by Lenora Bell
Was it her imagination, or was there a lingering scent of spiced almonds in this shed? Her memory supplied Drew. Rising from the shadows.
Kneeling before her as she tied his cravat.
She opened the notebook with trembling fingers.
It was two pages long and penned in a strong, steady hand as commanding as the man who wrote it. There were moments of lighthearted silliness, and moments that made her weep.
She read it over and over, as if in the reading she could conjure him to her side.
She longed to hear him read the words to her.
Damn you, Drew, she whispered. Why are you so far away?
Because she’d pushed him away. She’d fled when she should have stayed and talked things through with him.
She hadn’t given him a chance to explain, to apologize. She’d run away, not because of what he’d done, but because she’d been afraid of how much she loved him.
Afraid that loving him meant losing herself.
A knock sounded on the door of the shed. It would be Crankshaw bringing her a beverage, or telling her it was time for supper. The light was fading. She’d stayed too long.
She dried her eyes. “Enter.”
“Is this shed occupied?”
Deep voice. Dark hair and glowing eyes. Broad shoulders ducking to enter the shed.
Holy Hell, he was handsome.
Mine. All mine. “Drew, what are you doing here? I thought you would be supervising the harvest.”
“I couldn’t stay away any longer, Mina. I tried, but I couldn’t last one more day. I had to see you.”
“Then you can make yourself useful and read this to me.” She handed him the notebook.
His gaze met hers. He began to recite from the notebook without glancing at the writing, drawing nearer with every word, every step. “I love you, Mina Penny, because you hide scarlet dresses in garden sheds and because you have a wicked little pistol hidden in your reticule.”
He was close enough to touch now, filling the shed with his oversized presence and his rich voice. Filling her with longing.
“I love you because if there’s a hidden chamber, you’ll find it,” he continued. “And if there’s a lock, you’ll pick it. I admire how you stay calm while pinioned upon impolite chairs. I’m in awe of the way you decipher codes and brave hailstorms of bullets. You’re kind to Beatrice. You make me laugh. And when I look at London through your eyes, I see that there is magic here, after all.”
She dashed a tear away from her cheek. She knew what came next but she couldn’t wait to hear it. She’d never tire of hearing it.
“I love you, Mina Penny, because you unlocked me and discovered a hidden chamber in my heart. I can never go back to the darkness. And I will never stop loving you.”
“Drew,” she said. “I think I’m going to kiss you now.”
And she did.
After dreaming of this moment for weeks, Mina was finally in Drew’s arms. He meant to savor every second slowly, memorize it for the future, but when her soft lips touched his, all rational thought flew away.
He kissed her with the pent-up longing of a man who’d had a brief taste of paradise, and would sell his very soul for more.
She still loved him. They would find a way to be together.
He wound his arms around her and molded their bodies together. Her curves melting into his angles. Her hands twined in his hair, pressing him closer. She was small in stature, but she kissed fiercely.
When they paused for air, because they couldn’t live on kisses alone, she beamed at him, her smile bright enough to replace the fading sun. “There’s magic in Cornwall, as well,” she said. “I felt it. It’s majestic and powerful. Just like you.”
He wanted to show her just how powerful he was. Lift her into his arms, carry her into the house, over the threshold, and to the nearest bed, but they needed to continue this conversation with words first.
Beds later.
“I would never ask you to give up your dreams,” he said.
“Sometimes dreams require a bit of modification, just like timepieces. There’s more than one kind of spy. Uncle Malcolm visited me and he agreed to train me. I’ll be happy behind the scenes, cracking codes and inventing more ethical weaponry. I have no taste for bloodletting.”
“I love that about you. Your heart’s too tender. You’ll never become jaded.”
“I don’t want to become one of my uncle’s agents,” she said. “They have to become almost inhuman. They classify people as targets, as assets or liabilities. I don’t want to become hardened and brutal.”
“Will you be content? You said that you didn’t want to be on the sidelines of life, you wanted to be in the center, in the heart of it all.”
“And I do, I do want to be in the beating heart of life. And for me, that’s you.”
Drew stroked strands of her hair away so that he could see her eyes. He inhaled the sweet scent of her. His heart filled with so much love he thought it might burst.
“I thought that I needed to change, to become my mother, become something I’m not,” she said. “You stood by me patiently until I realized that I can just be me. Wild, messy, glorious me.”
“You’re perfect just the way you are.”
“Do you think that we could live in Cornwall half the year, and London the other half?,” she asked.
“I think that could be arranged.” He couldn’t stop grinning. This conversation had taken the most wonderful turn. But she still had to hear everything before she made a decision.
“You can give plants rich soil, plenty of water, and access to sun, but they still need time to grow,” he began, attempting to find the words to make her understand. “That’s me, Mina. You’ve given my heart what it needs to grow—a path to connecting with my emotions. I can feel myself changing. I want to change. But I can’t make it go any faster. I’ll need time.”
“I know that, Drew.” She kissed his cheek. “You don’t have to suddenly produce all of the emotions you’ve been holding back for years. I don’t expect that or want it. It’s enough that you’re growing, changing. But there’s something you should know, too. I don’t want to have children yet. Maybe for several more years.”
“I want an heir. But I can wait until you’re ready.”
“Truly?” she asked.
“Truly. I’m hoping to have many adventures with you.”
“We’ve had quite a few already,” she said with laughter in her voice. “We uncovered an extortion plot, rescued your brother, and brought an evil criminal to justice. And then you proposed marriage to me on the deck of a ship with blood-spattered hands, a bruised face, and groaning men lying all around us.”
“About that proposal. I know I cocked it up. I should have fallen to my knees. Framed it as a question.”
“Well?” She glanced at the floor.
He had his orders.
He sank to his knees on the rough wooden floor and clasped her hands in his.
“I love you, Mina. You captured my heart during our waltz, when you were boldly undressing me with your eyes, clearly picturing me lying in bed completely naked.”
“Ha,” she said. “You were the one picturing me churning your butter.”
“Being with you is like sun dancing through leaves. The smell of soil after it rains. The first brave, vivid-green shoots appearing. I vow to revel in your freedom, to foster everything wild and creative in your soul. I’ll always have a bottle of brandy at the ready. And I will always love you completely. Will you share your life with me?”
“Drew,” she said, her voice cracking. “I told you that your heart was soft and squishy.”
“It is. But that’s all right, because other parts of me are hard as granite.”
“Show me,” she said.
“What, right here? In the garden shed?”
“There’s no time like the present.”
“Mina.” He tightened his arms around her. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,�
�� she whispered.
And his heart spilled over with joy.
Epilogue
Two months later
The newly, and hastily, wed Duke and Duchess of Thorndon arrived at Thornhill House on a day when the changing seasons agreed to strike a compromise: the air would stay crisp and cool, but the sun shone brightly and the sky was a brilliant turquoise blue.
“Finally, you’re here,” called Beatrice, rushing to greet them as they exited the carriage.
“We’re here,” Drew said.
“We’re home,” Mina said. “I never did receive a tour on my previous visit. I hear you have a nice bed. Crimson curtains. Beeswax candles to light your way in the dark.”
“You were too busy vanquishing foes.”
“And running away.”
Beatrice danced around them, her spectacles threatening to fly off her face. “I have so much to show you. The renovations are going well, although the most annoyingly smug carpenter has arrived to replace his father, who took a tumble off a ladder. He thinks he’s God’s gift to young ladies.”
Mina laughed. “I’m sure you set him straight on that count.”
“He makes so much noise hammering away at walls that I can’t concentrate on my writing,” Beatrice said.
She chattered on and Mina and Drew followed her to the front stairs, where the servants were lined up, waiting to meet their new duchess.
Mina walked down the row, greeting each servant by name and inquiring after children and ailments. Drew had briefed her on the long carriage ride. In between other amusements.
I’m a duchess, she thought, with a sense of bemusement. She’d never thought in a million years that this would happen to her.
“It’s all your fault,” she said to Drew as they entered the house.
“What is, my love?”
“The fact that I’m a duchess. I never wanted to be anything so grand.”
“Yes, but you’re a duchess who carries a flintlock pistol in her purse and never allows anyone to tell her what to do.”
“And you’re a duke who grows turnips, and has dirt under his nails. I could listen to you talk about turnips for days, you know,” Mina said. And she meant it.
She listened happily as he explained all of his agricultural innovations and showed her his plant conservatory and laboratory.
Testing soil temperatures, proper irrigation, defending against blight—none of these things should be interesting to her, and yet when he explained them, she pictured him poring over his research, staying up late at night, dark smudges under his eyes, hair in disarray.
Shirtsleeves rolled up and ink stains on his hands. The single-minded focus he brought to every aspect of his life.
And it filled her heart with pride.
“Maybe you’d like to put that nimble mind of yours to the task of puzzling out solutions for some of my agricultural problems,” he said.
“I would be honored.” Her heart jumped and skipped as they walked.
She had this overwhelming sense of rightness. She helped him. He helped her.
He was the logical one, the cool-headed one, and she led with her emotions, but together they could solve any puzzle, any code.
They’d solved the greatest puzzle of all, hadn’t they?
They’d found a way to be together.
“Drew, is that a field of daisies in the distance? I can’t believe they’re still blooming.”
“Why, yes it is.”
“And aren’t those sheep grazing nearby?”
“More sheep than people around here, I’m afraid.”
“Then don’t we have a dream to reenact?”
“You read my mind.” He caught her hand and they broke into a run, the wind catching her laughter as they raced to the field.
He guided her down into the flowers. She pulled off his coat and he helped her by lifting his arms.
She opened the buttons of his shirt and pushed it over his head, nearly tearing it in her haste to see the smooth expanse of his chest above her.
He picked a daisy, pulling off the petals one by one. “She loves me, she loves me not. She loves me, she—”
“She loves you.” Mina wrapped her arms around his neck. “With all her heart.”
He tucked a flower into her hair. “Goddamn, Mina. You’re so beautiful.” He slid her sky-colored gown down her shoulders.
“What if someone sees us?”
“The sheep won’t tell anyone.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m the duke. If anyone happens upon us, they’ll do what’s best for them and back away slowly,” he growled.
“I love it when you use that rumbly voice. It makes me shiver.”
“Does it now? What else makes you shiver?” His hand dipped into her bodice and covered her breast.
“That,” she whispered.
“And what about this?” He kissed her possessively, nudging her lips open and delving inside her mouth with commanding strokes of his tongue.
Bees buzzed nearby. The fresh summer scent of grass and sun-warmed flowers surrounded them. The petals of a daisy brushed her cheek.
Drew stripped her down to her stockings with the practiced movements of a former wicked rake.
Former rakes were the very best kind, she’d discovered.
All of the rake and none of the risk.
She trusted him with her body and with her heart.
He made her feel reckless and free.
When he entered her with slow, languid strokes, she lifted her hips and met him halfway. Her heart expanded as wide as the sky above them as they moved together, finding the rhythm that was still so new, and still filled her with awe.
Maybe there were a few twigs poking into her back. Maybe a bee flew a little bit too close to her ear for comfort.
She was probably going to be picking burs out of her blue gown.
Life wasn’t a dream. She’d always known that there was sadness and pain. Loneliness and longing.
But there was also this.
His skin against her skin. Sun on her face. Love overflowing her heart.
Life wasn’t a dream.
But it came pretty damned close when she was in his arms.
Acknowledgments
My everlasting gratitude to the multitude of people who helped bring this book into existence during a period in my life that included two cross-continental moves. Special thanks go to my amazing agent, Alexandra Machinist, and my erudite editor, Carrie Feron. To the fantastic team at Avon Books, especially Pam Jaffee, Asanté Simons, and Jes Lyons: you can expect abundant New Zealand treats this holiday season. Neile—you are simply the best beta reader on the planet. Plus, I get to skype with you in Switzerland and listen to your sexy French accent. Bisous! I’m extremely thankful for my loyal readers, especially the members of the Lenora’s Bookish Belles Facebook group. Much love to all of the bloggers, librarians, reviewers, and booksellers for spreading the news about good and diverse romance reads. One of these days I’m going to visit The Ripped Bodice in person!
About the Author
LENORA BELL is a USA Today bestselling, award-winning author of historical romances. She grew up in a small Alaskan town that still has no traffic lights, and she blames those long, dark winters for turning her into a lifelong bookworm. She has lived and worked in five continents but can currently be found in New Zealand with her carpenter husband and two tiger-striped rescue kitties.
lenorabell.com
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By Lenora Bell
One Fine Duke
For the Duke’s Eyes Only
What a Difference a Duke Makes
Blame it on the Duke
If I Only Had a Duke
How the Duke Was Won
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. An
y resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
one fine duke. Copyright © 2019 by Lenora Bell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition AUGUST 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-269245-0
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-269250-4
first edition
Cover design by Guido Caroti
Cover art by Paul Stinson
Cover photograph © Fly Media Drone/Shutterstock (daisies); © Michael Frost Photography
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