by Eva Devon
He hesitated. He was unused to young ladies conquered by sudden embarrassment. “I thought you made of sterner stuff.”
She peeked up at him. “Did I behave a total fool?”
“Not a bit. You were most charming and showed a decided awareness of current political undercurrents.”
“I did?”
He nodded. “You did.”
After all, she had. In fact, she knew more about the state of the world than most men of his acquaintance.
She lowered her hands and any embarrassment vanished from her face. “I’m usually told to be quiet.”
“We have already established that neither of us is usual. Now,” he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “We must conquer the day.”
If they didn’t get moving he was going to keep her in bed all day and wouldn’t that be gossip for the servants? Besides, he didn’t think he could survive a day in bed with Alfred without attempting to further her woefully neglected education in animal husbandry.
“Conquer the day?” she echoed.
“Either you run your life, Alfred, or it runs you, so, yes, we shall conquer this day.”
A good deal of skepticism was certainly responsible for her wrinkled forehead.
“Aside from such lofty contemplations,” he added, “it’s past seven and one of your duties is to see to my breakfast.”
His stomach rumbled appropriately.
“Oh. Right.” She scrambled off the bed, paused and groaned.
He bit back a laugh. “Overcome, Alfred. Overcome. When one drinks a bottle of wine, one must take the consequences.”
She nodded, squared her shoulders and headed for the stairs.
The very narrow, steep stairs.
In her present state, she might crack her head open.
He reached out and grabbed her hand. “On second thought, we’ll go down together.”
She eyed the stairs then his hand on her wrist, clearly trying to decide which might be the lesser challenge. “Your Grace, I think I can take the stairs.”
Hmmm. Perhaps she was still embarrassed and wished to be out of his company as swiftly as possible. Well, he was having none of that.
“I need help dressing,” he said suddenly. He nearly kicked himself. He did not need help dressing but now that he’d said it he wasn’t going to take it back.
Her brows rose, not in disdain, but in what appeared to be a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. “O-of course.”
He let go of her hand and pointed to a large chest. He kept his clothes in his traveling chest. One never knew when one might suddenly wish to head out into the world, after all. The last time he’d left in the middle of the night, he’d traveled all the way to Bombay.
She nodded absently then headed to the large travel chest, yanked the wide leather strap free and pushed the lid open.
She was a strong thing that was for certain. No delicate miss about his Alfred.
She dug around and he lifted a hand to his mouth to hide his smile.
Clearly, she was not used to taking care of her own clothes, let alone his. A real servant would have had apoplexy the way she was leaving shirts and breeches in a jumble.
“Do you need assistance, Alfred?”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “Of course not.”
Bending over, she shoved down to the bottom of the trunk.
While he was loathe to distract her again since his view was quite admirable, he feared he must.
But, oh, how her bum filled out her breeches. It was a glorious and stirring sight. He folded his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. This was going to be sweet torture. Every moment of it.
“Alfred?” he said.
“Your Grace?” came her muffled reply, nearly bent halfway into the chest.
“What the Devil are you doing?” he drawled.
An impatient and audible sigh came from the trunk. “Looking for your smalls.”
“I don’t wear them.”
She stilled.
She seemed locked in her task, hands in the trunk, bent over.
He shouldn’t be enjoying himself as much as he was. But good God it was fun.
“Right,” she said then stood, a pair of buff-colored breeches in hand. “You’ll need these then.”
He stood, arms still crossed and gave an approving nod. This was going to be deliciously amusing. She was a young lady playing at being a servant. Now, it was time to make it a reality. She wanted to be his manservant, well. . . she’d have to come up to snuff.
She held the breeches out. “Your Grace?”
“Alfred, I don’t cover distance over to you. You come over to me. You’re my servant, remember.”
“Oh.” She stared at the breeches then blew her short hair away from her eyes. “Right.”
Alfred cleared her throat then strode towards him. Again, she held out his breeches.
How far would he push her? It was so tempting to make her writhe with maidenly discomfort.
“Alfred, dukes don’t dress themselves.” Which was an absolute lie. He dressed and undressed himself every day. He hated having a servant fuss about him.
She eyed him slowly as if contemplating having to be in such close proximity to him and there was another marvelous blush. Oh, yes. This was going to be marvelous.
Surely, she was about to protest and cry off?
But no. Alfred gave herself an encouraging lift of her chin then reached straight for his waist.
He almost let out a most unmanly yelp. “What are you doing?”
“Divesting you of your trousers, Your Grace. You must take those off before you can put these on.”
She reached again, this time getting hold of his waistband.
Well, this was another surprise.
He held out his arms, giving her access and peered down at her. She was so much shorter than he, it was difficult not to feel imperious but she was working with such perfunctory movements, he felt deuced awkward.
She tugged at the buttons.
Just as she was about to undo his trousers, her head down, he found himself becoming ridiculously aroused.
She wasn’t doing anything in particular. It was her simple proximity. Her red hair was glinting with gold as the morning light peered in and her fingers were skimming his waist as she sought the buttons.
He was about to confront her with a hard cock that very much wanted her fingers to wander its way. That was a bit much even for him at present and this was supposed to be about him teaching her. Not her leading him on a merry dance with her unskilled but effective touches.
“Steady on, Alfred, you’ll rip the fabric,” he said abruptly, turned and shoved down his breeches leaving her with a sight of his buttocks. He held out his hand. “Give me my damned clothes.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she piped, her voice remarkably high.
If he hadn’t been so irritated by his own impassioned response, he would have grinned. Alfred was staring at his bum. And she clearly had no idea how to respond.
It seemed they were capable of stunning each other. And that, he supposed, might be a very dangerous thing.
*
Alfred clutched the smooth and supple breeches in her hands, trying desperately to breathe with a sense of normalcy. She’d never seen a man’s naked behind. Yes, of course, there were statues, but there was no comparison to the present event. That was cold stone. This was hot, living flesh and, my goodness, her fingers ached to reach out and trace the hard curve.
He was glorious. From the width of his muscular waist to the hardness of his buttocks, to the sinew of his strong thighs, he was perfection.
She stood transfixed.
“Alfred,” he barked.
She blinked then jumped to attention. “Yes, Your Grace?”
What was he going to think of her? That she was the worst servant ever. That’s what. She’d been fine in the stables. She knew how to go about her duties there, having spent such a significant portion of her life hiding away a
midst the horses.
Here? She’d really no idea what she was doing and the Duke of Roth already made her feel off center as if she were teetering on a cliff’s edge about to plunge into uncertainty. Oh, but what a fall it would be! Exhilarating. Falling with him would be positively exhilarating.
“Did the wine muddle your senses?”
She swallowed and shoved his breeches forward.
Why did he sound so terse? There’d been an amused note in his voice before, but now, he sounded brusk.
“I must say, I’m a bit at sea, Nicholas,” she finally admitted.
She didn’t know where she got the courage to use his name, but she hadn’t forgotten he’d given her permission the night before.
There was one thing she did know: she wanted to be as honest with him as possible. He’d listened to her last night. She’d opened her mind and showed so much of herself to the Duke of Roth. He hadn’t laughed at her or told her to stay in her place.
No, he’d encouraged her, asking question after question.
It would be so easy to slip into the role of servant again where they exchanged nothing but a few words. But she didn’t want that. Finally, she felt as if someone were beginning to know her. It was wonderful and she didn’t want that to end.
Nicholas’ broad shoulders expanded as he took a long breath. He quickly changed his breeches, turned, and faced her. “I think we’re both a bit off the map, Alfred.”
She laughed. “Yes.”
“But I’d say you’re an adventurer if I ever saw one.”
She beamed. All her life she’d longed to jump off the path made for her. Instead of censure, he was admiring her. It was strange that she cared for his opinion. She didn’t know him and, yet, she felt more akin to this man than she had to anyone since her sister had died.
“Now, where’s my shirt?”
Shirt? She gaped for a moment then whipped around and headed back to the trunk. She was going to have to see his chest? How was she going to survive? Even with his shirt on, she ached to touch his hard body. With his shirt off, it was going to be madness. Still, she was the one who’d agreed with this madcapped proposal and she’d do her duty if it killed her.
“Never mind, Alfred. Never mind. You’re going to wrinkle everything and I doubt you know how to wield an iron.”
An iron? Dear God. How the Devil was she going to manage that? She swallowed. “No.”
He snatched a shirt from the trunk, whipped the one he was wearing off and, before she could get a good look at his muscled form, he yanked his shirt on over his head. After he shoved the tails in his waistband then grabbed his boots, he started for the stairs. “Let’s be off.”
He pulled his boots on with surprising ease and, before she could fully gather her wits, he was descending.
She followed and took the hand he stuck out to assist her.
Later, when her head wasn’t pounding and she wasn’t agog from seeing her first nearly naked man, she’d take the stairs on her own.
When they entered the hallway, he was off, much like his stallion, Devil, long, powerful legs eating up the corridor. She raced to keep up with him. She had a strong feeling that she’d be chasing after the duke a good deal of the time. She’d never met anyone who met life with such power. He had a sort of knowing that wasn’t cynical. He’d seen it all but wasn’t bored or jaded. She’d seen almost nothing. They could hardly be more different, yet she found herself smiling as they headed down the main staircase and out to the foyer.
He stopped, his boots thudding on the black and white marble. “Fetch us a few eggs and some bread, Alfred. I fancy a walk.”
A walk?
“Not a ride, Your Grace?”
He stopped, turned, and stared at her. “Did I say a ride?”
She shook her head.
“Then hop to it and meet me out front in no more than ten minutes’ time.
Allegra whipped around and ran for the servant’s hall. A walk? Well, it was going to be an interesting day. And she had a suspicious feeling that she’d be running the entire way. Well, it was a far cry better than sitting on some stupid, silk cushion in some stupid ballroom where she could only make asinine commentary on the weather.
It took her minutes to grab a loaf of dark bread fresh from the oven, a bit of pie, and four boiled eggs. She shoved them all into a bag and slung it over her shoulder.
“Alfred?” Mrs. Thackery called.
She froze, cringing. She wasn’t ready for a discussion of any sort. Her mind was still a muddle and she had to remember that she was, indeed, Alfred, not Allegra now.
“You’re a fright, my lad,” she said, her gray brows drawn together.
Allegra coughed. Oh dear. She’d help dress the duke but she hadn’t given a thought to herself. And she was rather glad the duke hadn’t pointed it out. The idea of changing her clothes in his presence sent a wave of strange anticipation and dread through her. How was she going to survive it?
Oh. . . That was right. He’d turned her down.
Granted, she’d been tipsy, but he hadn’t wanted her in his bed. She wasn’t going to be fool enough to throw herself at him again.
Mrs. Thackery marched forward and tackled Allegra’s messy hair with her wrinkled hands.
Mrs. T smoothed it down then tsked. “You must improve your standards, Alfie, if you’re to look after His Grace.”
“Yes, Mrs. Thackery,” she said with as much of a chastised air as she could manage.
“Alfie?”
“Yes, Mrs. Thackery?”
“Did you sleep well?”
Allegra gripped her bag, her stomach fluttering with nerves. She’d had to lie a good deal lately. “Yes.”
“Nothing amiss?”
“No.”
Mrs. Thackery nodded. “Good. Good.” She hesitated and pulled on Allegra’s collar, straightening it. “If you have any concerns, you tell me about them. Understood?”
Allegra nodded and backed up. Mrs. Thackery couldn’t possibly know her secret, could she? No. Mrs. T was just a soft touch who was looking out for a young man in the duke’s demanding company.
“I must dash, Mrs. T. His Grace is waiting.”
She gave a cheeky grin, a grin a naughty youth would give, and headed for the gravel drive.
The brisk air filled her lungs and she let out a delighted sigh. She smiled. What could be better? A day outdoors with a man she found positively thrilling? Nothing, that’s what. She’d been so worried the Duke of Roth would discover her secret. She almost laughed. It was the best thing that could have happened to her. Nothing was going to stop her from enjoying every moment of this new turn of events. Not a bloody thing.
Chapter 8
Nicholas eyed Alfred and, once again, questioned his own sanity. Alfred was a damned delight. Even with her shorn hair and bound breasts, there was something about her that positively radiated. How the hell had she managed to trick his entire staff?
She was so full of excitement and enthusiasm. She’d been asking him questions about India for the last hour. Intelligent questions.
He liked her.
He’d simply thought she’d be a good game when he’d first stumbled upon her in the stables the day before but twenty-four hours later, he was feeling a sort of easy camaraderie that was making him damned uncomfortable.
Well, it wasn’t all camaraderie.
As this morning had proved with the breeches debacle, he wanted her. He wanted her more with each passing hour. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted another woman because he was willing to show restraint in his seduction.
Usually, he didn’t waste a great deal of time with women. Either they wanted to be bedded or they didn’t. She did, or she had when she was three sheets to the wind. It was he who had held back and who would make absolutely certain she was ready to take a momentous and memorable leap into sin.
They headed up over the rocky cliff. The sea roared and a salty wind whipped towards them.
It was damned c
old and yet Alfred didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact, she was grinning as if she’d never been happier in her life.
Maybe she hadn’t.
God, she was beautiful.
The soft gray sky left her skin a delicious shade of rosy cream and her red hair was a short riot about her face. The wind was plastering her breeches and shirt to her form and it was all he could do not to grab her, pull her to him, and devour her mouth in a hot kiss.
Not yet, he reminded himself. Not until he was absolutely certain that she wouldn’t regret their affair. It was damned odd, his conscious suddenly stirring about.
He shoved his hair out of his eyes and watched her leap up a set of boulders, prop a foot on a rock and gaze out to the wild sea.
February wasn’t the warmest or cheeriest month in England but she seemed undaunted as if she were a bird set free from its cage, determined to enjoy the liberty it had longed for.
He’d known many women. Some women found freedom in the cage, creating their own lives and powers within the rules of society.
The cage was everywhere. Even men lived in a cage of sorts. Anyone who thought differently was blind.
But he was glad to see Alfred taking wing as best she could. One day she’d see that life had its rules in every corner of the world but he hoped he wasn’t the one to reveal the truth to her.
He didn’t really know what the hell he was doing.
He’d wanted to get out of the castle, to keep her to himself. As long as they were isolated, Alfred could be herself. She didn’t have to pretend and he wanted to know more and more about her and she was opening up to him now without the aid of wine.
He chose a path winding down to the beach below. He loved the cliffs. Smugglers had used them until his grandfather’s day. Oh, there were still smugglers up and down the coast, but they knew they weren’t welcome on Roth land. In fact, he employed his own men to ensure that the Excise men didn’t have to search the cliffs for criminals.
As a child, he’d love to explore the deep caves.
It struck him as curious that he, without thought, had brought her to a place he’d enjoyed so much as a child.
Nicholas shook his head. He was giving weight to something that was nothing.
