Ella Grace mounted the stallion and they rode away into the cold bitter dark of the night. The full moon lit their way through the old oak trees. She knew that they would have to ride through the night and all of the next day in order to get far enough down the road that the caretakers could not catch up to them.
Barley the horse galloped through the seemingly never-ending thickly wooded forest. It slowed them down as they had to go much slower than in a clear open fields.
Ella Grace was growing increasingly frustrated by the lack of progress. As she looked down at Barley with a scowl on her face, his syrupiness made her feel just a little bit better about it.
Hours later the sun was beginning to rise. She could not remember the last time that she had taken the time to watch the beauty of a multi coloured sunrise. She was in absolute awe of what she saw.
It was in that moment that she knew she’d made the right decision. Running was really the only option that would bring them freedom. They certainly wouldn’t be spared of the wrath of the royal family if they had stayed.
The morning turned into noon, which turned into evening, and it was dangerously close to getting dark yet again. She had pushed herself beyond where she ever thought that she could go. She was nodding off. She wouldn’t be able to stay upright on that horse for much longer and that could be dangerous for them both.
Monte was getting cranky, as he was sore from riding. He was not used to that, so she decided to stop and rest for the night. Building a fire was an absolute must to keep warm.
Ella Grace found a small clearing by a river and decided to bed down there. She tied the horse up around an old poplar tree, as there wasn’t much else nearby. Barley seemed to appreciate the rest as he raked his hoof over the hard dirt and neighed. She scratched him under his chin for a few moments.
She walked back toward the woods to gather long - standing dead tree limbs and kindling to make the fire. Ella Grace was taught how to make a fire when she was only seven. Fire was known as a symbol of life.
She strategically put them in the shape of small teepees amidst a fire ring of stones that she also had gathered. The structure was important because in order for fire to exist there had to be enough room for air to circulate freely. Otherwise, the flame would get suffocated and go out in a matter of moments.
She would sleep some and get up every few hours to stoke the flame through the night. Monte was sitting on a nearby log watching her work. He was eating some bread, an apple, and a piece of cheese. Those were his favorites. Monte let a grin creep over his face as he saw the tension in hers and he said,
“Bread my lady?”
He was a young man of few words, but him speaking at all seemed like a miracle after the environment she had found him living in. So, she leaned down and took a bit of bread from his hand and pretended to gnaw on his hand. He just giggled back at her with the most innocent sparkle in his eyes.
She was mad over that child. He was so cute that she could’ve sopped him up with a biscuit and eaten him up. He was a delicious morsel of perfection in her non – judgmental eyes. She put her cloak under their heads as a pillow and Monte curled up in her arms for the night.
Both of them needed all of the rest that they could get before they got back on their way the next day. Despite not really knowing where the road was leading them, they still would have a very long way to go. No matter how quickly they got there, it wouldn’t be soon enough for her liking. She had dreamed of going back home, but that was no longer a possibility for them. They’d have to find another place.
The ground was hard and bumpy, making it hard for them to sleep. There was tossing and turning throughout the night. She just wasn’t able to get relaxed but then again neither could Barley. As the sun began to rise the next morning, Ella Grace put her hands on her lower back. It was hurting quite a bit, but it wasn’t the first time that it had flared up.
She sat up and tried to stretch to the right and then to the left but nothing seemed to help. She rose to her feet and paced back and forth, stretching her legs along the way. She sat down on a rock and Lovey climbed into her lap. She pulled some crusty bread from her bag, then some cheese and some water. They shared their breakfast as they watched the sun rise.
There was no argument that they’d need to get started as early as possible. It would be hot soon and that would sap their energy. Plus, they’d need to stay as far ahead of the people chasing them or risk getting caught.
So she and Monte munched on some grapes as Ella Grace untied the horse. She latched onto his main first and climbed up on his tall back before reaching down for Monte and pulled him up.
When Barley was in full stride he was nothing short of exquisite. An experienced and knowledgeable equestrian could only really assess that. That was why Ella Grace was the perfect person to make that assessment.
She had been a long time rider, maybe even before she could walk. She was raised much like boys would be, with great expectations and little empathy for less than par behavior.
The day was moving along, as they were growing increasingly tired and sore. The ride was a long one for all four of them. The daylight hours were quickly slipping away. They had been running for so long, it begged to ask the question “What will happen next? Where will we find somewhere to call home?” They had absolutely no idea.
The only thing they knew was that they had to make as good of time as they could in their travels if they wanted to continue to appreciate the freedom that they had come to enjoy.
The sun was setting and her eyelids grew heavy. She could see a tree line not so far away. It would help hide their presence in the area, making them a lot less likely to get caught. She spurred Barley and spurred him again, harder and harder. Her eyes were dangerously close to closing. If they did they would both most likely fall off of the very tall horse and be injured.
They stopped right then and there and bedded down for the night. They wouldn’t get very far if they were too exhausted to travel.
Barley had been bred from a long line of superior horses, which was why it only took moments to go from a trot to a full on gallop. The animal was one of the finest horses that she had ever seen. She had first come to know him when she was offered him to ride back to her home for a visit with her family.
She knew what he was ultimately capable of. Despite his impressive bloodline, he was such a hard worker and always gave his best. Ella Grace had grown to love Barley unconditionally.
Lovey woke up and climbed to the top of his pocket to look around. His tiny claws hung over the edge, with an inquisitive look on his face. She slowed the horse down, as they got closer to the place.
The breeze blew lightly as she got off of the horse. She cautioned saying,
“Monte… Monte, wake up… Sweetness… We’re going to get down for a bit… wake up for me baby...”
And when he opened his sleepy eyes, a big toothy grin came over his cute face and he asked, “Are we home?”
THE END
WARNING: This ebook contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This ebook is for sale to adults ONLY
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Copyright 2016 by G.G.Lacoste - All rights reserved.
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The Duke’s Legacy
Regency Romance
By: G.G. Lacoste
The Duke’s Legacy
DESCRIPTION:
On a March night a mysterious stranger stepped into an inn needing help from one of his ex-employees. The ex-employee recognized him at once to be the Duke of
Glendale. The ex-employee, Eardley introduced the Duke to his niece, a pretty lass who was twenty-one years old, but who looked more like a sixteen year old. Jean, the niece, was treating an injury on the Duke's arm and made a pass at the Duke. Though he was tempted to take her, he reluctantly declined her offer. After her uncle confirmed her age to be twenty-one The Duke not only engages her as the new governess for his child, but he engaged her in passionate lovemaking.
Back in the Duke's Manor Jean settled down in her new role and found herself physically attracted to the Duchess. Irresistible as she was to the Duchess, the Duchess and Jean engage in an erotic session of lovemaking that is silently witnessed by the Duke who later joins in to indulge in a threesome. Proving that, when it happened to be wanton passion, even aristocrats stooped as low as commoners to achieve their desired carnal ends.
The young stranger was a mysterious fugitive from the chilly night when Jean Ferrand saw him across the crowded, noisy inn, their eyes met in one of those rare and strangely meaningful locking of glances which are long remembered.
The large room in her uncle's inn in the countryside somewhere outside Liverpool was almost big enough to be called a miniature ballroom. Her uncle was proud of his prosperity, of his standing in the little town and of his inn. He was never prouder of his acquired position, thanks to the Arch Duke of Glendale, who was serving and entertaining some local couples.
Such was the occasion, on a March night: a whirl of brocaded crinolines and a dazzle of white frilled shirt-fronts, when the country men and their families came together for some social enjoyment, at a troubled time. A string quartet played; older couples danced slightly out-of-date fox trots, the young sons of the town, straightened their cravats and eyed the young daughters of the town, while the girls tried to look demure and uninterested. In quiet corners, their elders carried on conversations discussing the future.
But the young man was not part of the glittering and lighthearted occasion. He was standing by the entrance and was wearing street clothes. He looked like an intruder. One who had somehow arrived in the midst-soirée without formality, and who must have avoided the servants to appear in this garb.
He was tall and lean, and his handsome face had a strained, slightly shocked expression. His hat was under his right arm, and his left arm was pulled stiffly across his body and gripped just above the wrist by his right hand. The young man's crisp black hair was tousled and he had the look of one who had just come through a trying experience. His attire was not that of a man who had set out to attend a social event, but rather that of a respectable but modest man of high standing. There was, however, an indefinable quality about him that made Jean think that he might in some way be connected with soldiering.
Perhaps it was because he was so obviously an outsider and because of her own measure of loneliness that their eyes met. The way he gripped his left arm suggested that he was hurt; yet only Jean, in all the noise and chatter of the room, seemed to notice him.
Jean excused herself from the company of young people gathered about her and, with gently swaying fox trots, crossed to the man by the entrance.
She smiled to cover the shock she felt at seeing, now that she was closer to him, how penetrating his eyes were.
“Can I be of any help, to you sir,” she asked. “ You appear to be worn out and tired.”
“Thank you. I'm afraid, I have crashed in here, but I must urgently and discreetly see Mr. Eardley,” he answered quietly. His accent, thought Jean, was slightly British and aristocratic. “I've been looking about for him and I believe I see him over there, busy with the guests.”
The young stranger suddenly winced and tightened his grip on his left arm. It was then that Jean noticed a thin trickle of blood appear from under his cuff and along the back of his left hand.
“Oh, you're hurt!” she gasped.
“It's nothing. Please don't be alarmed.” He leaned forward a little, and again Jean had the feeling that there was a rapport between them.
“Do you think you could be good enough to quietly inform Mr. Eardley that I'm here?” he asked. “I have no right to be here and I'm certainly not fit to be seen in such company.”
Another wince rippled across his face and Jean guessed that he was in pain but was trying to put up a brave front for her benefit.
“I'll bring him to you. I'm his niece, by the way. My name is Jean Ferrand.”
The stranger bowed slightly. “I'm honored to make your acquaintance,” The aristocratic accent was rather more marked. “I'm Andrew Alexander, from...” He checked himself noticeably, but quickly added “from quite a distance away.”
Jean walked through the milling crowd in the room to where her uncle, a stocky, dynamic man, with an abundance of gray side-whiskers, was in discussion with three of his guests.
The trio of guests gave Jean a bow as she approached them, each of them thinking what a fine, stately and sexy young woman she was, with her light complexion and her stunning pale blue eyes, complementing her auburn hair, which was dressed in a series of attractive ringlets.
Old Eardley was a bachelor, but the relationship between him and his sister's daughter, who was entrusted to him when she was a child, was almost that of father and daughter.
Jean excused her intrusion and drew her uncle quietly to one side. “There's a gentleman here to see you, Uncle Eardley... over there, by the entrance. I think he'd prefer to talk to you in private.”
Her uncle looked across to the entrance. He gasped and murmured, shocked: “Great heavens, it's the young Duke! What's he doing here? And what's wrong with him? He looks ill.”
He hurried across the room, with Jean walking beside him as quickly as her wide-framed dress would allow.
At the entrance, Jean saw intense worry in her uncle's face as he whispered to the young man: “My Lord, what's brought you here? And what's the trouble?”
“I'm sorry to push my presence on you in this manner, Mr. Eardley,” gasped Andrew Alexander. “I've brought your pension and carrying a few other loyal workers pensions too and wanted to get them to you as soon as possible, so that you could pay off the loyal workers. But I ran into a bit of trouble on the way here. I suspected they've been watching my movements for days, but I'm afraid I wasn't cautious enough.”
“You mean those ruffians hired by Grey?” inquired Eardley.
The injured man nodded.
“Say no more just yet,” cautioned Eardley. “Let me get you upstairs to my room first. I can give you some attention and we can talk privately. Are the monies safe?”
“Yes, safely hidden in my saddle bag.”
“Good!” breathed Eardley. He turned to his niece. “Jean, mingle with the guests for a brief while. Make sure that everyone is content, and then quietly slip upstairs. We might need your help.” He opened the door and assisted the young man out of the room.
Jean moved among the guests, exchanging pleasantries and all the time thinking about the mystery that lurked on the edge of her uncle's past life in some manor, where he was a considerable luminary.
Jean saw that the drinks were flowing well, that the orchestra was likely to continue playing and the party was progressing under its own volition; then she made a quick exit and slipped upstairs to her uncle's room.
There she found her uncle looking critically at the forearm of the young man who was sitting on the four-poster bed. His outer clothes lay on the bed. Andrew Alexander had rolled up his left shirtsleeve to reveal a gash in his arm with blood crusted around it. His face looked even more white and drawn now.
“I don't like the look of it,” rumbled Eardley. “It's my belief you should be taken care of by a nurse.”
“No!” protested the injured man. “It's just a small injury.” He looked suddenly at Jean with a hint of suspicion.
“Don't worry about my niece. She's a good girl and can take care of you,” said Eardley; at that moment Jean had a chilling feeling that she was going to be a part of a conspiracy.
“Jean
, come here girl, do you know who is seated in front of you?.....He is Duke Andrew Alexander of Glendale. You see he has a very strange fancy in going about like a commoner and taking undue risks...I want you to take good care of the Duke.” Eardley instructed his niece.
Jean bowed her head and curtsied. She moved a little closer and looked more closely at the wound in the arm of the Duke. All along she had suspected it was the result of a pistol-shot.
She saw that the wound was essentially a groove in the flesh. It had bled profusely, but the bleeding had now ceased. She had the impression that the injury might only be a flesh wound; that the bone was untouched, but the quantity of blood made the wound appear worse than it was.
The Duke shuddered suddenly and Jean realized how distinctly lonely he appeared. She remembered that he was obviously a long way from home.
Eardley noticed the shudder too. He quickly went into his dressing room off the bedroom, and returned with a large glass of brandy. “My apologies, My Lord. I should have given you this before,” he said. “Perhaps I'm still rather nonplussed by your arrival here like this and forgetting to show you proper hospitality.”
The Duke's Dilemma: Regency Romance Menage Short Stories Page 3
