeared, gazing out at the distant horizon. He watched her face for several minutes, observing every tiny shift in her expression. One of delicate yearning settled on her face, and his heart jolted painfully when his name shaped her lips.
Alexander…
The curious detachment he’d built around his heart shuddered as if it had been dealt a terrible blow. She sighed his name, longing swept across her lovely features, and she pressed a hand between the cradle of her breast. Heat tugged at his groin, and his heart clenched.
An array of shocking, yet undeniably wickedly carnal images of making love with Katherine danced through his head, causing it to ache. Alexander desperately wanted to kiss her, over and over until she cried her pleasure into his mouth. With such dangerous needs storming through his heart, the last thing he should want was to be with her. Cursing savagely, he rang the bell and summoned his manservant.
Several minutes after Hoyt appeared, they rumbled over the vast lawns of his estate toward Miss Danvers.
“I took the liberty of collecting a book of poetry from the library, Your Grace, when you made it known you would join Miss Danvers,” Hoyt murmured expectantly.
Alexander grunted but made no reply. A mistake, for his manservant took that as an invitation to continue his impropriety.
“Cook also sent a bottle of wine and a French cake soaked in rum. Miss Danvers has expressed a delight for the treat, and Cook has been preparing them for her.”
Wine and cake. Good God. Still, his curiosity stirred. “Miss Danvers likes cakes?”
“Oh yes, Your Grace. She came down to the kitchen and chatted with the cook about her secret recipes yesterday. The cook…well, everyone is quite delighted. It is our hope Miss Danvers’s stay will be a permanent one.”
Hoyt audibly held his breath, no doubt waiting for Alexander’s confirmation of the young, unwedded miss’s status in his life.
Alexander made no answer, and his manservant huffed an irritated breath. The wheels crunched noisily over the grass and fallen leaves as they made their way closer to Katherine. When they were only a few feet from her, Alexander said, “Leave me here. I’ll continue with my stick.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“You may take the bath cha
ir and return within the hour.”
“And the cake and wine?” Hoyt asked so hopefully, Alexander smiled.
“I’ll take them.”
“And the book of poetry?”
“Put that in the basket, too,” he said, mildly surprised he was indulging his servants’ ridiculous meddling in a situation that was none of their business.
Hoyt came around to Alexander’s front and pressed his walking stick into one hand and the small basket in the other. He pushed from his chair and, with a silent nod, encouraged Hoyt to grant them privacy. His manservant visibly battled with a pleased smile before departing.
Alexander swallowed away the irritable grunt. His servants’ ceaseless speculations needed to be taken care of.
Alexander made his way over to Katherine’s tree and placed the basket beside a copy of The Murderous Monk. He glanced up in the tree to see Kitty peering down at him, her mouth a moue of astonished pleasure.
“I shall be right down, Your Grace,” she called out.
Ignoring that assurance, he dropped his walking stick on the blanket, reached for the closest branch, and hauled himself up. A curse escaped at the savage pain that tore through his lower back, but he gritted his teeth and pushed onward.
He wanted to be up there with her, and by God he would do it.
Several moments later, he was standing beside her, their heads above the branches and the valley below them a stunning splendor.
Her eyes shone with rich pleasure. “You did not have to come up. I would have come down to you.”
“I wanted to stand beside you.”
“We could have done that down there.”
Unexpectedly, she stroked his brow, her fingers tenderly sifting through his hair curling above his forehead. How he wanted to lean into her touch. He reached up and gently plucked a blade of grass from her hair. “Were you rolling in the grass, by chance, Miss Danvers?”
“I was,” she said on a light laugh. “I was making a snow angel but without the snow,” she said with an irresistible smile before glancing out in the distance.