A Duke Changes Everything

by Christy Carlyle

  She leaned an inch closer, eyes flashing, one hand settled on the curve of her hip. “You’re actually proud of being boorish.”

  “Boorish seems harsh.”

  “Do others find you charming?”

  Nick grinned. Miss Not What She Seems had a waspish sting. If he didn’t admire her for it, his ego might have mustered an ounce of indignation.

  “Many do. Or at least, they say they do. When you’re wealthy, it’s difficult to know if anything others say to you is true.”

  “That implies you’re a man who can be swayed if people appeal to your vanity.”

  “No. It only means that they try.”

  “I won’t.” She squared her shoulders, stiffened her spine, and nudged up her chin. A terribly pretty chin. Smooth and softly curved and notched by an enticing cleft in the center. He wanted to touch the spot. Press his mouth to it.

  Nick never dreamed he’d find defiance so arousing.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Thorne.” He pointed toward the doorway, then started toward the threshold. If she kept looking at him as she was, he was liable to do things they’d both regret. “Shall we go and take a look at the inventories?”

  He told himself that no matter how much he enjoyed sparring with her, he’d enjoy returning to Lyon’s more.

  “Wait.” She uttered the word with the same tone of authority Wilder employed with the footmen.

  Nick turned back to find her framed in the glow from the window.

  A few shafts of sunlight had fought their way through the clouds to caress her skin and gild her hair, showing off hidden strands of gold, a darker burnished shade than the color that sparked in her eyes.

  “What is it, Thorne?” He risked a teasing tone. “Did you squirrel away more treasures to be found in the window cushions?”

  How could a young woman who’d spent her life sequestered in the countryside fascinate him?

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  He had every right to walk away from her. His father barely tolerated a staff member raising their voice, let alone speaking with an ounce of insouciance.

  He was beginning to wonder if allowing her to stay on as steward had been a mistake. She occupied far too many of his thoughts and stoked far too powerful a reaction every time she was near.

  “What question is that?”

  “Which book was your favorite?”

  “It’s not here.” He winced, recalling the old flat he’d shared with his mother in Paris. Their rooms on the Rue de Vignon contained no luxuries. Purchasing the book had cost her weeks of saving.

  “Did you lose it?”

  “I left the volumes behind when I returned to England.”

  She scuffed her boot on the floor and bit her lip, assessing him. He could see the questions burning in her mind.

  “You left when you were sixteen?”

  Nick nodded. That much wasn’t hard to admit.

  “I don’t understand why your father lied so thoroughly. To everyone.”

  “And yet he did. Especially to himself. My father couldn’t bear the notion of scandal ever marring the Tremayne legacy.” Nick’s throat reverberated with a bitter chuckle.

  “And now that reputation is yours to protect.”

  Nick flicked back the edges of his frock coat and braced his hands on his hips to keep from clenching them into fists. “None of my feelings about the Tremayne legacy are appropriate for your ears.”

  She laughed, and the light sweetness of the sound chilled his rising rage. “Have you heard Mr. Wilder when he’s in his cups? I promise, my ears aren’t as delicate as you think.”

  Her words caused him to focus on her ears. They were indeed delicate, perfectly curved shells that he had the urge to trace with his tongue.

  Miss Thorne cleared her throat. “So what is the book? Even if you don’t have it anymore, you must remember the title or author.”

  “I do. There’s an English translation, but the copy my mother bought me was in French. The author’s language.”

  “You speak French?” She sounded so impressed Nick was tempted to tell her he spoke a bit of Italian and Spanish too.

  “I do, but Notre-Dame de Paris by Victor Hugo is the first book I read in the language.” He rubbed his fingers together, recalling the texture of the two red leather volumes.

  “What’s the story about?”

  “A beautiful gypsy.”

  Her eyes glowed with interest and she took a step toward him. “And?”

  “She captures the heart of many men, including one the townspeople consider a monster. He’s deformed. A hunchback. Probably not much to look at.”

  She lifted a hand, toying absently with the button at the top of her gown. “What happens?”

  “His love goes unrequited. No one loves a monster. It all ends in tragedy. Not like a fairy tale, Miss Thorne.”

  Her forehead pinched as she frowned at him. “You clearly haven’t read many fairy tales, Your Grace. There’s plenty of tragedy, and sometimes the creature is actually an enchanted prince.” She blushed fiercely, as if she’d revealed some secret she hadn’t meant to.

  Nick’s heart did a strange little stumbling dance behind his ribs.

  Her eyes widened, and she did that thing he’d come to dread. Her expression became serene, drained of emotion, and she flattened her tone. “I’ll be in my office if you need to discuss the inventories.”

  Nick didn’t stop her from leaving.

  He struggled to bring his thoughts back to the present. To push away memories of Paris and the book about a gypsy and the monster who loved her. Pressing a hand to the back of his neck, he squeezed at the knot of muscles there.

  That’s when he noticed the ribbon. A pale pink length of satin that young Mina Thorne had thought better suited to marking pages than adorning her hair.

  Nick retrieved the length of fabric, stroked his finger along its satiny length, and tucked it carefully into his pocket.

  Chapter Ten

  Mina had managed only a few winks of sleep and her nerves jangled like the set of household keys hanging from her belt. Especially now, with Nicholas Lyon’s heated bulk at her back.

  He followed, two steps behind, as she led him along the wind-whipped path of Enderley’s parapet, an old stone walkway above the house’s rear facade.

  He’d surprised her by arriving in her office early, wishing to have a look at the roof and exterior wall of the ballroom. Mina intended to take the opportunity to lead him on a tour of the estate’s gardens and most interesting features. If her plan was to get him to appreciate Enderley, showing him its beauty seemed a good strategy.

  Unfortunately, it also meant he’d spy all the signs of dilapidation. She was prepared to address those too. Notes tucked in her pocket contained estimates of how much the most urgent repairs would cost.

  Under their feet, the stones were weathered, the mortar worn away, but the walk had endured for hundreds of years. Surely it would hold for one more day.

  Mina told herself the path was safe, but down, down, down, the edge seemed to urge. Being so high had always unnerved her. She had the constant sense of tipping over the edge, as if she possessed some rogue avian instinct to jump off and take flight.

  Glancing back at the duke only worsened her sense of vertigo, and she stumbled.

  His hand locked at her waist. “Have a care, Miss Thorne,” he barked, his breath a heated gust against her cheek. “Are you steady now?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Mina nodded, and he released her instantly. She kept her eyes averted from the edge as they continued toward the west side of the house.

  The duke didn’t acknowledge her expression of gratitude.

  After five days’ acquaintance, she’d learned the man was exceedingly surly in the morning. She wondered if he slept as poorly as she had since his arrival. The skin under his eyes had taken on a darker pallor, but the color only served to highlight the cool shade of his eyes.

  Glancing back, she c
aught him staring at the hem of her skirt. When he looked up, his eyes were shadowed, his sensuous lips pressed in a grim line.

  “Are you not fond of heights either?” she asked, wondering if he was feeling the same dizziness that plagued her.

  “I don’t mind heights,” he said with mock cheerfulness. “I just prefer them to be in London, where the sea air doesn’t chill you to the bone.”

  “Just a bit farther.” Mina infused her tone with as much sunniness as she could manage. Her stomach quivered, not because she was afraid of tipping over the side, but because she was about to give the new duke a good deal more to be grumpy about.

  “I know the way.” His voice dipped low and raw. “I was born in this godforsaken house.”

  “Of course.” She let out a sigh and hoped he didn’t hear.

  Mercy, the man was taciturn. Too unpredictable. If he’d been this moody as a boy, perhaps it was why he’d been sent away. She’d resolved to be kind, to show him Enderley’s charms, yet the two of them seemed to begin each day at odds.

  “The maze has been maintained, I see.”

  Mina followed the direction of his gaze toward the enormous hedge maze that had been laid out by his ancestor nearly a century before.

  “I’m afraid it’s rarely used.” With no master in residence and no parties or social events at Enderley, the winding avenues of neatly trimmed shrubs stood empty, unless Mina or a servant decided to take a stroll.

  “Why not cut it down?” the duke asked emotionlessly. “Seems to do nothing but create work for the gardener.”

  Mina bit her tongue, but she couldn’t keep silent. “I believe the maze was quite beloved by your mother.” And by Mina too. She’d spent many a day wandering its paths, enjoying its shade. When her father became irritable because the duke was in one of his black moods, the hedge maze had been a safe, quiet place to retreat to. “Of course, it’s yours now to do with as you wish, Your Grace.”

  When she glanced back, the man had the audacity to smirk.

  “Is that the game now? I set off your short temper and you call me Your Grace as punishment?”

  “I’m not short-tempered,” she said as blithely as one could past clenched teeth. Then she began thinking of far worse punishments than using his honorific. Maybe mucking out the stables. The image of him stripped to his shirtsleeves, his skin glistening with sweat as he worked, distracted her for several minutes.

  Mina stopped and turned to face him. “Is there nothing about Enderley you approve of?”

  The duke studied her intensely, searching her face as if she held the answer. “Why do you love it so much?” he finally asked.

  Not at all the question she expected, and one she didn’t anticipate being so difficult to answer. “I’ve known Mr. Wilder and Mrs. Scribb since I was a child. My father loved Enderley.”

  “I asked about you. Not them.”

  “Enderley is what I know.” Mina looked out across the fields rather than into his watchful eyes. His gaze followed her movements, steady and curious.

  “You’re young, Miss Thorne. I suspect you could set your mind toward any number of pursuits.”

  Mina glanced back at him, shocked by the sincerity in his tone.

  No, not today. She couldn’t let him fill her head with fanciful nonsense about her adventurous spirit. She was supposed to be convincing him to do his duty, not allowing him to persuade her to abandon hers.

  “Enderley is all I have, Your Grace. Not good breeding or a title, nor a proper education. And I’ve no plans to marry.” No prospects either.

  Her cheeks heated despite the chilling breeze. He was the last man with whom she should be discussing anything as personal as a lack of marriage prospects.

  “My father taught me that devoting oneself to Enderley is a worthy endeavor.”

  In fact, he’d been so devoted that at times Mina feared he cared for the estate more than her. But that wasn’t why she and the new duke were standing atop three stories of old stones as a brisk wind whined across the parapet.

  “Also,” she added, remembering her purpose, “the house’s architecture is beautiful.”

  He quirked his lips and crossed his arms. “There are far finer country estates in England.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen them.”

  That earned her another twitch of his broad mouth. Not quite a smile. “Have you ever been outside of Sussex?” The question amused him far too much.

  “No. I’ve rarely had any reason to leave.” He didn’t need to know that the old atlas in the library had been one of her favorite books or that she’d occasionally entertained childhood fantasies of running away to the city. Now a London man of business turned miserable duke thought her a simple country miss, and she told herself not to care. But his opinion did matter.

  Stupidly, she blurted, “I went to Brighton once.”

  That earned her a smile, but it was such a brief flash of white Mina wondered if she’d imagined it. “Still in Sussex, but lovely seaside. No doubt you went to enhance your freckles.”

  The dusting of spots along her nose and cheeks snagged his attention, and the longer he stared, the more potent the heat that spread from her face to her neck.

  “How did you find the seaside, Miss Thorne?” He looked her up and down, one brow peaked in curiosity. “Was the sand warm under your feet? Were you daring enough to venture out into the icy water? Somehow I suspect you were.”

  Two dimples appeared when he smiled, one on either side of his mouth. Mina couldn’t look away. She could barely recall the question he’d asked while she’d gotten stuck staring at his mouth.

  “I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

  “Too long, I imagine. You should go back. I’m overdue for a visit to the seaside myself.” He sounded wistful and so intrigued by the prospect that Mina half expected him to suggest they hitch a carriage and head off directly.

  But, of course, he didn’t.

  The gulf between them and their desires was an enormous one. He was a duke and could hie off to Bath or Brighton or anywhere he pleased. Mina’s life didn’t work that way.

  “My place is here, Mr. Lyon.” Unless he or whoever leased the estate dismissed her. “At least for now.”

  He worked his lower jaw like he was chewing on a retort but said nothing more. Clearing his throat, he scanned the fields beyond the maze. “Is that Eustace’s horse, the one involved in the accident?”

  Mina bit her lip when she spotted the ebony stallion. The wounded racehorse was healing quickly. Mina visited every morning, taking him apples and checking his wounds, but she’d yet to decide what to do with him.

  “Not my father’s either,” he said decisively. “His favorite was white and bulky as a prize fighter.”

  The odd sense of falling while she was standing perfectly still swept over Mina, and she took a quick step back from the ledge. She struggled to slow her breathing.

  “You truly hate heights.” The duke reached for her upper arm to hold her steady.

  Mina looked up to find him close, the flaps of his overcoat brushing her skirt, his eyes locked on hers.

  “Is he yours?” he asked softly.

  “None of the horses in the stable are mine.” One deep breath for courage and she confessed, “He’s not a Tremayne horse.”

  Just as Mina expected, the duke’s glower deepened. He tensed his grip on her arm. “I don’t understand.”

  “I found him wandering the field near the copse on the night you arrived.”

  “But where does he belong?”

  “Here,” Mina said emphatically. “For now.”

  “Miss Thorne, who does he belong to?”

  Mina chewed the inside of her cheek. “Lord Lyle of Stebbing Hall. His estate’s just outside the village.”

  “I know the man. Or my father did.” He waved toward the field. “Have Tobias return Lyle’s property to him immediately. His lordship is not an even-tempered sort.” The duke started past her on the walkway, carefu
lly sheltering her from the edge.

  When Mina didn’t follow, he glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  “I won’t return the stallion to Lord Lyle.”

  Shock made Nicholas Lyon look younger, softening the striking aspects of his sharp-angled face. The lines of worry between his brows melted. The grim tension in his full lips eased. Shadows faded from his dark-lashed eyes. Then one black brow shot up and clashed with the wave of hair that had dipped down to dangle over his forehead.

  Mina pushed away the notion that she should aim to surprise him more often.

  “Are you defying me?” His voice rasped low. Little more than a whisper.

  “I suppose I am.” A gust swept a lock of her hair from its pins, and Mina pushed the strand back behind her ear. “Lord Lyle, or someone in his stables, beat that horse bloody. There were deep stripes on his haunches when I found him.”

  She steeled herself. He’d tell her what she already knew. Lyle’s cruelty didn’t matter. Property mattered. Ownership. Especially here in the countryside. Lyle was known for his interest in horseflesh and betting on races. He’d want his fine stallion back.

  The duke said nothing. One narrowed blue eye, a tightening of his jaw, and he seemed to come to a decision he didn’t plan to share with her.

  Another burst of wind swept the tail of his coat out behind him and pulled more of her hair loose.

  “Let’s have a look at the damage and get off this bloody roof.” He waved his arm to urge her over. His manner had gone as gruff and cool as the wild weather.

  “There.” He pointed to a spot in the sloping roof tiles, a bit darker than its neighbors. “The depression runs down toward the wall.” He lowered himself, balancing on his haunches.

  Mina approached but didn’t dare get near the wall’s edge.

  He noticed her wobble and glanced up, all the earlier warmth in his gaze gone. “Go back inside. I can do this on my own.”

  “I prefer to stay with you.”

  He turned back slowly, then stood to face her, their bodies inches apart on the narrow walkway. “Are you worried I loathe this place so much I’ll fling myself off the side?” He stared down at the multistory drop between them and the ground. “Or are you hoping I will?”