by Claudy Conn
He eyed her and a brief smile lit up his face. It occurred to her that a woman could get lost in his smile—she could get lost in his smile.
He spoke softly when he finally said, “Mandy it is, then.”
She needed to say something, anything for suddenly she couldn’t think. Was that her feet that took her closer to him? That couldn’t be her, moving toward him, could it? She felt a fool because she couldn’t stop herself as she looked up at his face.
Her hand fluttered as his bright blues stared down at her and she saw something there, something that made her sure he was going to kiss her.
She had to say something. She simply couldn’t just stand there like an idiot. Her mind was frazzled with flitting thoughts as she said, “I…I interrupted you earlier. You were saying, something…”
“Was I?” he waved it off as his gaze drifted over her mouth, down her neck, back to her mouth and then met her eyes intently. “I only want you to know, that I will see you and your brother though this tangle—I am determined.”
His lingering survey of her features had left her with her toes literally curling in her boots. How she wished her hair was brushed long around her shoulders, and that instead of the boy’s clothing covering her, she had something fashionable, feminine and alluring covering her body. She turned partially away from him, unable to meet his penetrating eyes and said, “Matters do look grave, Your Grace.”
“Even so, we shall get out of this.” He sighed heavily and then said encouragingly, “As I have already told you, I believe your twin innocent of the charges. What I think is that I have a great deal to do, if I am to prove it so. He was not the father of Miss Celia’s unborn child, of that I am certain. He never meant her any harm, and could never have injured her let alone murdered her in cold blood. That could only have been done by someone with little heart and no conscience, and your brother has both.” He sighed and pulled a face before he continued, “However, I visited with your deplorable cousin Alfred earlier this morning and it appears as though he and his father mean to run you to ground if only to show themselves as above board in this matter. And if you are thinking of marrying that oaf, I, as your guardian, strongly advise against it.”
“Marry Alfred?” Mandy suddenly was side-tracked from all else. “Such a nightmare never occurred to me.”
He was now so near, she could feel his breath as he towered over her, bent his head a bit and touched her cheek. “Tell me lovely Mandy, how is it no one has applied to me for your hand in this past year?”
His nearness was almost overwhelming. This is what it meant when Lucy had told her that her blacksmith left her unable to breathe. This is what ‘desire’ felt like. Lucy had tried to describe it, but nothing came close to what she was experiencing.
She felt the heat swim through her blood and burn her cheeks. She felt the steam cloud the vision before her eyes, “Well as to that, other than a few school girl crushes I had while growing up, and I have never felt a decided partiality for anyone.” She frowned and because she was incurably open, added, “Although more recently Sir Owen well, then this happened and…”
“I see. Sir Owen, you say?” returned the duke zeroing in on one thing. “Are you saying the rogue has been courting you?”
“I wouldn’t call it courting…as he has made no declaration to my brother even, but he has shown…an interest.” Her eyes opened wide. “Do you know him?”
“I know of him, and have seen him in passing often in London,” he answered abruptly and then remarked, “You have never had a London season? How is that?”
“Well, when I came of age…grandpapa fell ill and I couldn’t leave him—wouldn’t ever think of doing so. Then the following year, we lost him and I was in mourning and then, well time simply slipped away.”
“I should have seen to it,” he said frowning. “It seems I have been thoughtless.”
She was startled to hear such a declaration of him. She hadn’t thought that he was capable of such sensibility. By this time, he was so very close to her that she could swear his hard rock self was an inch away.
Step away, she told her traitorous body, but she didn’t want to. Her heart had taken over and she could hear it arguing with her mind. It was time she was kissed by someone who knew what he was doing. It was time she wanted to be kissed by someone she found this attractive, it was time, it was time, it was time.
She was all too aware of her heart beating faster than she had ever thought possible. Could he hear her heart pounding as blood rushed to her brain? Could he hear it? She fancied that she could hear it. It was as though her heart had two large fists and was slamming them against the inside of her chest, telling her what it needed. Faith, she had never felt this way before and this was trouble, so much trouble.
He had the look of a rogue, a rogue who had a bevy of women. No doubt he did not find her desirable. She was, in fact, quite a mess with her hair in disarray and running about like nothing more than a dirty urchin.
She was suddenly ashamed and even so, she was unable to turn away from him.
She stared into those deep blue eyes of his and found herself getting onto her tippy toes. What was she doing? What? But she knew, he was going to kiss her, and she…she moved toward that kiss.
* * *
He had seen her lying back against the mossy boulders, her eyes closed, her dark knit cap cast aside near her slender hip. Her blonde hair with its wispy curls around her forehead and dainty ears was fetching and…egad! She was stunning.
Her leather waistcoat was wide open and her full breasts pressed against a shirt that was obviously her brothers. Her nipples poked at the thin material as though begging for attention—so very pert and inviting. He felt his shaft get uncomfortably large and hard and reminded himself that he was her guardian.
He cleared his throat and the sound got her attention.
She opened those big brown eyes and looked up at him and suddenly he was bereft of speech. When had that ever happened to him? Speechless? Never.
Last night, so much had happened, so much had been thrown at him. He had never had to deal with such a muddle and this wasn’t going to be easy. Explanations had been thrown at him, but none of them had served to help.
She scrambled to her feet and there in the sunlight, her lively eyes bright with concern and her body in boys clothing so much more alluring than he had ever thought possible, this imp of a woman stood grabbing all his attention to the exclusion of all else.
He felt the frown bend his brows as he looked her over. Even in dirty breeches, even with dusty boots and a smudge across her cheek, the Sherborne creature was utterly devastatingly beautiful.
The duke was a man who adored women, their foibles, their mysterious ways, and their many faces. He loved the way they laughed and giggled. He loved their softness, their hearts, and their ability to deal with a world that set them as the ‘lesser gender’ when he had always known otherwise. Indeed, though he knew it was the male’s job, his duty, his pleasure to protect a woman from harm; in no way were they the lesser gender. His mother had taught him that because he had adored and observed her and his feelings for her had left him with a deep affection for womankind.
Thus, the duke became a man with a fondness for all women, all sizes, and all ages. They were an intriguing lot, full of charms and had a way of seeing the world that opened that same world for a man.
He had always thought perhaps that he loved women too much and that was why he had never wanted to get attached to just one. There were so many choices.
This woman standing before him had been loyal to her brother to the point of absurdity and he admired that in her. However, she had to be taught that this could not continue, if only to keep her safe.
He found himself fighting a mental war. He wanted in all sincerity, to protect her, even from herself and yet…he could not stop the sure desire rushing through his blood when he looked at her. What the bloody hell was that? He never bothered with innocent maids. His flirtations
were always with women married for convenience and looking for diversion and the occasional widow.
His mind was lost in cogitation as they saw to their horses, but in spite of his mental resolve to keep her at arm’s length, he found himself breathing in the fresh soapy scent of her. She must have washed with freezing cold water, poor girl, he thought.
He stepped closer without knowing that he did so. She went very still, but she resisted when he tried to take the saddle and the end result sent her flying backward.
He hurried and with great concern, reached for and found her waist as he helped her up and she put out a hand to his chest.
It was with every ounce of strength that he set her aside and did not kiss her, for at that moment, it was the only thing he wanted to do, but he wouldn’t. How could he take advantage of her like that? He couldn’t…could he?
* * *
She moved toward him, and didn’t have far to go with only an inch between them. She put her hand to his chest and while on her toes, she closed her eyes.
She knew, absolutely knew he was going to kiss her.
His voice was near her ear as he said, “Is there something I can do for you, Mandy? Something no one else can do?”
She heard the tease in his voice and realized what she was doing and feeling like a childish fool, she landed back on her heels, as her eyes snapped open. What must he think? How could she have been so wrong?
“No,” she answered, turning away from him. “Why would you think so?”
“Why? You looked as though you were in need of er…attention,” he said softly. “Indeed, you seemed to be reaching for it.”
She felt the vibes in the air. It was as though something inside of him broke free as he spoke.
She turned back to him. She should run. Instead, she found herself in his arms, his touch impassioned, his head bent to hers as his mouth devoured hers and his tongue searched hers for a response.
She gave herself to that kiss. Her body melted into his, her tongue moved hesitantly at first and then as he took over, she instinctively gave herself to his lead and the moment of erotic and primal sensation swept through her.
He was a rogue and a libertine and would forget her as soon as he walked away, but she didn’t care. She wanted his kisses. She wanted this feeling. She wanted the hunger he aroused in her. She wanted.
Why him? He was dominant and controlling and she was an independent young woman who liked to make her own way. She didn’t want or need a man forever taking control, yet she wanted this man and she wanted him to be the one to make love to her.
She would be one and twenty soon and had never been in love to the point of wanting a man to bed her, but she wanted this one to do just that. What was wrong with her? But it wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be, because it felt right—so right.
Rules—men’s rules, never made sense to her. She had always felt men made rules to benefit men. Why shouldn’t she enjoy passion with a man?
She was entitled to this.
So many of her friends were already married and most of them had done a great deal more than kissing before they entered the blissful state of matrimony. It was time she lived a bit, wasn’t it? There was no saying that she would ever marry—not with the course she had taken. Her reputation now would be ruined because she broke her brother out of prison. No one would want her as a wife.
And then all these cogitations were for naught as once again, he set her aside and said, “I am a cad to take advantage of your unstable emotions.”
Her lashes fluttered before she repeated the words in her mind and finally said, “My unstable emotions?”
“Yes…here…lonely, worried…upset…I…”
“And what of your emotions? Are you lonely, worried or upset? Is that why you kissed me, for I tell you frankly, those emotions are not what prompted me to kiss you.”
He eyed her strangely for a moment and asked, “No? What then did?”
She was flushed and embarrassed, so instead of answering him, she wagged a finger at him and said, “Right, as though I am stable enough to know?”
Suddenly he was reaching for her, and he murmured, “May I rot in hell for this.”
Once again she was in his arms, but this time, it was a crushing embrace. It was as though he had been at war with himself and lost.
He lifted her off the ground as his mouth devoured hers and then as he set her feet back down, his hand traveled to cup her breast over her shirt.
He nibbled at her ear and then did the same down the length of her neck and she heard him whisper hoarsely and as though he said it against his will, “Delicious woman, I am lost in you.”
He was a duke. He was a London rogue who had been with countless women, she was sure and he thought her delicious? She was spelled by his touch, by his voice, by his words and she bent to his love-making, matching his desire with her own.
In his arms, she felt as though she was floating into a world of sensation. She wanted this to go on. She liked the feel of his body against hers, felt his manhood through his breeches as it pressed against his clothing and hers and knew a sure excitement, curiosity and a need for more.
And then all at once as though he could wait no longer, his mouth went once again to hers and parted her lips with his own.
Sir Owen’s kisses were nothing like these.
She felt the heat from her toes shoot straight to her brain and fry all logic with one fell swoop.
His tongue gently danced with hers, teased her response and seemed to move with intensity as though emboldened by her return of his passion.
She was hungry for more of this, more of him. More.
She thought of her friend Lucy telling her, that she would know when she was really kissed. Lucy had been right.
He tasted so good and her entire body was on fire. She knew that this was probably what it meant to be a wanton woman and did not care. His kiss was the kind that dreams were made of.
Everything all around them vanished.
All she knew was that they were alone, in each other’s arms. It was as though they were wrapped in a velvet sky and shooting stars exploded all around. Even with her eyes closed, she could see it all. There was only the two of them.
Her blood was bubbling in a way that made her want more kissing, more, more, more.
Then all at once, as though she had done something wrong, he set her away again and stepped back as though she were a red hot poker.
He stared at her as though she was something dangerous, something that had ensnared him, something he had to escape and he nearly stumbled as he stepped backward and hit the wall.
He put out a hand as though to ward her off and said, “Bloody hell, I don’t know what just happened, but I do beg your forgiveness. I have most certainly overstepped and…I apologize.”
She was unable to respond. She was embarrassed and hurt at his rejection. She turned away from him and said quietly, “Indeed, I would appreciate it, if you would just forget that this ever happened. I know I shall.”
His voice when it came sounded dry, stilted, “I have matters in town that require my attention.” He moved to his horse and set about tightening the girth.
She didn’t want him to go and felt a fool as she asked, “Oh, but don’t you want to wait for Ned and Chauncey?”
“I came only to bring you your horse,” he said and inclined his head as he led his outside and kept his eyes averted.
She stood at the makeshift barn door and sighed sadly as she watched him mount, and shift in his saddle.
“When will I…we see you again?” she asked trying to sound idle about it.
“Soon little one, soon,” he said and moved off a few paces. He didn’t look back as he suddenly rode off, and he rode off like the devil was after him.
She clasped her hands and told herself out loud, “You are a fool, Amanda Sherborne. A fool! He is sophisticated, he is experienced and has probably had the most beautiful women in all of London…and look at you. Just look at
you, all dirty with hair and clothes a complete mess. Why would he ever want you? Kissing you must have been just awful for him to jump away like he did!” She gazed down at her brother’s clothes covering her body and wanted to cry.
Chapter Seven
MANDY COULD NOT sit still after her encounter with the duke.
She picked herself up, went to her abbey chamber and collected a linen cloth, a bar of soap, a change of clothing, her hair brush and headed outdoors. The stream was sure to be cold, but she needed a bath and she needed to wash her hair. At least the sun was warm.
She headed for the woods, basking in the warmth of the day and followed the stream to a spot she and her brother had used when they were children.
A moment later saw her naked and plunging into the deepest part. She soaped down her hair and body and hurried out of the water to wrap the linen around herself and brush out the tangles in her hair.
She sighed and was pleased to feel clean and refreshed as she pulled on her undergarments. She gazed at her brother’s clothes and wished she had instead one of her pretty gowns.
A moment later, dressed, her boots pulled back on, and feeling clean, she headed down the trail when a sound of her name made her come to a complete stop.
She closed her eyes, for she knew the voice well and he repeated, “Amanda!”
There was nothing for it. She knew this day would come. She turned to meet her fate head on. She might have been able to outrun him, but that would only lead him to their hiding place. She had no choice but to stand her ground.
She put on a smile she did not at all feel and said as nonchalantly as she could muster and as though she were meeting him in a drawing room, “Sir Owen, how nice.”
He stood only twenty feet away from her, a fishing rod in his hand, his rugged face enigmatic. She noted that he looked thinner than usual, but perhaps it was because he wore only his shirtsleeves and buckskin waistcoat. His topboots were muddied and his hair windblown. He strode hard, putting the distance between them away and set down the basket containing the fish he’d caught with some force, his expression one of astonishment.
