The Duke and I

by Heather Boyd

  Fenton was a bit older than Nicolas, had never married, but had many ill opinions of the fairer sex he was always keen to share.

  “Were you betting on the length of a servant’s employment again?”

  “It’s only ever worth betting on the female ones.” Fenton shrugged. “Hasn’t been that much excitement about this year though. A man has to do something with his idle thoughts.”

  “Well, a word of advice. Don’t bet against her again.”

  “That way, is it?” Fenton’s mouth twitched with a smile, and he took another long pull straight from the bottle. “From your lips to my pocket. At six months, I bet on her for an indefinite stay.”

  He studied Fenton sourly. “Gambling is going to be your undoing.”

  “A single man must be allowed some vices.” Fenton walked away, retreating to a sheltered spot where he could keep watch on everyone. Nicolas had several other servants scattered about the lake’s edge, which is where the most likely danger would always be found.

  Nicolas cast an eye over everyone and then turned to Mrs. Thorpe, who was still seated, skates on, eying the ice warily. “Are you truly nervous?”

  “Only a little.” She stood, appearing resolved to make an attempt. “I was taking a moment to pray that I do not fall. I don’t miss the bruises I used to get or the embarrassment I caused myself as a girl.”

  He took her arm. “I told you I would never let you fall.”

  Together they staggered to the edge of the ice in their skates. Nicolas went first, skating a few steps before he turned to watch Mrs. Thorpe. She let out a breath and then stepped, smoothly gliding onto the ice as naturally as he did.

  “See,” he cheered. “You’ve forgotten nothing.”

  Gillian took off, revealing her skill was a fact, leaving Nicolas laughing in her wake. He caught up to her before she’d gone too far and together they glided in lazy swirls around the other skaters. He kept watch over her. Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and her hair fluttered beneath her bonnet. Her smile was radiant, and his heart filled suddenly with yearning. He wanted to touch her, hold her, very badly, right now, no matter the impropriety. “Ready?”

  “For what?”

  He smiled warmly. “Let’s dance.”

  “Dance? Here?”

  Nicolas nodded.

  “I thought Jessica was joking about that.”

  “Oh, no,” he promised. “I’ve tried to teach Jessica, to no avail, and have been searching for the right partner for years.”

  He held out his hand, and after a moment, Gillian caught it. Nicolas drew her to face him, and glided with her backward. “It is just like dancing on a ballroom floor. You follow my lead, and I do the hard work of pushing you about.”

  He put his hand firmly on her hip, and held her other arm straight out, clasping her gloved fingers tightly as if they were waltzing. He looked down into her face and was struck by the urge to kiss her. Now. He cleared his throat instead. “We’ll start like this, but I’m sure to change our positions, so be prepared for anything.”

  “All right.”

  Nicolas pushed forward, driving Gillian ahead of him, weaving carefully around other skaters until he was sure they were a good match for this. He spun Gillian out and then tucked his body close behind hers. His hand returned to her waist, the other holding her hand. “You’re very good,” he murmured.

  “So are you.” She glanced over her shoulder to see his face. “When was the last time you tried this with another woman.”

  “Two years ago. Last year, I had to be content with skating all alone.”

  She pulled a face. “Oh, how you must have suffered, your grace.”

  He pulled her tighter against him, lifted her and pivoted, so they both were now skating backward together. Gillian gave a little shriek.

  He glanced over his shoulder as he turned them in a wide arc and into clear ice before he lowered her slowly until she was skating again. “Shall we try that again?”

  Gillian nodded, but the second attempt was a little more awkward than the first because she tensed in anticipation.

  “You didn’t trust me,” he whispered as they stumbled, almost falling together. They got their skates under them and parted. “You have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  “I do trust you.” Gillian brought her hand to her chest and stopped. “But I think it was better not to know what was coming,” she said then laughed. “That was wonderful, your grace.”

  “It was.” He stopped inches away from a collision with her. “That is two wonderful things we do well together, Gillian.”

  Gillian blushed and again laughed merrily. “I suppose it is.”

  Nicolas caught her elbow and Gillian pressed her hand to his chest. “Can we keep doing them together?”

  Gillian gasped, eyes warming on his. “I’d like that.”

  “Wonderful, because I have to say I have never suffered an erection while skating before. Having you in my arms again is doing crazy things to my senses.”

  “Mine too,” she confessed.

  “I want to kiss you.” Nicolas glanced past her head and saw four skaters headed their way at a fast clip. “Unfortunately, the pleasure will have to wait until we are truly alone again.”

  Gillian turned out of his arms to view the approaching group. “They’re not skating well.”

  “No, they are not. Fledging chickens have more grace. I have no fears for Jessica or Whitfield, but I wonder if the other two are skilled at stopping.”

  “They’re going a bit too fast if they are not.” Gillian skated backward as the group showed no sign of slowing down.

  Nicolas glanced at her suddenly as the ice gave a great crack beneath her feet.

  “Gillian!” he cried, just before she dropped into the icy water with a shriek of utter terror that made his blood run cold.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh!” Gillian cried out. She gasped at the vast cold burning the lower half of her body but she took stock of her situation quickly. She stood in hip-deep icy water of the lake, her skirts floating inelegantly atop the water, her legs already trembling and her feet still strapped to her skates. It could have been so much worse. She could have plunged straight down to her death rather than where she seemed to be—stuck and about to freeze.

  “Don’t move,” Nicolas demanded from three feet away, his expression terrified.

  Gillian held out a hand to warn him back as she tested her footing. Her position seemed solid enough for the moment.

  “Do not take one step. You’re only on the outcrop.”

  Looking about her again, she suddenly remembered there had been a very small finger of land jutting far out into the lake when she’d first arrived at the estate in the spring. Subsequent rains and the winter must have lifted the height of the water and then covered it completely in ice as winter progressed.

  She glanced at the ice Nicolas stood on as he moved nearer. “Don’t you come any closer or you’ll fall through too,” she warned him, determined to keep him safe.

  The group of skaters she’d tried to avoid had already stopped, far enough away that they should not be in any danger themselves, or to Nicolas. “Move back all of you, now.”

  Nicolas and the others grudgingly skated back a yard. “I won’t leave you,” he promised her.

  “You must,” she pleaded as her teeth began to chatter. She glanced at the shore and saw servants gathering. “I’m safe for now. Only very cold. Get off the ice. Please don’t worry for me. Help is already coming. See?”

  Gillian turned her head farther toward the shoreline. There was a large body of ice between her and landfall and she wasn’t sure how to get herself out of the water, but she had faith that she’d be rescued soon. Lord Stapleton’s men were approaching the edge of the ice, two carrying ice picks.

  “We’re coming, Mrs. Thorpe,” the steward called. “Just stay where you are.”

  Gillian couldn’t be entirely still. She was afraid her body would grow numb, s
o she flexed her legs to keep her circulation going. The little waves she stirred sent splashes of cold higher up her body, and she had to hold her hand to her stomach to survive the discomfort.

  Nicolas was on land when she looked around next and surrounded by a crowd. “That’s it. Stay calm,” he called.

  Gillian shivered as her gown slowly became saturated with water and sank down around her legs and tangled about them. The weight of them would pull her under if she slipped and lost her footing. Stapleton’s men started to chip at the ice in earnest, wading out to her very slowly.

  She was shaking violently when one strong arm wrapped around her waist and towed her through the icy slush. Jessica stood restrained in her father’s arms, a blanket clutched to her chest, her expression terrified.

  “I’m fine,” Gillian promised the girl as, at last, she stepped onto solid ground.

  “You’re not fine. You’re turning blue,” Stapleton complained as she reached them.

  Stapleton wrapped her upper body in the blanket while his daughter fell to her knees to squeeze water from her skirts. Stapleton pulled her into his arms, into the very coat he wore so well too. The heat of his body was almost painful. She tried to push him away, but she was shaking too badly to affect him.

  The steward pushed a bottle of spirits under her nose and made her drink a bitter mouthful. Gillian struggled with the first, but since it would help her ward off the chill, she swallowed a second mouthful. A second blanket was wrapped tightly around her lower portions and she was forced to walk a few painful steps with Stapleton’s aid after her skates were removed.

  “Can you feel your feet?” he asked when she stumbled.

  “Yes, but they are very painful.”

  “Better get her into a warm bed as soon as you can, your grace,” Fenton advised. He pushed his bottle against her lips once more and, already feeling the affects, Gillian took a third mouthful. “Get her into bed and keep an eye on her toes.”

  “I intend to.” Stapleton swept her up into his arms suddenly and started back toward home without another word to anyone.

  Jessica and Whitfield hurried ahead with the promise to warn the household.

  Alone with Nicolas, Gillian shivered against his chest violently. “I didn’t do that just to have you hold me.”

  “You don’t know how lucky you are.” His jaw tightened, and then he hugged her so tight she could feel his fingers digging into her thigh. “Another yard in my direction and you would have been in water well over your head. You scared me half to death, woman.”

  “Sorry.” Gillian turned her face into his chest to warm her skin. Miserable and freezing, she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing and the pain of her limbs as his steps jarred her body. She’d never felt so cold in her entire life. “I promise not to do that again.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Nicolas said as he brushed his lips against her brow. “It was mine for not being more observant.”

  “Shh,” she whispered. “It was an accident.”

  Nicolas fell silent, holding her closer, and he hurried toward warmth. She didn’t lift her head again until they were deep inside the house and heard Jessica issuing orders to everyone. Nicolas carried her all the way into her bedchamber.

  “We must get her out of those wet things,” Jessica suggested, stripping away the wet blankets and her outerwear as Nicolas slowly lowered her to her feet.

  Gillian hobbled a few steps and grabbed a bedpost as she started to shake. “I think that’s a fine idea.”

  “I’ll build up the fire while you change,” Nicolas promised.

  Too numb to protest she could look after herself, or that the servants could, Gillian allowed her gown to be removed. But she was acutely aware that Nicolas was still in the room, working at the fire with his back turned for modesty’s sake. Maids rushed into the room carrying all manner of things. She was too cold to care about such trivial details as propriety or the likely gossip they would spread later though the house.

  When she was bundled in a fresh nightgown and the only robe she owned, she was helped into her bed, warmed by bricks placed about her feet and smothered in blankets.

  Gillian bit back her whimpers as circulation returned to her extremities, feeling rather foolish. She should have been paying more attention to the ice and she’d ruined the duke’s day. She huddled in a ball beneath the blankets as gentle hands pressed to her brow and asked her the same questions over and over. Her toes had never been so interesting before. Everyone who came into the room seemed to inquire about them.

  “A physician has been sent for,” Stapleton informed her.

  Gillian glanced up and discovered the duke standing beside the bed, watching her with a grim expression.

  “I’m fine,” she promised him. “I don’t need a doctor.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He turned slightly and she saw a line of servants behind him. “You may all return to your duties. Mrs. Thorpe will ring if she requires further assistance.”

  The housekeeper nodded and shooed everyone away. “Very well, your grace.”

  “I feared they’d never leave us alone.” He leaned forward suddenly, kissed her brow and then dug beneath the blankets for her hand. He caressed her fingers in his warmer grip and then nodded. “Your feet next.”

  Gillian balked. She had no desire to come out from under the blankets yet. “They’re fine. You should be getting back to your guests. It’s not proper for you to remain.”

  “Do not argue with me,” he warned. “Any familiarity between us will be forgiven under the circumstances.”

  He fell to his knees beside the bed, tunneled along under the blankets, and caught her foot in his warm hand. His fingers were gentle as he caressed her skin, and then he pinched the tip of each toe in turn. “Five toes?”

  “I felt them all,” she assured him.

  “Now the other.”

  Gillian pushed her other foot toward him and suffered another intimate inspection that revealed her toes had not suffered any loss of sensation from the terrible cold. “You see? I’m perfectly fine.”

  Gillian attempted to sit up but he held her down by the shoulders. “You are to remain abed for the rest of today and tonight. Don’t you dare move!”

  “You’re being silly, your grace.” Gillian got out of bed. “Movement will be good for my circulation.”

  “Seeing you like that is havoc on mine,” he promised before catching her against him. He held her in silence and then snatched a blanket off the bed to wrap her in. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Gillian pushed him away. “I should see to Jessica,” she began.

  “She is in the next room, waiting her turn to fuss over you. I’m allowing her to retire from entertaining our guests for the rest of today and tonight.” He frowned. “I’ve never seen her so terrified.”

  “As soon as I discovered I was on solid ground, I knew I would be all right.” She tightened the blanket around her, well aware of her brush with death. “It just took a little too long to get out of the water without becoming chilled.”

  He drew close again. His arms were firm about her body, and so warm she sighed in pleasure. “Every moment seemed an agony for me until you were in my arms. Please, stay here tonight and rest. You don’t have to remain in bed but it would please me very much if you had no chance to become chilled.”

  Nicolas’ first wife had died of an infection in her lungs in this very house not long after Jessica was born, so Gillian knew where his fears for her health came from.

  “All right, if you insist,” she said, laying her hands upon his chest and patting him soothingly. “You may send Jessica in.”

  Nicolas dipped his head and kissed her cheek a few times. “Thank you.”

  “Try not to worry,” Gillian murmured before stretching up to kiss his lips. It was brief and tender, with no bursts of passion hard on its heels.

  Nicolas helped her back into bed, placing pillows behind her back, and pulled the
blankets high up her chest so she would stay warm. His behavior was so sweet and tender. It had been a long time since she’d felt so cared for, and not even her husband had worried about her occasional illnesses the way Nicolas was doing now.

  He took a few steps toward the door, and then hurried back. “I know you’ll likely scold me, but I’ll be back later tonight to see you,” he whispered.

  He stole another kiss, but he was gone before Gillian could insist that such a visit wasn’t necessary or wise.

  Jessica ducked into the room a moment later, scrambled across the bed and crushed Gillian in a fierce embrace. “I could have lost you.”

  “I’m fine, Jessica dear. I really am.” Gillian’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to hold them back but was unequal to the task. She might put on a brave face for everyone else, but Jessica felt too much like family. The daughter she’d never had and never could. She hugged the girl fiercely and sobbed against her shoulder. When the storm of weeping had passed, Jessica tucked them both into Gillian’s bed without another word.

  Chapter 9

  “Jessica was a bit put out with Whitfield teasing her today,” Gillian whispered before she moaned as Nicolas nibbled her soft throat. She was trying her best to hold on to her decorum and keep to the usual topic of discussion but Nicolas thought she’d rather him continue making love to her than stop now.

  “He always teases her,” he whispered as he brushed across her nipples with the pads of his thumbs. He reveled in her excitement. Craved it more each time they came together. “What else?”

  “She…ah.” Her grip on the shelves tightened as he took the lobe of her left ear between his teeth and bit lightly.

  Gillian shuddered.

  Nicolas released her, chuckling quietly, and drew back so she could finish her report.

  Gillian turned slowly, using the shelving again to support herself. “You’re a devil,” she complained without malice.

  Having heard the remark on a previous occasion, he grinned widely at hearing it again. Since Gillian’s near drowning, and fast recovery, he’d indulged in a very wicked few days of mutual pleasure, and tonight he was intent on upping the stakes yet again. “I am with you.”