Once Upon a Duke

by Sandra Masters

  “When I do marry, it will be because I have fallen so deeply in love that I cannot bear any distance between us.”

  “When that occurs, what will you do?” Henry probed.

  “I will move heaven and earth to claim her. I am used to getting my way, am I not? What about you, Henry? You have been a bachelor much too long.” He needed to change the subject and fought not to dwell on the raven-haired Serena.

  “I believe I am ready to seek a proper bride. Someone has attracted my attention, but her background is not suitable. I find myself in a conundrum, not sure if it will be a marriage of convenience or political consequence.” Henry laughed, “Affairs of state are my life. Love, if it ever existed, never entered into the equation. I may make an offer, but not of marriage.”

  They continued the conversation and talked late into the night. Weary, they shared a final nightcap, and took leave of each other to retire.

  Geoffrey entered his room too restless to sleep. He paced for a short time. Perhaps a midnight ride would calm him, but he knew he would end up at Serena’s door. He changed into the nightclothes the house valet had laid out for him. He sat in the wing chair in front of the fire that filled the room with soft light and flickering shadows. For a while he counted flowers on the wallpaper in the hope sleep would follow.

  He muttered, “Three hundred forty-two, and still I do not asleep.”

  At last fatigued, he crawled into the huge four-poster bed and gazed at the empty pillow beside him. His hand stroked the linen, and he closed his eyes imagining Serena near him. “My lady, how you torture me.” His hand touched the cheek she’d kissed with such compassion and tenderness. That one simple kiss had torn his world asunder.

  Raw emotions collided with harsh reality. Sexuality and lust fought with tenderness and compassion. Sexuality and lust were familiar companions. The tenderness and compassion were uninvited guests.

  Serena had gotten to him. He considered a return to his estate, but if he did so, she would win the game they played. He needed to be the victor.

  He thought about how she’d dared him to fall in love with her or not. His choice. What did he feel for her? It couldn’t be love. Perhaps passion disguised as lust? She intrigued him, offered a promised danger as well as infinite pleasure.

  In the short time they knew each other, he came to regard her as a worthy adversary, but also a friend. He knew many women but none did he consider friends. What made Serena different? It occurred to him that she paid him the compliment of—honesty. There were no pretenses.

  Her boldness toward her brother’s demands made him admire her strength, that of a woman warrior. Henry meant to warn him away. Now, he wanted Serena more. His desire mounted every time they were together. Experience had taught him to be a patient man, but even he had his limits.

  His reputation as a rake needed defense. Such men were immoral, liked women for sex sport, and left them behind without a care or backward thought. Why did it feel so wrong now—with Serena? Would sainthood be next? Heaven forbid.

  Chapter Five

  Geoffrey spent an uneasy night, awoke at an early hour and decided to go for a pre-dawn gallop.

  He spurred Solomon to a canter. Geoffrey urged the animal forward and gave him his head. He didn’t ride near the green grasses at the lakeside, but not because Serena commanded. He chose not to appear eager to play her game.

  After a hard ride, he tightened the reins and slowed the horse’s pace. They circled back, returned to the stables in time to meet Henry for the hunt.

  “Morning, Henry.” He raised hand to his hat in a mock salute.

  “Ready to start?” Henry asked.

  Geoffrey nodded.

  The men waited for the sound of the horn. When it blew, they encouraged their horses forward, followed the commands of the armed Master of the Hounds, who rode ahead. Beaters, armed with stout sticks scared the grouse out of the brush so the hunters could take aim. Keepers walked to seek out and secure the dead animals. Geoffrey and his host’s successful morning garnered enough food for the days ahead, yet he seemed not to take pleasure in the kills. Lady Serena’s words came to mind. It is a blood sport. I would rather paint the animals than slaughter them.

  When they returned to the manor house, the luncheon buffet became a feast with venison, game hens, turnips, brown gravy, pears, and cherry and peach cobblers. Geoffrey preferred the ale over wine, but drank with caution. The clock on the mantel chimed 12:45 and he excused himself from the table.

  “Henry, I believe I have an appointment to be sketched by your sister. I can ride over on Solomon, or would you prefer I use the phaeton and bring her back to meet the other guests?” He offered more out of courtesy than anything else.

  “That will not be necessary. I have instructed a footman to collect her at seven this evening. Serena will be ready. Have a good afternoon, Geoffrey.” Henry’s eyes flickered a warning.

  Geoffrey donned his hat, took his riding crop in his right hand and rode off to Serena’s home. When he arrived, he dismounted, and walked to the barn and placed Solomon in a small stall next to the mare.

  He went around to the front door and used the knocker. A young woman opened it and curtsied. “Welcome, your Grace. You are expected. May I take your accessories?”

  She took his hat, gloves and riding crop and placed them on the side table then asked him to follow her up the stairs to the studio. “

  “What is your name?” he inquired.

  “I am Emma Nolan, your Grace.” She tapped on the door and was told to enter.

  “My Lady, the Duke of Sutton, Lord Austen has arrived. Would you like me to stay?”

  “No, Emma. I shall be fine.”

  She curtsied and closed the door.

  A huge room by any measure, the studio confirmed Henry’s description of the wall of windows and the marvel of light. There was an alcove crammed with artist’s supplies. Canvasses could be seen in an antechamber. A settee and table lined one wall. The sight of Serena as she stood at her easel in her painter’s pinafore with a charcoal smudge on the tip of her nose charmed him. He could not remember a more beautiful woman.

  At that moment, he could have taken her in his arms and devoured her.

  “Good afternoon, Geoffrey. I heard about your bountiful hunt.”

  “Yes, it was abundant, but I cannot say my heart was in it.”

  “Why is that, Lord Duke?”

  He wasn’t about to admit she was the influence that gave him pause. “Perhaps I have grown tired of the sport.” Geoffrey turned toward the window and back. “How do you wish me to pose, Serena?”

  “Did you want me to sketch you in full length or sitting?”

  “If I might impose on you, I would like both. Perhaps the sitting pose could be with my total riding ensemble. I left them downstairs with your maid.”

  He couldn’t resist the urge to walk over to her to remove the smudge on her nose with his finger. “I look forward to spending the afternoon with you, my lady. However, your constant perusal of my body will surely cause my physical discomfort.”

  Serena stepped back. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her eyes went to his finger. He took his opposite thumb and rubbed against it, made small, slow circles. Geoffrey touched his tongue to the faint smudge, licking it with painstaking slowness, until it disappeared. Clean and slick, he held it up for her to view.

  Oh, the images it presented. His action held grace and complemented the sensations that pooled in the juncture of her legs. “The charcoal seems to have traveled of its own will, off the paper. I’m sorry you soiled your finger.”

  “I am not, my dear lady. It allowed me a taste of you—again.”

  Serena turned away. She could not counter his comment, nor speak words, nor control the pounding at her temples, nor her ability to speak. She listened as he spoke.

  “I will pay for these two portrait commissions. No arguments,” he stated.

  Grateful her speech returned, she inhaled. “Sight unseen, Geoffre
y? I cannot accept money.”

  “We shall discuss other payment possibilities at a different time, Serena.”

  “What if you do not like my perceptions?”

  “My dear lady, I trust your ability to capture me as I am.”

  She was grateful he’d taken their conversation in another direction.

  “I will call my maid to get your things, if you give me but a moment.” She tugged the bell pull and within seconds Emma appeared.

  After giving instructions, Serena went back to where her sketchbooks lay in disarray. Her pigments were in pots, oils were in jars, all in neat order on a shelf designed for such a purpose. Her palette hung from a hook on the wall and nearest her reach, the charcoal sticks and pencils were in a tray.

  “We will do the sitting pose first.” Her eyes marked the light in the room and its shadows. “At this time of day, it would be best if you sat over there.” She pointed to a short armless chair. “I will take advantage of the sun’s full measure on those raven locks of yours, Geoffrey.”

  Following her instructions, he sat upright in the chair. She came to him and posed his hands and arms with the props Emma retrieved, until satisfied it conveyed his muscular strength.

  “Please cross your legs. I read somewhere it is what rakes do best.”

  A hearty laugh bellowed, but he did as instructed.

  Serena took a deep breath at the sight of him, all muscle and temptation. How could she resist such a man? Better yet, did she want to?

  “Please smile, Geoffrey. Perhaps a sly grin? Yes. Arch your eyebrows. It heightens your air of superiority over mere mortals.” He followed her instructions with a suggestive glance.

  “Perfect.” She nodded in approval.

  “I know. I am not to move.” He winked at Serena.

  “Or wink. Or speak, until I am through with your face. I want to give your scar the importance it deserves because it speaks of who you are. It shall entice the ladies to inquire of your story.”

  “If that is so, why have you not asked me about it further?”

  “Because you were not ready to divulge the details. I know it is your secret, a sensitive issue for you, and perhaps a painful memory. I understand that, Geoffrey. She grasped the charcoal stick and opened her sketchpad. “I shall begin now, while the light holds true.”

  He nodded.

  Her heart sang as Serena worked the charcoal, capturing the essence of his maleness. Long moments of silence ticked by until she laid down her stick. “I need to rest a moment. I can see you are ready for a stretch. Please do not look at my canvas yet. Would you like me to call for tea?”

  “No, but I would like to look at some of your other works. You have them covered. Is there a reason?” He walked around the studio.

  “Many are not finished, but let me show you the few that are.” She entered a small ante-room off the sitting room. He followed and his presence overwhelmed her in the small space. She turned and gazed at him, then brushed past his body to remove a canvas. Her shoulder touched his red tailcoat set with gold buttons. It was well tailored and barely contained his massive chest. He made a fine specimen of a man.

  She handed him a painting and observed his reaction.

  His eyes captured the sunset scene of a two-story clapboard house with green shutters and morning glories curled around the front pillars. A small white dog rested on the porch. Clouds in the sky were tinged with orange and crimson.

  “This is most amazing, Serena.” He gazed around the small room lined with shelves, holding artwork in multiple forms.

  “You have been busy, I see. Is this how you spend your leisure time, with paints and horse rides? May I look further?”

  She moved aside to allow him to remove other canvasses from the vertical racks as he studied them.

  “This impish bull frog is exceptional. You have a sense of color, texture and personality.”

  He exercised care not to damage the paintings when he replaced them. “Would you mind if I selected some of my favorites? I would like to purchase several, Serena.”

  “No, they are not for sale—to anyone.”

  “Everything has a price, my lady. Even me.”

  She knew the banter would start if she responded to such a remark. “How much would I have to pay for you, Geoffrey? Are you cheap or are you an extravagance?”

  He paused, eyebrows arched. “There is nothing cheap about me. I could be persuaded to barter if it pleased you.”

  Geoffrey turned his back to Serena and continued his inspection of her paintings. His forehead creased, “This is remarkable and though I do not know the gentleman, I would guess it is a good likeness?”

  “Yes. It is my late husband. Although, one cannot always capture the soul, or lack thereof, in an art form.”

  “This man has a look about him. His eyes are sinister and dark. They are empty.”

  “An apt interpretation, Geoffrey. Be grateful you did not know him. Trystan was a monstrous excuse for a man—one who enjoyed inflicting pain on his timid wife. No man will ever scar me again by hand or action.”

  Serena remembered back to the time she started the portrait from a charcoal sketch. She used obsidian oils except for the slash of deep vermilion on his thin taciturn lips. The background of dark purple with variegating shades of the hue, warned of the man’s violent nature. After a painful session with Lord Trystan, her solace was the way she slashed the paint on the canvas, fast and furious.

  “I am taken by the evil in his eyes.”

  “Everything about him threatened and menaced. I intended to burn the picture, but decided not to.” Her fist clenched.

  “Because you could not bear to part with it?” Geoffrey probed.

  She gritted her teeth. “I hated him. I kept it merely to remind me of the consequences. If ever I am tempted to fall in love again, I will remember the pain I suffered for love. It gives visible evidence of his maleficence. I have no desire to repeat the experience.” She took the portrait from Geoffrey and turned it toward the wall in a far corner. “A rabid animal would pale by comparison.”

  “Serena, I find it hard to believe you would hate anyone. You are moral, beautiful and gentle, protective even of the smallest creatures.” He held her shoulders, raised a finger to gently tilt her chin upward, forcing her to gaze at him.

  The warmth of his cobalt eyes pierced her soul. “I apologize. I should not have blurted it out.” She swallowed hard.

  “After our marriage, Trystan showed his true colors. He became an ogre whose cruelty knew no bounds. When he tired of me, he cuckolded someone’s wife, and her husband killed him in a duel. I hailed it my good fortune. However, it is the memory of what I endured that depresses me still.”

  He went to her, embraced her face in his hands. “I understand why you wished him dead. Women should be treasured. Serena, I have never bedded an unwilling partner. I am not an animal.” Tears dampened his fingers where they touched her cheek. “I may be a rogue, but I have standards I will not violate.

  She wanted to kiss him and hold him tight, curl herself into the strength of his chest. Serena didn’t. Instead, she took a step back to protect herself. Geoffrey could wedge his way into her heart. Would that be so terrible?

  “Dear Serena, do not cry. If you do not desist, I will have to kiss your tears away. I promised your brother exemplary behavior on my part. Did I not?” His hand tilted her chin toward him again, kindness in his touch. “You intrigue me beyond all measure and whether you believe it or not, I am not tempted with ease.”

  Geoffrey released her chin, wiped her cheek with a handkerchief. He placed a tender, brief kiss on her forehead and took hold of her arm. “Perhaps we should return to the sketchbook, and I will not speak until you have recovered your composure.”

  They walked in silence to the chair. Serena posed him again, and adjusted his face to the light. She continued lining the paper with charcoal strokes for another hour. Her hand did the work it’d been trained to do while her mind spent the f
ollowing hour spinning a fantasy, undressing Geoffrey, kissing his body and arousing him until he begged her to mount his strong, hard shaft.

  Merciful God, where did those thoughts come from?

  Chapter Six

  Serena cleaned her hands on a towel, bringing her mind to the present. “I think we should stop. I will let you look at it if you like. You have been an exemplary model. Please sit where you are. I will tie a band around your eyes so you don’t peek. When I remove it, you can look at the sketch I hold before you. Are you game?”

  “I am game for anything you want to do, Serena.”

  “Do you practice your seductive voice?” she asked. “I would wager you come by it with ease.”

  “Should I consider that remark a compliment?” His smile added to the sunlight streaming into the room.

  Serena located a kerchief, walked to him and placed it over his eyes.

  He took both his hands and seized hers.

  There were no words spoken, but the touch scorched like molten lava. She gasped, her body tightened.

  “Please release me,” she said. “I need to show you the sketch and cannot do so.”

  His hands relinquished control.

  She stood in front of him, holding the sketch. “Please remove your blindfold. I do hope you like it. Remember, I will need more sittings to reflect your personality.”

  “Perhaps you should paint me nude.” He grinned.

  She shook her head. “I trust you are not serious, your Grace.”

  “No one has ever painted me naked. I wonder how long it would take for you to finish a life-sized portrait. I have several ideas on how we can pleasure ourselves during sittings.”

  She was tantalized by his sensual voice. “Do not elaborate, but allow me to guess.”

  Geoffrey raised his hands and removed the blindfold. For a number of moments, he didn’t speak.

  Did the drawing not please him? Her cheeks heated as she waited.

  “For a first drawing, mostly shades of grey, I do believe you have captured my essence. You have depicted me as handsome by glamorizing my scar, made my smile warm and kind.”