He returned to the present. “That’s a solid kick. Are we to have a rugby player?”
“Are you all right, my love? This must have been a difficult day for you.”
“There aren’t words to express how I feel. Let’s retire. I’ll see that Thorn is settled and then I’ll come to you. I need your arms around me tonight. Thank you. Thank you for being who you are. Most of all, thank you for loving me.”
Chapter Eight
Thorn realized the family tried to make his first night in London a comfortable one. All this small talk wasn’t for him. He became aware of the strong chip on his shoulder—his mother had mentioned it often. His problem was that he’d started to like his father, but where was this man when his mother needed him? Where? Where? Where?
Unreasonable, he told himself, to think so harshly. Thorn was told his father was ill, on the brink of death. He questioned though why the Duke did not return to Barbados. How could he leave his mother behind whether he knew or not? So he traveled on a ship when he was ill, landed in England, and completely forgot about her? What kind of man was he to abandon a woman he made love to, a woman he spoke highly of, a woman he no longer cared to know because she could be an embarrassment?
Shallow, greedy man. No, Thorn didn’t mean those words. He greatly admired the man. His emotions were a-jumble, and he felt lost. He wondered how he could get back to Barbados. At least there, he knew his friends and his enemies. Over here, he was a target for their bias and slurs. No more. No more. No damn more. Again, he asked God to forgive his curse.
Yet, his grandmother was sweet. Cassandra was a lovely lady to accept all the possible scandal. Yes, that’s what he was, a scandal not only waiting to happen, but it did happen. Little Gordon was a bright young boy without a blemish on his record. Alicia was an attractive pretty young girl, easy on the eye and flirtatious. He’d have to guard his heart at the charmer. Most of all, he liked her undaunted spirit. A competitor. A champion?
His father? His father was the Duke of Althorn ready to accept him to his bosom and pave the way for him.
I don’t need anyone to pave the way for me! I’ll pave my own way. Dammit. Whoa, he rarely cursed. The missionaries would not approve. What was he to do? He wasn’t a coward who ran away from difficult situations. He would show these aristocrats a thing or do. He would prove to his father he could stand tall in his ideals. Yes, that was it. He would stay and make a name for himself—one everyone would be proud of. He was a fighter.
What about his mother? The dead can harbor secrets. Had she told him everything? His beautiful, loving mother who died in his arms and made him promise to go to England—where he didn’t want to go.
He found his thoughts returned to Alicia and her brazen, wonderful behavior. A bit of a rebel—like him. She had vibrancy, blushed cheeks, and full lips, and a smile that would tempt any man. All the assets of a girl who was about to become an alluring young woman.
Something deep inside him stirred. Trouble. Definite trouble. Trouble I don’t need.
He flipped the pages of the General Stud Book and started to read.
Thorn had no time for women at the moment, but Alicia, she challenged every bone in his body. What would the future portend for both of them? It would take a strong man to tame her independent spirit, and he might just be that man.
Indeed, time would tell, after he’d proven himself. In the meantime, though, there were the golden horses.
Chapter Nine
Three Years Later, 1820
Alicia loved to waltz and tonight the quartet was in rare form with their Viennese music. Her mood was light and the dance so lovely she floated on air as they swayed. Her head tilted from side to side in time to the steps. She completed a twirl around the ballroom with George Claven, son of a viscount. She’d come with Thorn as her chaperone where they met other young friends of long acquaintance. The chandeliers flickered in waves on the decorated ceiling. Wall sconces glittered undulating shadows against the walls. Guests chatted, laughed, stared, and some sipped champagne provided by a staff of servants. It was the start of what she hoped would be a perfect night because Thorn consented to take her. Though they were close, Alicia wished they could become more.
At the completion of the dance, Claven held her attention. “You look delightful, as usual, and your tea rose colored dress suits you well.” He smiled. “I know it does not come as a surprise to you since you seem to favor the color.”
“My lord, I favor many colors, but thank you for the compliment.” Her tone was gracious in her reply to his flattery, yet her eyes sought Thorn’s as he spoke to a girlfriend of hers. The look of adoration on the young woman’s face made her blood surge, but then Thorn had that effect on a lot of women.
Claven whispered an invitation. “It’s such a crush in here, a bit of fresh air would be appreciated.”
She adjusted the bracelet on her gloved wrist, paused a moment, and nodded. “It’s a grand party, but I do agree the heat here is unbearable.” She allowed him to lead her to the terrace.
They strode to the top of the steps that led to a lower garden area lit by hanging lanterns. The scent of roses perfumed the air while the music from the ball serenaded its tune.
“I don’t suppose you know how long I’ve waited to have you to myself,” Claven spoke, his voice low.
“We may be alone now, but not for long.” She turned her face from him, somewhat uncomfortable and unsure she liked him at all, yet he was most persuasive. “It’s cool out here.”
“Would you like me to fetch a cape for you?” His greased, practiced smile was too slick for her taste. Alicia couldn’t help comparing all men to Thorn only to find there was no comparison. Thorn would stand out like a petunia in an onion patch.
“No.” She sighed in contemplation of a good excuse to return to the dance floor.
Claven moved toward her, took her in his arms, and tilted her chin to his mouth. “You are breathtaking in candlelight.”
Alicia responded, “What do you think you’re doing?” and pushed him back. “Do you tell that to every woman you lure away in the dark?” The laugh she uttered was intended to insult, not inflame his ardor.
“Most likely. It usually entices ladies to explore.”
She now moved away from his arms. “I admire your honesty.”
They were yet a few inches apart.
“Honesty only goes so far, Alicia, when I want to do so much more. I know you have a fondness for that…” He hesitated.
“Don’t go there,” she cautioned.
“We all know what Thorn is. He’s had the good fortune to have a high placed aristocrat accept him.” His voice taunted and rang in her ears. “I’m sure he’s watching us now. I wonder what he would do if I kissed you in full sight.”
“I warn you, Claven. I pack a wicked punch.”
“I know he’s trained you in horsemanship. Perhaps he has trained you in other areas too?”
She wanted to hit him. Her head pounded in loud drum beats. Was the ton gossiping about them?
He leered; the expression on his face would frighten a lesser woman, but Alicia was accustomed to having her way. Perhaps she was too modern for her own good, but she realized her relationship with a Duke and Duchess afforded her great privilege. She looked into his eyes, searched, and would have sworn she saw English guinea signs representing her dowry.
Claven kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“That was a brotherly kiss,” she informed him in dismissal of his lame attempt.
“It will get better.” He situated her against the stone of the garden wall. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips.
His raspy voice demanded, “Place your arms around my neck.”
She did so slowly, not sure why—perhaps curiosity?
Claven smiled and didn’t move. “Open your eyes. I like to see the moonlight sparkle in them.”
“I’m not interested in what you like or dislike. Did you read that romantic phrase somewhere, or is i
t original to your repertoire?” It took utter control on her part not to strike him. Her arms fell to her side.
With one hand on the wall, he leaned down to kiss her lips. She sighed, and when her lips opened, his tongue darted in. Another shove stopped him. “That wasn’t brotherly at all.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
She retorted, her shoulders rigid now, “I would now prefer to return to the ball, Claven. I see no point in prolonging this…conversation.” She attempted to slip under his arched arm.
With a rapid move, he raised his other arm, and she was captured in his grasp. “No.” His voice was feral and gruff.
“Kindly remove your body from my path.”
Claven still refused to move.
“If you think I’m coy, you are incorrect.” Her face burned with a nuance of anger.
“You lured me here, Alicia.” His body pinned her.
She held her reticule between them. “You’ve a vivid imagination. You couldn’t lure a rodent into a hole.” She exhaled a too-deep breath. “All right then,” and quicker than quick, she sent her fist to his cheek.
Caught unaware, he stumbled to the side, his hand upon his jaw.
She walked by him with a grin. “Thank you.” Her voice echoed a small triumph. It was good to be a woman who had a Duke for her guardian.
Alicia adjusted the ring on her finger and returned with a gay smile to find her friends and soon found them. Tonight Thorn wore a tailed jacket with a cerulean embroidered waistcoat that highlighted his tawny skin. His cravat was a froth of stark white with a sapphire pin. His trousers were black silk while his shoes matched perfectly. The light cast a raven blue-black on his locks. She wanted to run her hands through them. It reminded her of the mane of their dark horses. She thought him the handsomest man in the room. How dare Claven attempt to denigrate him? Thorn had more nobleness in his pinky than that popinjay had in his whole body.
“There you are, Thorn. Did you miss me?” she cajoled, but her smile was forced.
“In fact, I did. I was about to look for you. The hour grows late.”
Her cheeks flamed at the thought of him finding her in a compromising position on the terrace.
“Your hair is mussed, and your lip rouge is smudged.” Thorn’s comment was inquisitive.
“So it seems. May I ask you to take me home?”
He nodded, then peered over her shoulder. She turned to see what caught his attention. Claven entered the room holding a hand over one cheek. He dropped the hand to shut the door. Thorn chuckled. Alicia wondered what caught his humor—and realized Claven sported a rather large bruise to his cheek. The deep indentation held the pattern of Alicia’s ring. She couldn’t help a bubble of laughter also.
“Well, my dear?”
“I have no idea of which you speak.” This time she was coy. And glad to be, since it was Thorn who was the real object of her affection. He brought out the flirt in her. She engaged his stunning blue eyes that she knew so well. “You did teach me fisticuffs. I merely employed that education to accomplish my purpose.”
“Indeed it appears you did. I’ll have to discipline him, I see.”
He laughed, and placed his arm at her elbow. They walked to a group of friends and bid them good night. Alicia looked back to see Claven leaning against a stone column, glaring their way. While waiting for the coach to arrive, Thorn spoke. “We need to have discourse on this event.”
“I do not believe so. I am well equipped to handle any such situation. Though perhaps I now wonder why I went with him when he has a less than distinguished reputation. Perhaps I wanted to see how he kissed. Some of my close friends have intimated you kiss and make them wish for more. You never kiss me that way.” She looked at Thorn with obvious admiration of his tawny skin and handsome smile.
“Be careful what you wish for, Alicia. You should not trifle with a man’s desires. You are inexperienced in that regard. They can scorch you. Don’t be a foolish young lady.”
“May I remind you that you are not my guardian? You are more like a close relative to me though we aren’t related. Won’t you teach me how to kiss so I can know whether the gentleman is kissing me because he’s passionately in love with me—or with my dowry?”
“You’re asking a rogue to teach you intimacies that only a husband should know?”
He turned to her, engaged her eyes, and she saw a different look on his face. Alicia could not describe how he made her feel. Her knees weakened, her pulse raced. Something wonderful coursed down to her toes. Grateful to be sitting, she looked him straight in the eye.
He grinned as if in thought.
“You aren’t a rogue.” She raised her head, and with an obvious tenderness, cupped his face. “But if you are, you are my special rogue. Please kiss me.” Her lips found his and for a moment, her world stood still when he entered her open mouth and his tongue mated with hers. Sweet heaven.
~*~
To be continued in The Duke’s Magnificent Bastard, Book 4 of the Duke Series
A word about the author…
From a humble beginning in Newark, New Jersey, a short stay at a convent in Morristown, NJ, to the board rooms of NYC, and a fantastic career for a play broadcasting company in Carlsbad, California, to the rural foothills of the Sierras of Yosemite National Park, Sandra Masters has always traveled with pen and notebook, writing her experiences. It has been the journey of ten thousand miles with a few steps left to go. Her corporate world was left behind.
Romance is at best a gift. While she also writes contemporaries, her own passion is for Regency England in the early 1800s. Admittedly, she’d prefer to be the sister of a duke or an earl…perhaps even a princess? Or a widow? Such possibilities. Hmm. Not being able to time travel, she writes about what she loves and hopes you will support her author efforts.
Sandra lives in Coarsegold, California, with her husband, Ron, who is her plotster, and their two dogs, Silky Houdini and Sophie Chiquita. When she’s not writing, she’s busy cooking way too much rustic Italian food for friends and family. She loves bears of all kinds but prefers to collect them in paintings and wood carvings.
www.authorsandramasters.com/index.html
www.facebook.com/SandraMastersAuthor
~*~
Other Sandra Masters titles
available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
ONCE UPON A DUKE
MY DIVINELY DECADENT DUKE
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