by Eva Devon
She glanced back at him, one hand on her pack. “Are you hungry, Your Grace?”
That was a devilish, tricky question. Hungry? Hell, yes. For her. He wanted to lay her down on the ground and make a slow, luxurious meal of her. He’d savor every lick, every bite.
“Let’s wait until we get down to the beach.”
She nodded and followed him.
She made her way down the path with the ease of one of the wild ponies that roamed over the Devon moors. He tried to imagine her in a ballroom, her hair curled, a gown keeping her spine rigid, her hands in gloves. . . Her whole personality imprisoned by the rules designed to keep women under society’s thumb.
No doubt, she’d be beautiful. She might even be the jewel of the ton, but it would be different. She’d never be like this. Totally joyous and uncaring what the world thought of her movements.
He felt a pang of regret. How many ladies lived the majority of their lives trying to hide their true selves?
Too damned many.
A duchess might not have to hide herself. A duchess could lead the ton and censure be damned.
He frowned. That was a peculiar thought.
The young woman romping over his cliffs would not make a proper duchess.
He wasn’t even thinking about it. It was just a trip of the mind. A twist of thoughts.
They strode out onto the pebbled beach and he picked out a relatively dry spot. They’d already walked a good five miles. She didn’t seem the slightest fatigued.
He sat, leaning back on his palms. “Alfred, how are you in such fine condition? Ladies don’t usually frolic about with such energy?”
“Oh. That?” She grinned. “I dance a great deal. It’s the only way to keep up one’s stamina when not in the country.”
“So you attend balls then?” he asked casually.
She nodded as she opened her bag. “Certainly.”
How could he get her to tell him her identity? Surely, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult. He was known to be rather persuasive, after all.
“You like balls?” Given his previous thoughts, he wanted to know.
She screwed up her face, “Like? Well, I like dancing, but the introductions, the braying conversations, and the machinations of the marriage-minded mamas? What’s to like about that?”
A laugh boomed out of him.
“What?” she challenged.
“You sound like a man. Not just any man, but a titled lord.”
She sighed. “I think I should have been born a man.”
“God forbid, Alfred.” He grinned. “You make a perfect woman.” And she did. With each moment, he was growing more and more drawn to her oddities.
She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re the only one who thinks so.”
“People are just frightened by different things.”
“I’m different, for certain.” She tore off a hunk of bread in a most inefficient fashion and handed it to him.
He eyed the bread. A servant would have brought a knife to cut it into slices. But not Alfred. She’d brought the bread and hadn’t given its serving a second thought. She wasn’t bothered by such things and he admired her for it. Too many people were concerned with appearances and rules.
“You’re a rarity, Alfred,” he said softly.
She bowed her head slightly and busied herself with the bread.
“It’s a compliment.”
She smiled sadly. “Being a rarity is a dangerous thing, Your Grace.”
“How so?” He could have sworn most women wanted to be seen as special.
“Rarities are hunted and killed as trophies, or they’re gotten rid of.”
Her voice had softened and her blue eyes shone with a cold sheen.
“Alfred?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me?”
“What?” she said tightly, looking away.
“What’s made you sad just now?” he asked.
“Not today, Nicholas,” she shook her head then turned her face to him, her lips turned in an overly bright smile. “Today is for happy things.”
With that, she jumped up abandoning him to their bread. She raced for the frothy water rushing in over the beach.
So, Alfred, for all her careless joy and silliness, had sorrow in her heart.
Is that why she’d run off?
He wanted to know. He had to know. It was inexplicable, his sudden fascination with her. Nicholas paused. Was he doing what she said? Hunting a rarity? No. She wasn’t just some object he wanted to obtain. If that were the case, he would have bedded her already. This morning or here on the beach.
Alfred was something more. Despite the instincts that had guided his roguish self for the vast majority of his life, he wasn’t going to go about his business until he knew what, exactly, she was doing on his estate and, more surprisingly, in his life.
*
That had been a near thing.
Allegra peeled off her shoes and socks and ran into the saltwater. She nearly yelped at the cold, but she was made of stern stuff. Her family’s estate was in York and she and her sister had gone swimming any time of year. As long as snow wasn’t falling, they’d made mad dashes into the wickedly cold water and loved every moment of it.
She kicked the waves and looked back over her shoulder at Nicholas. He was still sitting, staring at her, a strange look on his face.
He was dangerous.
She knew that.
He was the sort of man that women risked it all for a taste of. She’d already made her decision. She’d tossed her good reputation by running away. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that. She wanted him. Granted, she’d thrown herself at him and been turned down, but. . .
He wanted her.
She was almost certain of it.
There was something in his gaze that suggested he was going to try to possess her body and soul.
Usually even the very idea of someone trying to own her would have sent her hackles rising, but not him. She wanted to be taken by him. To be with a man of such force, of such power once in one’s life was a dream. Only a fool would pass up a dream.
And then she wanted to take him in her turn. How powerful would she feel with him at her mercy? A slow smile pulled at her lips. It was such a shocking thing to think.
What would Juliana say?
She thought of her sister who had once been wild but not wise enough to know not to trust a man like Viscount Tyburry. But then again, if not for Juliana’s experience, would Allegra be wise herself? After all, it was her sister’s misfortune that had made it clear that she could not sit idly by in her parents’ house assuming all would turn out for the best.
She was tempted to glance back at the rogue of a man on the beach. She didn’t trust him. She never would. He was exactly the sort of man Juliana had meant. Titled, wealthy, and ridiculously handsome, the Duke of Roth could distract almost any young woman into forgetting herself. Any woman but Allegra. Nothing, not a handsome, face, a grand title, or charm a mile wide would ever trick Allegra into betraying herself.
And. . . Well, unlike Juliana’s husband, Allegra couldn’t imagine Nicholas trying to break her spirit. Not the way he’d spoken to her in the last day.
Now, wasn’t she fortunate she could enjoy the duke’s company without ever having to worry about the prison of matrimony? It was more than fortunate. It was bloody marvelous! In fact, it might be argued that an affair with such a man would only go to increasing her independence and knowledge.
As long as she didn’t have a child.
That was a rather serious thought. She was not going to be like Juliana. Not in any way. She wouldn’t drain her life out on a bed for a man who didn’t care.
She glanced back over her shoulder to peek at him again and her eyes popped open. My goodness!
Nicholas had stood, pulled his shoes and socks off and was grinning. “Right!” he shouted. “Let’s see if you’re as fast as a lad.”
A strange sort of exhilaration raced through her. He wa
sn’t possibly serious was he? He couldn’t be. No. Dukes didn’t run like mad men along a beach.
As he took a step forward, he grabbed the hem of his linen shirt and whipped it over his head.
She gaped. How could she not? He was absolutely perfect. She let out a little sigh. It was so pleasant to be able to look openly. To not feel shame or have to hide her admiration.
“You’re not running, Alfred.”
She gave him a cheeky grin.
“No need,” she sallied. “You’ll never catch me!”
With that, she took off across the foam and ran across the wet sand. The cold, salt wind whipped against her cheeks and the soft ground gave beneath her bare feet.
Her heart pounded and she threw her legs out, racing as fast as she could. A laugh rippled from her and as she ran, the sun peered out from the clouds, splashing her with its rays.
Nothing in her whole life had ever felt so free.
Her lungs burned, but she smiled. Smiled so hard her cheeks ached.
Hands reached out and grabbed her from behind. “I’ve got you!”
She stumbled and let out another peal of laughter.
He whipped her around and pulled her against his chest. “Why, Alfred, you’re quite fast actually.”
She winked. “You’ve no idea.”
His smile turned liquid hot. “I think I do, actually.”
Nicholas lowered his mouth to hers and touched her lips with the barest kiss.
She gasped, longing for more but somehow she held herself back. Last night, she’d been tipsy on wine. This was something she wanted to feel with every ounce of her being.
Bracing her back with his broad hands, he kissed her slowly, teasing, torturing until she opened her lips and groaned.
A pleased sound rumbled from his chest and he slipped his tongue into her mouth.
Then slowly, he pressed kisses along her jaw and along the curve of her neck. Each kiss was a promise as he moved lower.
“I want you, Your Grace,” she whispered.
“I want you too, Alfred.”
She laughed. The sound of her false name so strange at this moment.
“Do you laugh at me, madam?” he asked, nibbling her skin.
“I do. I do,” she teased, tracing her hands up his strong shoulders and finding the boldness to slip her fingers into his perfect, dark hair.
In retaliation, he bit lightly at a sensitive spot on her neck. She yelped and arched against him.
“Like that, do you?” he growled against her.
Goodness! Just the feel of his hot breath and lips sent a delicious shiver up and down her whole body.
She nodded, still amazed he could evoke such feelings in her.
“So,” he gazed down at her, his face surprisingly gentle and hungry at once. “By the light of day, you still wish to have me?”
Taking courage in hand, she locked gazes with him. “Yes, Nicholas.”
His chest expanded in a huge intake of breath and he gave a nod. “Good.”
It was such an odd response. Had he been nervous that she might say no? She rather liked the possibility that she could make such a powerful man nervous.
Even so. . . She stroked his cheek and then touched his lips with her fingertips. They were so strong and so soft. Just the sort of lips to kiss her witless. “But not here. Not on the beach.”
“Beaches are vastly overrated,” he stated.
“Are they?” she teased. Her lips twitched. “Do many people contemplate them?”
He shook with laughter “Too many do. Sand is quite itchy.”
She arched her brows. “Famous! Your variety of knowledge is most fascinating.”
He arched a dark brow. “I shall choose to take that as a compliment.”
“Oh do,” she encouraged. “Though I do think more people, especially ladies, should be allowed to have such an education.”
“My dear Alfred, what a rebel you are. If women were thusly educated most men would never be able to keep up with them.”
A thrill chased her. Oh, kisses were wonderful but, ultimately, it was the meeting of their minds that was the most erotic thing she’d ever known. “And that, Your Grace, would be the point.”
He waggled his dark brows. “Are you saying women are superior to men?”
“If we were given half a chance,” she said, “I think we would quite surprise you.”
He smiled. Then in that rumbling voice of his, replied, “You already have.”
“Good then.” She grinned and, with a boldness that shocked her, took his hand and began pulling him along the beach. “Now, let’s get on with our walk.”
“You really do make a terrible servant, Alfred.”
“It’s a good thing then that I don’t plan to be one for very long.”
Chapter 9
How in the Devil did one properly seduce a lady in disguise as a serving boy? Nicolas stared at the flowers he’d had picked from his hothouse and scowled. It was wrong. All wrong. He was going to just have to have these displayed in the hall. . . Especially after the footman had his mouth open so wide for so long that Nicholas was fairly certain a fly had flown in and out.
He didn’t care if the servants thought he was having an affair with a man. He had enough self-confidence to not be bothered. But he didn’t like the idea of looking like he was seducing a boy or someone in his power such as a servant.
This was only one issue in all that was wrong.
Quite frankly, he doubted that Alfred (She still wouldn’t tell him her name) would be impressed by a bunch of tulips, no matter how much they cost.
And perhaps Alfred had already agreed to be in his bed, but he was no fool when it came to women, especially intelligent women. The seduction didn’t begin in the bedroom and it certainly didn’t stop once a man had gotten there. Men who thought so were absolute morons who knew nothing about female pleasure.
He let out a sigh.
Alfred was having a bath. . . In his room.
It had been damned tempting to linger, but he knew ladies could be fussy about such things and, frankly, he wanted her to feel powerful the first time he saw her naked, not nervous.
How else would a young woman feel, smeared with dirt and slightly odorous.
He still wanted to punch himself. He’d suggested her bath after sniffing slightly at the air and realizing that the smell of horseflesh and sweat was coming from her. Who knew when she’d last been able to bathe with ease?
She had not been amused.
It was just one more reminder that he was not on a familiar ground with his Alfred. It was a marvelous and slightly jarring experience. He was no longer the one in control. It was, so far, impossible to tell if he appreciated this new sensation.
While he’d had no intention of staying whilst she bathed, it had been, in fact, she who had shooed him out. After she’d lugged her own water up the narrow stairs.
He had, at first, insisted he assist her.
The look she’d given him would have shrunk a lesser man’s balls.
Apparently, she was taking her job as his servant quite seriously and there was no way a duke would assist a boy in lugging water.
She had a point.
It seemed his usually rational brain had gone for a wander. He did hope it would return soon. He had a feeling that with Alfred, he desperately needed it.
Nicholas strode down the hall at the back of his castle, flowers in hand, hoping that an idea would occur to him. Wine and food had worked just fine the previous evening, but now was the time to advance his wooing of Alfred, not fall back. He needed something marvelous. Something exciting. Something that actually showed he understood her. He wanted to see her eyes light with pleasure and not just of the physical kind.
He stopped and turned to the double doors to his left.
A slow smile curved his lips.
The library. Oh, yes. Why the Devil had he not thought it before?
Most women wanted jewels or rare chocolates or. . . fl
owers. Not his Alfred. Oh, no. She’d want rich vellum, stitched with absolute care and bound with the finest leather embossed with gold. . .And it couldn’t be just any book.
He headed into the library’s huge cavern. It had been built with care by ancestors who knew brawn was not enough to rule. Power was in words and thoughts not just the sword.
He walked to the far end of the slightly darkened room. No bright light was allowed. His grandfather, his father, and now he, ensured that nothing would damage the precious pages in this hallowed space.
He scanned the books that were the closest link he had to his parents besides the portraits in the great hall.
Once, when he had been very small, both of his parents had read to him in this great room. He knew that had been an exception not a rule. Most aristocratic children were rarely brought down from the nursery except for perhaps an hour after tea time. His parents had seemed to view things differently because he could still recall the scent of lavender as he sat on his mother’s lap, her arms around him, her soft hair tickling his cheek as it curled about her face. He couldn’t remember the words but he could recall the soft, comforting hum of her voice as she’d read him stories by the fire.
Later, after they’d gone, he’d rather imperiously demanded that all his lessons be in the library. And being who he was, his tutors had complied. It was in this room that he’d cut his teeth on Chaucer, Dante, Shakespeare, and later, Voltaire. But he wasn’t looking for one of those great men.
He was looking for a great woman.
There on the pages of literary work from the golden age of The Restoration was the book he was looking for.
Aphra Behn had been a great in her own right and she’d written publicly as a woman. She was saucy, accomplished and as talented as any of her contemporary males.
Just like Alfred.
Nicholas slipped the small volume off the shelf and savored the feel of the leather beneath his fingertips. Yes. This was the one. It was a reminder that even in a world ruled by men, a woman could make her mark and be taken seriously. She didn’t have to sit at home and mind the manor.
Nicholas’ warm feeling faded as he considered this last thought. It was almost certain that was precisely what Alfred had been brought up to do. . . Tend the manor. But he didn’t know for sure.
