by Syrie James
Now, he was beginning to see the castle in a new light. Miss Atherton’s ideas were excellent and at times quite innovative. As they exited the great hall and crossed the terrace, he found himself imagining the possibilities she’d described, and wishing he could find a way to implement them.
“How stunning.” Miss Atherton had paused by the stone wall enclosing the terrace to take in the view.
Lance joined her at the wall, leaning on the crenellated stone surface and squinting out at the bright blue water surrounding them. Puffy white clouds dotted an azure sky. Seagulls squawked. The sun felt warm on his face, and the scent of the sea enveloped him like a tonic.
“The sea looks so vast,” Miss Atherton commented. “I could almost imagine that it’s endless ocean all the way to America. But doesn’t France lie just over there?” She gestured with one hand.
“The French coast is only 112 nautical miles away.” Without thinking, he added, “What I’d give to be on a ship right now, making a beeline for France.”
A frown pulled at her mouth. “You miss it very much, don’t you? Being at sea?”
“Yes,” he admitted, taking in the castle behind and above them with a wave of his arm. “This is all very new to me.”
“You said you served in the Navy for nineteen years?”
He nodded. “My father sent me off for training at age thirteen on an old-timber Navy ship moored at Devonport. I was the second son, with no expectation that I’d ever inherit and no aspirations in that direction. After four years of schooling, I signed on for ten years’ continuous service.”
“How old were you when you made captain?”
“A month shy of thirty-one.”
“That’s rather young, isn’t it?”
“I was lucky. I was taken under the wing of an admiral who was friends with my father, and I moved up the ranks quickly. I had only had command of a ship for a little over a year when I learned that my brother had died.”
“It must have been difficult to walk away.”
“It feels as though I’ve lost a limb, Miss Atherton,” Lance replied, his eyes fixed again on the horizon.
“I am so sorry.” The sympathy in her voice rang true. “Tell me what you loved about it. The Royal Navy, I mean.”
“How much time do you have?” Lance laughed lightly. “I loved everything. My crew. My fellow officers. The daily drills. The gleam and polish of a well-ordered ship. The calm of an evening at sea. The nightly yarns told around the table after dinner in the wardroom.”
“Nightly yarns?”
“Many officers are accomplished raconteurs. Those who could tell the tallest stories with the most conviction were greatly admired.”
She laughed. “How about the food?”
“The food on board could have been better. In port, however—from Spain and France to Egypt and Morocco—it was often quite spectacular.”
“I’ve traveled a bit in the Mediterranean myself. One could spend a lifetime exploring there and never see or taste half of its wonders.”
“Exactly.” Lance was intrigued to discover that she enjoyed traveling as much as he did.
“When I think of the Royal Navy, I think of wooden ships. And cannons.” She gestured toward an ancient black cannon nearby. “I suppose that’s all gone now?”
“Entirely gone. We’ve had to completely replace our war fleet over the past half century. All our ships are metal now, powered by steam, and they carry explosive munitions.”
“It’s a little sad, isn’t it? To know that the age of sail has been banished to the pages of history?”
“Yes, but we shouldn’t romanticize it, either. Life on board ship is safer now and far more comfortable for the crew.”
“Did you see any action while at sea?”
“No. England hasn’t been at war since 1815. Our job was to police the waters of the Mediterranean. It’s a point of pride that, even during all these transformations, the Royal Navy has maintained its advantage over all potential rivals.”
“‘The best guarantee for the peace of the world . . .’” she began.
“‘. . . is a supreme British fleet,’” he finished with her, smiling. “Established dogma at the Admiralty. How do you know that slogan?”
“I read a lot.” She returned his smile. “Your career—it sounds thrilling. I’m sorry you had to give it up.”
“Don’t be. Any reasonable person would say that inheriting a dukedom is hardly a cross to bear. I’m fully aware of how lucky I am.” If only she knew the truth about the headache he had actually inherited. But he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t tell anyone.
“Life, I think, has a way of leading us places we never expected to go,” she said thoughtfully. “You never expected to find yourself master of this place. But St. Gabriel’s Mount is magnificent. It’s a piece of history.” She gestured to the castle towers rising behind them. “I hope you can find some excitement in the notion that this wonderful place is yours to command.”
“Mine to command,” he repeated, unable to prevent a note of irony from creeping into his voice.
His tone seemed to sadden her. After some hesitation, she replied: “My grandfather used to say, ‘The past is behind you. The future is yet to be discovered. Soon, your new path will become the most comfortable direction you could have ever hoped to follow.’”
He processed that and found himself nodding. “Wise words, Miss Atherton. Thank you. I shall keep them in mind.”
They retreated to the study, where they went over the to-do list Kathryn had compiled.
“I have to take measurements of all the rooms in question. But it would be helpful if you have drawings from any previous renovations.”
“The same thought occurred to me, so I took a look last night.” From a cupboard, Lord Darcy procured two sets of drawings and spread them out on his desk. “I found the plans from the improvements my grandmother mentioned, done in 1832. This second set appears to be for alterations made a hundred years before that.”
Wishing to study the drawings more closely, Kathryn crossed behind the desk to stand beside him. She instantly realized that the move was a mistake.
All day long, as they’d toured the castle, Kathryn had deliberately maintained a certain distance between herself and the duke. Now, he was standing just a foot away. So close, Kathryn could feel the heat emanating from his body. So close, she could hear the thud of his heartbeat. Or was that her own heart that had begun to pound in her ears?
“These are . . . excellent,” Kathryn blurted, focusing on the drawings. “The ink hasn’t faded too badly. They’ll be a huge help.”
“Good.”
She stared at his large hands, which were splayed atop the desk as they studied the plans. You’ve got nice hands. When she’d uttered those words the night before, she’d had no idea—yet—of the magic those hands could make as they played her body like a musical instrument.
“Look,” Kathryn said hastily, pointing to one of the drawings dated 1740, which listed the owner’s name as Robert Granville, Fifth Duke of D’Arcy. “I saw your name spelled that way over the front door. I presume it’s of French extraction?”
“It is. François Granville, the first Duke of D’Arcy, emigrated from Paris in the sixteenth century. Over time, the apostrophe in our name was deleted.”
“It’s a shame it was Anglicized. The French spelling is so much more romantic.”
“I should like to think we English aren’t entirely unromantic.” The duke straightened and turned to face her, his gaze finding hers and lingering.
Kathryn’s breath caught. She could lose herself in the depths of those deep blue eyes. Staring into them was like being carried aloft by the rush of an ocean wave. Quickly lowering her own eyes, she found herself staring at his lips. Another mistake. She couldn’t help recalling how those lips had felt when pressed to hers. Oh, he was good at kissing, this man.
And not just good at kissing lips.
Her pulse began to bea
t erratically now as she recalled the sensation of those lips planting soft kisses along the side of her neck and throat. Over the crest of her breasts. The way his tongue had lapped at her nipples, tantalizing them to peaks.
A warm wanting bloomed in her pelvis. Kathryn suddenly ached to feel his mouth on all those places again.
Stop it stop it stop it. She struggled to recall what they’d been talking about, but failed. She could hear the slight hitch of his breath as his eyes continued to hold hers. Was he thinking what she was thinking? Remembering what she was remembering?
Yes, he was. It was written all over his face.
He wanted to kiss her just as much as she wanted to kiss him.
All it would require was the smallest movement. The smallest look of encouragement. And she felt certain he would take her in his arms again.
Chapter Seven
“Miss Atherton,” the duke said ever so softly.
“Lord Darcy,” Kathryn replied just as softly and huskily.
A long moment passed, tension sparking between them like invisible electrical waves. Then the duke cleared his throat and, with what appeared to be extreme reluctance, took a step back.
“I hope you have everything you need to get started?”
Kathryn took a step back as well, engulfed by a rush of disappointment. Struggling to quell her runaway heartbeat, she forced her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “Not everything, Your Grace. There is one more thing I do need.”
“What is that?”
“I require a room in which to work, and a table large enough to accommodate my drawings.”
“Ah. Of course.” He paused, thinking. “There is a table in the ladies’ parlor that accommodates a party of six. You will have quiet and privacy there. Will that do?”
“That would be perfect, thank you.”
“Set yourself up in that chamber at your convenience. I’ll tell Mrs. Morgan to expect to find you there. Feel free to take whatever measurements you require in the castle, Miss Atherton. And do let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. May I take these?” Kathryn indicated the drawings on his desk.
“Certainly.”
After rolling them up, she grabbed her hat and notebook and started for the door.
“Miss Atherton,” he called out.
She paused and glanced back at him. “Yes?”
“Don’t forget. Dinner begins with sherry in the drawing room at seven-thirty sharp.”
Kathryn’s cheeks burned as she fled the duke’s office. She couldn’t believe it. She’d actually hoped that the duke would kiss her again. Hoped he would do far more than kiss her.
Oh! This was entirely unacceptable. She was behaving like a schoolgirl with a ridiculous crush.
Kathryn had a feeling, though, that the duke might have a crush on her as well. She had read the burgeoning desire in his eyes just now.
Apparently, his better judgment had prevailed.
Earlier that day, in that very same room, he had agreed that their association would be entirely professional moving forward. Well, Kathryn chastised herself, she was going to have to get her own better judgment in line where it belonged. She was here to do a job, not romance a duke.
Lance frowned at the note in his hands.
My dear Lord Darcy,
Forgive me for declining your kind invitation to join you for dinner this evening. When I am working, I often keep strange hours and find it easier to dine on my own. I will therefore request that all my meals be brought to me on a tray.
Thank you again for your gracious hospitality. I will inform you when my initial sketches are ready for your review.
I remain yours truly,
Miss Kathryn Atherton
Damn it to hell and back. The woman was deliberately staying away from him.
He knew why.
I can only stay if we agree that, moving forward, our relationship will be entirely a professional one.
He had accepted those terms—perhaps foolishly. It was an agreement that he was finding difficult to keep. In his study, when they’d been looking over those old drawings, it had been all he could do not to take her into his arms and kiss her.
He couldn’t forget what she’d tasted like. What she’d felt like with her sweet curves pressed against his. He closed his eyes and let the memory wash over him. It was something he would like to experience again. And again.
Even though they shouldn’t. At least not now. She was right; it was a bad idea to get involved with someone with whom you had a business relationship—anyone would tell you that. It could affect the work, could have all sorts of negative, unforeseen repercussions.
She wouldn’t be working for him forever, though. Perhaps someday . . .
He frowned. If everything went as planned, he would soon be married. To someone else. Someone with a great deal of cash. So there never would be a someday with her.
Lance sighed. One of the reasons he’d agreed to work with her was to have the pleasure of her company while she was staying under his roof. If she deliberately avoided him the entire time, where was the pleasure in that?
Lance dined alone that evening. The following day he spent tediously going through correspondence. Although he looked for Miss Atherton, he never encountered her. Twice, he made a point of visiting the ladies’ parlor, hoping to find her at work there, but the room was empty.
“Miss Atherton?” Mrs. Morgan mused that evening when Lance inquired as to the woman’s whereabouts. “I hear she spent all morning in the grand hall, Your Grace, doing some kind of work with a tape measure. She was spotted elsewhere this afternoon doing something similar in the dining room, library, and master bedrooms, I believe.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Morgan,” Lance replied, frustrated that he had missed those chances to observe Miss Atherton at work.
Early the next morning, an erotic dream about Miss Atherton caused him to awaken at dawn with a raging cockstand. He leapt out of bed, frustrated.
There was only one cure for this lunacy, and he knew exactly what it was.
Kathryn was in a small boat, crossing the bay toward St. Gabriel’s Mount. A seagull swooped and dove overhead. The sun shone on the sparkling sea, but she couldn’t feel its warmth.
She had to reach the Mount. Time was of the essence. She couldn’t recall why.
All she knew was that the Duke of Darcy needed her. If she didn’t get there in time, some terrible calamity might happen.
The oarsman plowed against the current, but every stroke of his oars seemed to keep the Mount even farther off in the distance. All at once, to Kathryn’s horror, the oarsman vanished into thin air. She was all alone on the boat. Scrambling to the empty seat, she picked up the oars. The harder she rowed, the less progress she made.
Huge waves began to lap at the boat, rocking it to and fro. Kathryn’s heart hammered. She had to get to the island. She couldn’t be late! Suddenly, an enormous wave began rushing toward the boat, then flung itself overhead in a towering crest of foaming water. Kathryn tried to scream, but no sound issued from her throat.
Just as the wave was about to engulf the vessel, Kathryn awoke with a start, her skin clammy and her pulse pounding.
Thank God. It was only a dream.
Kathryn hated dreams like those. When they happened, she was always rushing to get somewhere. Often she was trying to catch a train or a coach, or she was late arriving at the docks and her ship was leaving at any moment.
Other times, she was racing across town to get to a meeting or appointment, but every hansom cab was taken, the Underground had shut down, and the crowds on the streets were so thick she had to fight her way through them.
This was the first time she’d ever dreamt of being in a small boat.
Or desperate to reach the Duke of Darcy.
What did it mean? Nothing, she reassured herself. It was just another stupid dream. At least there had been no sex involved in this dream. She’d had several dream
s of a sexual nature over the past two nights that she blushed to recall.
Kathryn perceived a dull white light peeking in around the edges of the curtains. The clock announced that it was just after six a.m. So early. But she was too wound up to go back to sleep now.
Instead, Kathryn got up and got dressed. It was the perfect time, she decided, for a walk. She’d get some exercise and then devote the rest of the day to her work.
The sun was low on the horizon as she made her way downstairs and out of the castle, heading for the narrow path she’d discovered on the steep, rocky eastern flank of the Mount. The hard dirt path had been carved out of the granite cliff and meandered back and forth as it wound its way down toward a small, pebbly beach below.
About halfway down the cliff, Kathryn found an old wooden bench, perfectly positioned to enjoy the view. She sat for a moment, drinking in the crisp tang of the salty breeze and the expanse of open sea before her, which stretched out toward the horizon in an endless field of blue. Unable to resist, she took a small notepad and pencil from her skirt pocket and sketched the scene before her.
What a lovely and special place, she thought, not for the first time. How lucky the duke was to live here. How fortunate she was, to have been given this opportunity to work on redesigns for the castle, and to enjoy its beauty during her stay.
She and the duke had agreed on a great many proposed changes, some more complex than others. The task before her was extensive.
She had written to Mr. Patterson to inform him of the work she’d undertaken, guessing that it would take the full three weeks he had envisioned, if not longer, and she promised to send him regular updates.
Kathryn had also written to her sisters to explain where she was and what she was doing. She regretted being unable to see Lexie and Maddie while she was in Cornwall. But they lived many miles away, and Kathryn didn’t have time to visit family. Maybe, three weeks from now when the project was finished, she could see them on her way back to London.
Three weeks from now. Kathryn felt a little on edge at the notion of residing at St. Gabriel’s Mount so long. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to impose on the Duke of Darcy’s hospitality any longer than necessary. But there was more to it than that, and she knew it.
