The Duke's Daughter

by Sasha Cottman

  She stood staring at the ring for a moment before turning and heading toward the kitchen door. She was almost through the doorway when she stopped.

  ‘No.’

  She raced quickly back to the table and snatched up the ring, putting it firmly back on her finger.

  If their time at the Key ended in failure, it would not be through her lack of trying.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘Our second day at the Key and the weather looks fine. We should try and get out and take in the lake. I plan to catch a fish for our supper. Perhaps you could bring your sketchbook with you, and draw,’ Lucy said.

  Avery nodded, but inwardly he cursed. They were locked in this interminable conversation of agreeing with each other over the most minor of matters, all the while watching the slow destruction of their union. Neither one seemed able to break free and be honest with themselves or the other.

  If it were due to them being stubborn, which he knew they both were, somehow they would find a way. But the fact that they both seemed unable to change their minds about ending their marriage kept them on the same never-ending road.

  Over the course of the previous day, he had thought of nothing else but Lucy. How selfish he had been toward her. The barren existence she would be condemned to live long after their divorce. He should be kissing her senseless rather than discussing drawing pictures of the rocks and mountain scenery.

  He stifled a wry grin. After all that had happened, how odd it was that he should be the one trying to think of ways to salvage their marriage. Frustrated that they could not break through to each other.

  A little while later Avery followed Lucy along the rough path which led down to the side of the lake. She pointed out a small stone bench.

  ‘Stephen often sits there and reads when he comes up here with Papa. I think you will find it a perfect place to sit and sketch. You will be able to get a good outline of the tor as the midday sun crosses over the top.’

  She pointed toward the sharp, ragged outcrop which towered over the Key.

  ‘And what about you; won’t I disturb your fishing?’ he replied.

  ‘No, I shall be on over the other side of the lake, there are a couple of good shady spots where the fish like to hide. I never fail to land at least one good catch.’

  As Lucy headed off further around the lake Avery stood and watched her go, trying to etch her shapely figure permanently into his mind. The opportunities to enjoy her finely turned out female form were becoming fewer by the hour. If they kept on this same path, in a day or so they would be gone from the Key. Lucy to France and him to Edinburgh. Never the twain to meet.

  ‘Just say something to her, for God’s sake; stop her from leaving. You know that this is not what she wants,’ he muttered angrily to himself.

  Avery sat down heavily on the bench, surprised at this turn of events. Finally admitting that he didn’t want to lose Lucy was the latest in a journey of self-discovery which had started the moment he arrived at the castle.

  Across the lake, Lucy waved to him. She pointed toward the high rock face behind him. Avery looked up at the huge, sheer rock wall. The colours were incredible. Whoever said Scotland was a barren and harsh place had not beheld the magnificence of its wild colour palette.

  He returned Lucy’s wave, while muttering to himself, ‘I should have accepted those paints from Clarice. Black and white sketches do nothing to show the beauty of this place.’

  A low rumble in the distance signalled that another storm would be upon them some time later in the afternoon. Avery took out his graphite pencil and began to sketch the scene.

  He squinted, trying to get an accurate picture. After a few minutes he closed his eyes and tried to rest his mind. Years of practice had taught him the need to relax before his creative side could take over. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at the paper.

  What had started out as a rough outline of the tor had unmistakeably become the shapely leg of a naked woman. He smiled. Whether by conscious design or not, his muse had decided it much preferred to draw Lucy than the wilds of the Scottish countryside.

  He was not fool enough to challenge his creative desires, even if he suspected it was a certain part of his anatomy which was effectively in control. Putting pencil to paper once more, he added in the outline of a well-formed buttock. Soon he was lost in lust-induced concentration, creating a detailed likeness of his wife.

  A fat, heavy raindrop landed firmly on the page, stirring him.

  He lifted his head. The palette of the mountain had transformed from reds and light browns into dark charcoal grey. The sky was near-black. Over the top of the tor, heavy clouds now threatened.

  He stood up. Across the lake, Lucy was at the water’s edge, struggling to land a fish. She had her net in one hand and her rod tucked up under her arm. She was completely oblivious to the oncoming storm.

  ‘Lucy!’ he bellowed, but his words were lost on the quickly rising wind.

  The odd raindrop now became a steady shower. Bigger storm clouds loomed behind those which were bringing the first of the rain. Within minutes the whole lakeside would be under a heavy rainfall.

  Lucy had still not noticed the rain or if she had, she was intent on landing her catch before she sought shelter. Avery quickly closed his sketchbook and tucked it into his coat pocket.

  ‘Bloody woman,’ he swore, as he hurried around the lake toward her.

  It was a lot further than he had anticipated. By the time he reached Lucy’s side, the storm was upon them. Vicious winds now raced across the lake, chopping its surface as they came.

  ‘Come out of there! Leave the fish!’ he commanded. He reached out and tried to take the net from her hand. She pulled away, her gaze fixed firmly on the net and the fish.

  She elbowed Avery’s arm away. ‘Let go, I’ve nearly got him! Here, you take the rod.’

  The rain now soaked through Avery’s hat. Lucy’s hair was plastered to her head. Within minutes they would both be soaked to the skin. The quicker they landed the fish the sooner they could head back to the safety of the lodge.

  Avery took the rod, knowing that Lucy was not going to let go of her catch.

  She hitched up her skirts and put a foot into the water. At that moment, he was sorely tempted to put an arm around her waist and hoist her out of the water and over his shoulder. No fish was worth catching your death of cold.

  He then caught his first glimpse of the fish on the end of the line and quickly changed his mind. It was a huge brown trout. He pulled a little harder on the line, drawing the fish closer to the water’s edge.

  She grabbed a handful of her soaking wet hair and pulled it behind her neck. Then with as much skill as he had seen in the best of army fishermen, she put the net under the fish and slowly lifted it out of the water. Her arms shook with the effort of landing such a large beast.

  As he watched his wife struggle with the net, Avery saw Lucy in a new light. She was utterly drenched, but he could see she was determined to bring home her catch. She drew the net closer to the bank, patiently allowing the fish to use its weight to help her land it. When the net was within his reach, Avery tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the net. She nodded. She had their catch under control.

  Avery tossed aside the fishing rod and grabbed the wicker fishing basket. He flipped open the lid and came back to help her with the net. Working together, they lifted and dropped the fish inside the basket.

  ‘Huzzah!’ she cried, lifting her arms in exultation as the fish landed with a loud plop.

  Avery laughed. It had taken all of their combined stubborn, self-reliant strength to bring the fish in. Neither of them could have managed it on their own.

  ‘Well done, Lucy! Now, can we go before we catch our death out here?’ he cried, vainly trying to be heard above the wind.

  She blinked hard at him and lifted her gaze to the sky.

  A look of shock appeared on her face. She had not noticed the storm until now.

  ‘We have
to get out of here now!’ she yelled.

  Lucy snatched up the rod and net, while Avery grabbed hold of the basket. Together they ran back along the path.

  The wind and driving rain hampered their retreat. The ground underfoot quickly turned into a dangerous slippery quagmire. Lucy fell at one point, crashing to her knees. As she struggled to get to her feet, Avery put his arm around her waist and pulled her upright.

  ‘Come on,’ he urged.

  Hand in hand they made the perilous trip back to the lodge.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Avery slammed the door shut behind him, closing out the storm. He threw the wooden latch into place.

  He dropped the fishing basket onto the floor.

  Lucy stood panting, struggling to catch her breath. She looked down at her clothes. Her boots and skirt were caked in mud. Her cloak clung like a drunk sailor to her skin. She was soaked to the bone.

  Leaning against the door, slowly shaking his head, Avery had a thoroughly disapproving look on his face.

  She recognised that same look from the night in the garden. Another statement of rebuke regarding her behaviour threatened from his lips. She willed herself to believe that she didn’t care.

  ‘I can’t understand how you could have been so oblivious to the storm,’ he said.

  ‘Me? You didn’t bother to come and tell me until it was already upon us. If you recall, I was rather busy trying to land that fish,’ she replied.

  Frustration and anger coursed through her veins at this stubborn man. He wasn’t going to admit that he had also been caught off guard. So much for the soldier who had spent all those years living wild. A few months of good living in London and he had gone soft.

  His hat was flattened to his head. The rain dripping from his coat formed a large puddle of water on the floor. From within his coat, he withdrew the sketchbook. The leather cover was wet. He opened it. A wry smile came to his lips and she heard him whisper, ‘Good. The pages are not ruined.’

  Avery removed his hat and coat and hung them on a hook near the door. The rest of his clothes had not fared well in the rain. His shirt was plastered to his chest. The moment Lucy’s gaze dropped lower she forgot all about his shirt. His trousers looked as if they had been painted onto his legs, the muscles perfectly outlined. When she saw the hard bulge between his legs she swallowed.

  ‘You had better get out of those wet things,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ she stammered, her mind elsewhere.

  ‘Strip off your clothes,’ he commanded.

  A thousand denials filled her head, but her lips would not speak them.

  When Avery pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his naked, hairy chest, Lucy thought she would faint. She had never seen his whole upper torso naked before. She had only ever touched him in the dark, revelling in the tactile sensation of his skin and hair. Daylight added a whole new perspective to the landscape of his body.

  He came to her and quickly removed her cloak. He hung it on the peg next to his coat.

  ‘Take the rest of your wet clothes off, while I get some towels to dry us both.’

  He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Lucy to stand in front of the fire, trying to warm her rapidly cooling body. She bent down and added some more logs to the fire.

  When Avery returned with an armful of towels, she heard him growl with frustration.

  ‘I thought I told you to get out of those clothes. Don’t catch your death just because you feel uncomfortable disrobing in front of me. I am your husband.’

  They turned their backs to one another and removed the rest of their clothes. Pneumonia was a real threat if they allowed themselves to catch a bone-deep chill.

  When she got to the point of only having a chemise between her and nakedness, Lucy stopped. Closing her eyes, she turned.

  ‘Would you please pass me one of the towels?’ she asked.

  She wrapped the towel around herself. It was enough to cover most of her torso, but her legs were left naked. She frowned at the prospect of Avery seeing this much of her body.

  Behind her Avery chuckled.

  ‘It’s not the first time I have seen a partly clad woman,’ he said.

  Lucy steeled herself for more of his unhelpful comments and turned back to face him. Avery had a towel wrapped around his waist, covering his midsection, but like her, the rest of his body was naked. He had even removed both his gloves.

  Avery picked up a second towel from a nearby chair.

  ‘Come here, let me help you dry your hair,’ he said.

  She hesitated before doing as he bade. Seated on a stool before the fire, she sat quietly as Avery ran the towel through her hair, sopping up the excess water. When her hair was dry enough to comb, he went into the bedroom and retrieved her hairbrush from her travel bag.

  Seated behind her, he began to slowly, gently work out the knots and tangles. He hummed softly as he worked. It was a rhythmic cadence, rising and falling with the stroke of the hairbrush.

  Lucy looked down at her bare legs. She should feel embarrassed at her lack of attire, but she didn’t think to ask for more clothes. Truth be told, she found the idea of them both being semi-naked rather alluring. If Avery could take the step of removing his glove, she in turn could sit still and let him play lady’s maid.

  When Avery tenderly pulled a strand of her hair away from her face, she felt her breath catch. He was close. Her every breath took in the warm scent of his cologne. Slowly but inexorably she found herself falling under his spell.

  ‘Did you get to draw the rock face?’ she asked, struggling to put her emotions back on an even keel.

  ‘No,’ he murmured. He brought another towel to her hair, drying off some of the water which had been released from his brushing.

  ‘Why not?’ she replied.

  From where she had sat on the other side of the lake, occasionally observing him, Avery had seemed most industrious in his efforts with the sketch book.

  ‘Would you like to see what I drew?’ he said.

  ‘Yes please.’

  He handed her the sketchbook. She carefully turned the pages, honoured that Avery had finally shared another piece of himself with her.

  Pictures of Strathmore Castle and its inhabitants filled the first dozen or so pages. She recognised a very close likeness of her sister Emma.

  ‘I did that while she was sitting on the steps of the keep,’ he said, looking over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s very good. You really do have an eye for a portrait. You should show Clarice some of your work. She has an artist’s appreciation for these things.’

  ‘I don’t normally share my drawings with anyone else,’ he replied.

  When she got to the last page, Lucy sighed. Avery hadn’t drawn the tor; instead he had created a detailed likeness of her. Very real and completely naked.

  ‘Oh, Avery,’ she whispered.

  A soft, warm kiss was placed in the nape of her neck. A second kiss was soon followed by another. Avery blazed a trail of hot kisses down Lucy’s neck and over her shoulders. He lowered the towel and she heard the brush drop onto the floor.

  He blew a sultry breath into her ear as he traced a single fingertip down her spine.

  She shivered.

  ‘Come to bed, Lucy. Come to bed, wife.’

  ‘What about Edinburgh?’ she whispered.

  Her heart beat loudly in her breast.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’

  She spun round on the small wooden stool and faced him. He took her face in his hands and his lips touched hers. A soft, enquiring kiss followed. She sensed he was waiting. Needing for her to yield to his silent entreaty. The little that she did know of Avery, she understood he would not move matters forward until he had her complete surrender.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  She prayed he had not heard the undertone of pleading in her voice. She reached down and took a tender hold of his damaged hand. He began to pull away, but as their gazes met
he stopped.

  ‘Sorry, force of habit,’ he said.

  ‘No more secrets between us,’ she said. In this she would tolerate no argument.

  He nodded.

  She raised his hand to her lips, placing loving kisses on the fingertips and the scars. He brushed her hair back behind her ear and leaned in once more.

  ‘Come,’ he murmured.

  As he rose, he drew Lucy to her feet. In his eyes, she saw the passion and hunger she had yearned to know. He cupped her face in his hands and their lips met once more.

  As his tongue swept inside her mouth, her thoughts fled back to that moment in the garden at Strathmore House. The echo of passion and need in Avery’s kiss betrayed him. He had wanted her that night; she no longer doubted it.

  Seized by this magnificent revelation, she offered him her mouth unreservedly.

  He held her close; only the thin fabric of the towels separated their naked bodies. Their tongues danced a heated, carnal waltz, more in time with one another than ever before. Over and over Avery worked his sensual magic on Lucy’s lips. Time stood still.

  She was locked deep in his embrace, exulting in his unrestrained desire for her when she felt Avery’s hand slip between them and pull the towel away.

  The cool night air kissed her naked skin.

  Avery released her from the kiss and took a step back. She watched as his gaze roamed over her body. An appreciative groan rose in his throat. Lucy closed her eyes as a heated blush burned on her cheeks and neck.

  Avery chortled.

  ‘Open your eyes, Lucy.’

  When she did, she saw his towel had also been stripped away. He stood before her in all his male glory. Her gaze immediately settled on that part of his anatomy which was large, hard and very erect.

  Oh my dear Lord.

  Her trembling fingers found their way to her lips. What was it her mother had said about the marital act? All the images she had seen in Millie’s erotic Indian books filled her mind.

  He smiled, sensing her shyness. A single tear snaked its way down her cheek. He wanted her. Her husband finally wanted her.