The Duke of Ice

by Lisa Andersen

  There was a pause whilst Caroline took in the enormity of what he had asked. Bertie opened his eyes again and looked worried. “Maybe you do not feel for me like I do for you,” he ventured, but Caroline gave him that marvellous smile that lit up the whole world. “I do love you Bertie Collins Margrave. I loved you from the first moment I saw you trespassing in my stable yard.” He gave a small laugh. “So the answer is yes?” She bent forward and kissed his lips.

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. I will marry you and be the happiest woman in the world.” Bertie brought around his good arm and pulled her close. He claimed the kiss that he had been dreaming of and he knew that Badger Timkins was grinning like a madman. He didn’t care. The kiss ended and Caroline checked the wound again. “The bleeding has stopped,” she said.

  “You can turn around now, Badger,” Bertie said and realised that he felt stronger than before. “I know you are having a really good laugh but you can prepare yourself to be best man at the forthcoming festivities. “Congratulations to both of you,” Badger said. “I accept the best man invitation.” The carriage turned into the gates of Bertie’s stately pile and the two riders had gone ahead to prepare the servants to receive the wounded warrior. Bertie said he could walk and did go into his house on his own legs but aided by Badger and his butler. Aunt Agatha was fluttering in the background and frowned when she saw Caroline. “This is your fault, you silly girl,” the older woman said, but it stopped Bertie in his tracks. He turned to the whole group of people. “This is the fault of ignorant people who are nasty to others. You included, Aunt Agatha.” He looked around. “Miss Carstairs has agreed to marry me.” There was a gasp and some of the servant girls clapped their hands. “We will wed and pull this place into the modern world.” He held out his hand and Caroline ran to take it. The butler said, “Let me be the first to say congratulations, My Lord.” And Bertie thanked him as the staff gave a little cheer. “Let’s get you to a bed and clean this wound,” the butler finished and took over operations much to Badger’s relief.

  It seemed that the bullet had gone straight through the top of the shoulder and although there were two wounds, it was not as bad as the blood would let you think. Warm water and gentle washing revealed a clean wound. Wrapped in clean bandages and a soft jacket pulled into place, Bertie felt human again and held out his hand for Caroline to come and sit beside him.

  “Thank you for riding to my rescue,” she said. “You were truly a knight in shining armour.”

  “And I claim the hand of the maiden in distress.” He grinned at her. “We will do that waltz at the wedding and nobody will be brave enough to complain.”

  “My cousin will be delighted. He will be able to teach Arabella how to waltz as well,” his bride to be added, and he drew her towards him for the kiss that took them both into another realm entirely where time stood still.

  “Happy ever after, Caroline, Lady Haverbrook. Happy ever after,” he murmured into her hair. She nestled against him and smiled.

  The Duke of Fire, the Lady of Lust

  Up until a week ago, my main concern was the village fare and making sure Mother and I baked the best cake. Now, what has this silly life gone and set upon me now? Lady Katherine Ellsworth looked down at her hands as she sat in the guest room in Highwall Castle, the Castle of the Duke of Highset, and her late cousin’s betrothed. Elizabeth had adored the Duke, for as long as she could tell. And she had been excited about the marriage. But now all that was over, because some madman had decided to murder her. Katherine shivered, as she remembered when the madman had come for her.

  She had been walking through the Somerset moors, a fine August breeze caressing her sweat-specked neck, the flowers blooming in stark sunlight, when a dirt-covered, mad-eyed man had emerged from a nearby bush, saber in hand. “Your sister screamed,” he said casually, as he approached her. “Won’t you scream, my lady?”

  “Who are you?” Katherine said, facing his square-on. Don’t let this man frighten you, she told herself. These kinds of men thrive on frightening women. “Why do you want to harm me? Why did you harm my cousin, Elizabeth? You are the same man, are you not?”

  “I’m the same man, alright,” he grunted. “If you have any last words, you better speak them now.”

  Katherine carried the cane Father had given her everywhere she went. She had always been a boyish kind of girl, in the respect that physical exertion excited her greatly; and rolling around in the mud with the village boys was her idea of fun. Cousin Elizabeth had scowled and sat with her pretty head held high whilst Katherine wrestled, being careful never to let Mother see. But when Father discovered? He gave her this cane: a cane that had a dangerous secret; a cane she had practiced with for hours.

  “Come closer, then,” Katherine said, voice steady. “Come closer, sir, and finish what you started.”

  “You’re a mad wench, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Apparently so,” Katherine replied.

  The man took a step toward her. Katherine whipped the rapier from the cane and lashed out at him, screaming wildly. “Back!” she cried. “Back, now, I tell you!” She waved the rapier toward him, zigzagging it in the air, spinning and forcing him backwards.

  “Ah!” he cried, jumping. His eyes widened in surprise and he skirted around the edge of her. “You’re nothing at all like your cousin,” he went on, almost sounding like he admired that. “But I’ll get you. That little thing isn’t going to stop me. Come on, now. I can make it quick for you. If you keep fighting like this, I might decide to have some fun.”

  Katherine pointed the rapier and waited for him to advance. The man tilted his head and leapt forward. Katherine threw herself upon the earth, his sword barely inches from her face. She turned onto her back, but he was already there. He stepped on her wrist. She wailed out in agony: shards of pain shooting up her arm. He leveled the sword at her face.

  “Now,” he said. “Let us—”

  Four farmers came over the hill, saw them, and charged towards the man.

  “Hell,” the man grunted, climbing from her. “This isn’t over, my lady.”

  He sprinted into the woods, the farmers in pursuit. They returned half an hour later, having lost him. When Katherine returned home and told Mother what had happened, Mother insisted that they seek shelter. Mother was going to stay with her brother in the north. Katherine decided to seek shelter with her cousin’s betrothed, the Duke. He had made name for himself in France. People called him “the Duke of Fire”. If she was going to be safe with anybody, she reasoned, it was him.

  A knock at the door brought her back to the present. “Yes?” she said, rising.

  A maidservant walked in, a kind-faced girl of around twenty-one, if Katherine was any judge. “The Duke will see you now, my lady,” the girl said.

  “Thank you,” Katherine said.

  She had never met this Duke before, even though Elizabeth was engaged to be married to him. Elizabeth had thought it beneath her to come to the Ellsworth homestead, now that she was a Duke’s betrothed, and Katherine and Mother had never bothered to travel to the Castle. They had been due to go there for the wedding, until the madman wielding steel changed that.

  Katherine walked down the hallways of Highwall Castle to the parlor and the Duke of Fire.

  *****

  Harold Rockfall sat with a rigid back on a sofa, his hands resting upon his knees. He was a muscular man, with his muscles showing even through his military jacket. His britches were tight around his legs and showed marching muscles. His face was strong and square. His shaven jaw showed a strong, firm bone structure. His nose was Roman and predominate, but not ugly or distracting in the least. His hair was cropped close and a brown so light it was almost blonde. His eyes were a blue so pale they were almost clear. He rose when Katherine entered. “My lady,” he said.

  Almost immediately, Katherine noted his handsomeness. And almost immediately after that, she chastised herself. This was your cousin’s betrothed. Have some respect, Katherine. You will no
t dwell on this man’s appearance when he has returned to hunt his fiancé’s killer. “Duke,” Katherine said. “Thank you for having me.”

  “It is the least I could do,” the Duke said. “Please, sit.”

  They sat facing each other on chairs of purple-dyed cushion. Katherine rested her hands on her legs, and felt that hot tinge in between her legs that she sometimes felt at nighttime whilst touching herself. She tried to stop it, but it became stronger. The Duke really was very attractive.

  “I am shocked at what has happened,” the Duke said, his voice filled with rage. “That this scum would not only kill my betrothed, but attack her cousin too… It is disgusting.”

  “Yes,” Katherine said. “It was quite a shock.”

  “I am told you defended yourself quite well, though?”

  “I did my best,” Katherine said. “I have the rudiments of swordplay, but he was still able to beat me. If it were not for the farmers, he would have succeeded in taking my life.”

  “I need you to describe the attacker to me,” the Duke said. “I want to hunt him down and see him hang for what he has done.”

  Katherine thought back. “He was a vile, dirty man. I believe his eyes were dark brown. His features are hard to recall. They were caked in dirt, you see. His accent was that of a Londoner, I believe, though I am by no means overly acquainted with London. He was an inch or so taller than me.”

  “A short man, then,” the Duke muttered. “A short Londoner with dark brown eyes. This narrows it down. Anything else?”

  “He wielded a saber of the finest steel,” Katherine said. “I cannot speak to its quality from a professional standpoint – what would I know about weaponry – but I can say it looked strong and sturdy, an incongruous weapon when the man is considered.”

  “Perhaps he stole it,” the Duke said. “Anything else, Lady Ellsworth?”

  “Please, Duke, call me Katherine.”

  “Very well. You may call me Harry.”

  Katherine felt her heartbeat quicken at that. This Harry was nothing like the men she had been with before, the trysts with the farmer’s sons and the annual meeting with the blacksmith who visited the village. No, this Harry was a strong, warring man. He had seen real danger. She could see it in his eyes, which swam with past excitements and brutalities. She felt the urge again, and had to remind herself that it was neither the time nor the place for these kinds of feelings.

  “I cannot recall anything else,” Katherine said. “But I will think further on it. And if I remember anything I will tell you.”

  “Thank you,” Harry said. “You will be safe here. There are guards posted around the grounds. One man will not get in here. If he’s stupid enough to try, we’ll kill him quickly enough.”

  He rose and made for the door.

  “You are leaving?” Katherine asked.

  “I have letters I must send,” Harry said, “concerning France.”

  “I get so bored in that room by myself,” Katherine said. What are you doing? What are you playing at, Katherine, you naughty girl? “Do you think we could take a walk together on the grounds, when your letters are sent?”

  Harry looked at her as though he was seeing her for the first time: seeing her forest-green eyes, her slender neck, her thin arms, her perky breasts and her fine legs; seeing the mischievous smile that constantly toyed around her lips. “I don’t see why not,” Harry said. “As long as we stay on the Castle grounds. I will send for you when I am finished.”

  “I will await it eagerly, Harry,” Katherine said, rising.

  The Duke left the room and Katherine followed, but headed in the other direction toward her bedroom. When she was alone, she sat at the desk and stared down at the novel she had been reading. It was trite, sentimental nonsense but she adored it all the same: lords and ladies meeting secretly in moonlit groves; ladies with impossible beauty dancing in the forest with kings; princes and princesses caught in intrigue and lies.

  She lay on her bed and closed her eyes. The Duke appeared in her mind’s eye. She tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. She knew that her thoughts were wrong. She knew it was un-ladylike in the extreme and if anybody were to find out she would be in the middle of quite the scandal. But why should she live in a world of abstinence when men got to do as they pleased, ruining women and then riding off into the sunset? No, Katherine Ellsworth didn’t think that was fair at all.

  But she was beginning to see something. Her lovemaking up until this point had been pitiful. The men she had rutted with were not even close to the Duke of Fire. You are a devil! an inner-voice cried, the voice of hundreds of years of oppression and nonsense. You are a devil! You are supposed to be a flower, waiting to be plucked! You are supposed to be a dainty thing, to be blown away in the breeze of love! You are supposed to be honorable above all!

  “Yes,” Katherine muttered. “But what would be the fun in that?”

  *****

  The Duke did not send for her that night. Katherine was starting to think he had either forgotten about their arrangement or had changed his mind when, the next morning, the maidservant knocked on her door. “The Duke would like to know if you would join him for breakfast, my lady.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Katherine said.

  She dressed in a gown of red lace with a fur collar, neglecting to put on gloves, and knowing but not caring that when she raised her arms her dress showed her ankles. She joined Harry in the breakfast room and thanked him when he pulled her chair out for her. They sat in silence as the breakfast was served – bread and lemon cakes – and then Harry dismissed the servants.

  “I thought you might not send for me,” Katherine said.

  “I was busy,” Harry said. “I decided to write to London with a description of this man, to see if anybody there has any clue of who he may be. I also wrote to several village councils, to warn them of this madman.”

  “That was very good of you,” Katherine said, looking over the top of her cup at his hulking, muscular shoulders.

  “You are different from other ladies, Katherine,” Harry muttered at length.

  “Is that so?” Katherine said.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “You are not like your cousin at all. She would still be shaking from her confrontation with the madman. She would not be able to sit here and converse on the subject with complete calm. But you seem barely affected. Was it not frightening?”

  “Would you like me to tremble?” Katherine said, with a sly smile. “Would that please you?”

  Katherine was satisfied to see him blush. “Of course not,” he said. He murmured under his breath: “Give me a battle, and I am an expert. Show me a woman, and I am a fool.”

  “Pardon?” Katherine said, feigning not to hear.

  “Nothing,” Harry said. “Did you love your cousin very much?”

  “I barely knew her,” Katherine said truthfully. “I met her, I think, four times. She never liked me when we were children. She disliked the way I played with the other children, insisting that I was dishonoring myself. As we grew older, we became more and more different. Elizabeth was not unlike a flower. Father, before he died, often said that. Elizabeth is a rose, Katherine; you are the thorns. He meant it as a compliment, you see. Father is the one who gave me the cane-sword.”

  “Quite unlike any woman I have met,” the Duke said. “Katherine, let’s take that walk now.”

  “As you wish,” Katherine said, rising.

  He led them through the Castle to huge glass doors that opened upon a stretch of green that led to a small wood. In the distance, on the outskirts of the grounds, Katherine could see guards with their backs to the Castle. “Shall we go to the woods?” Katherine said.

  “If you like,” Harry said easily.

  They walked in silence and made their way deeper and deeper into the woods until they came to an outcropping of rocks. Katherine ran over to them and sat down, breathing with excitement. The Duke followed; a bemused smile upon his lips. “You are a
wild woman,” he said, not unkindly. “You are quite at home in the woods, are you not?”

  “Very much so,” Katherine said, looking up at him. He was leaning over her, his body blocking the sunlight. “I find my true nature can be free in the woods. When I am in company, Mother is constantly telling me to be more ladylike. But I just tell her that Father did not have a problem with it, and she won’t say anything bad about Father.”

  “Katherine — your legs.”

  Katherine looked down at her dress. The way she had sat and caused it to hike up to her knees, showing her calves. She was about to pull her dress down when a crazy idea took hold of her: a warm, mad, beautiful idea. She pretended to lean down and adjust it, and then she placed her hands on her calves and squeezed, compressing the flesh. She looked up and saw that Harry’s gaze was fixed upon her, his pale blue eyes wide open and hungry.

  “Does this bother you?” Katherine said, rubbing her thighs, palming the flesh. “Does this bother you, Duke?”

  “It is inappropriate,” the Duke breathed, but his voice was weak. “I want to touch them,” he went on, as though he was surprised at what he was saying. “I will touch them.”

  Then, in a fit of animalistic passion, he fell to his knees and gripped her calves with his strong hands. She let out a small squeal as he pulled her calves toward him, causing her whole body to fall forward. He fell backward, and she kept toppling forward until she was sitting atop him. She could feel his manhood through his britches: huge and hard.

  “Katherine…” he breathed.

  “We can do it like this,” Katherine said, his manhood pressing hard into her, making her hot and wet. “It is not wrong if we do it like this. You see?” She started to shift her waist, gyrating atop him, moving her womanhood up and down his manhood through his britches. He moaned and she moaned with him.