by Stacy Reid
Alexander’s heart skipped a beat…then another.
“It is so wild and beautiful. And windy.” She patted her bonnet to ensure it was still in place.
He didn’t have the heart to point out that it sat askew atop her head, and a wild array of curls had tumbled to her shoulder, and lovely wisps caressed her cheeks. She looked delightfully mussed and improper.
“I can understand why you prefer this wide-open space to London. Oh, look at the birds,” she gasped, pointing to a flock of starlings that seemed to dance in perfect harmony against the skyline painted in shades of lavender and gray.
“So, we are bird watching,” he mused.
She laughed, and the infectious sound wreaked havoc with his heart. “And also land watching. And the sky. Look at the clouds. I swore I saw a monk just now playing the harp.”
He glanced up. A gust of wind scattered the clouds and reshaped them. “I see clouds.”
“Alexander,” she cried in mock horror. “Where is your imagination? Look now, do you see the man and woman dancing? I daresay it is the waltz, too.”
He peered up and made a noncommittal sound.
“Did you not create entire stories watching the clouds as a child?” she asked wistfully. “I did that with Papa often. He taught me the beauty of imagination and to see possibilities of an adventure in almost every situation.”
“He sounds admirable. My mother would have liked him.”
“She would have?”
“My mother also saw adventure in the clouds and the stars. My father once told me he fell in love with her because of her spirit for the whimsy,” he said gruffly.
Kitty grinned, apparently delighted by that tidbit. “It was a love match?”
Alexander looked out across the valley. “He said he saw her at a ball, stepped on her toes in the crush, and she laughed. He said he knew then he would marry her.”
“How lovely,” she said with a soft sigh. “My mamma and papa were childhood friends, their estates abutting each other. Papa said he knew at the age of twelve that Mamma would be his wife. Mamma, who was ten years at the time, said she also knew—and she wonders why her daughters are incurable romantics.”
A large bird swooped low and perched on the branch right above their heads. Katherine grabbed his arm excitedly. “Oh, look at those glorious feathers!”
They watched the bird in silence until, with a flap of its wings, it flew away, soaring toward the clouds.
“I’ve been thinking,” she murmured.
“What beautiful mischief is churning in that mind of yours?”
She bounced him with her shoulder playfully, then delicately cleared her throat. “Our charade cannot be forever…your interest ensnared endlessly.”
He wanted to refute her claim, truly unable to imagine a moment where she would not captivate him. She was clever, resourceful, impudent, and just so damn lovely.
“I owe you an astronomical sum of money, and I—”
“You owe me nothing,” he said gruffly. “The amount to let the town house is a pittance.”
“Still, once our engagement ends, I cannot importune on your generosity further.”
“And do you suppose it shall end soon, Miss Danvers?”
She sent him a sidelong glance. “I would ask the same of you, Your Grace. My expectations have been upended. I am not locked away in a tower like a heroine in a gothic novel despairing for my virtue while hatching desperate plans to escape the wicked, wicked man who whisked me away from the comforts of my family.”
She was laughing at him.
He grazed the softness of her cheek with the back of his hand. “Do you want me to act the ravaging beast, Katherine?”
Her pulse visibly leaped at her throat.
“You do know I cannot stay here much longer,” she whispered. “I was thinking you could come to London. We could go to the theater. The gardens. Even the museum. Wouldn’t that be fun? And we are engaged, so there should be little to no speculation.”
Her eyes sparkled with unspoken promises, and he did not have it in him to be cynical. Instead, he drifted closer to her on the branch, surrounding her with his bulk and thinking for a moment that such promises could be real.
“Do you imagine you could live here and be happy?”
There lingered a teasing pout to her lush lips. “An extremely dangerous question, Your Grace. It implies you plan to keep me captive forever.”
Before he could answer, she tipped onto her toes, leaned in, and kissed his brow. Truly her impudence could startle him no longer. She continued her ministrations by tenderly kissing the bridge of his nose and finally, his mouth. The softest of brushes, yet it reached down into his cold, lonely heart and filled it with astonishing warmth and a lightness he had never felt before.
Refusing to deny himself in this moment, he cupped her cheek with his free hand, dipped his head, and took her mouth, softly and tenderly at first, then wild and rough. Her mouth was a living flame beneath his—passionate, sweet, and irresistible.
Then it was over before it truly began. He pulled away slightly and waited for her to say something, anything, but she only stared across the wild beauty of the land. Yet her lips remained curved in a secretive smile. Awestruck by the beauty and power of her smile, he simply stared, but at her, not at the scenery before them.
They did not mention the kiss, but she watched the clouds alive with the birds and the lands that he owned. Disembarking had been tricky, but he made it down without much mishap, though he had barely resisted the urge to groan aloud as his muscles absorbed the shock of his descent. Once on the ground, they had reposed on the blanket and drunk the entire bottle of wine and ate the delicious rum cake. Alexander had even suspected his Katherine might have been a bit foxed. He had stupidly made snow angels without snow at her delighted insistence, and grass was everywhere on his body and in his hair.
They had argued more over the shapes in the clouds and had debated the merits of a headless horseman being real and how he could be a champion of the underclass of London. After a while he had wondered if he, too, was foxed, since their conversations were unlike any he’d ever had before. They had spoken at length of the orphans of England and the motions he would have his supporters take to parliament in its next session.
More than an hour had passed. A chill permeated the air, and a lavender cast blanketed the sky as twilight approached. Yet they did not make any effort to retreat inside the castle walls. Nor was Alexander startled when Hoyt appeared with two very warm blankets, cushions, and a lit lantern. The man had set them down without a word and melted away discreetly. Katherine had laughed in happy bemusement and had hurriedly swaddled herself in a blanket after wrapping one about his shoulders.
Now he sat with his back against the tree’s trunk, one leg drawn up and the other stretched out, his thigh acting as a pillow for Katherine. Upon his leg, her head rested as she read the gothic and surprisingly engaging story of The Murderous Monk.
His heart started beating again, if unevenly. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed the dreams to burrow a little deeper under the hardened icy surface.
Chapter Seventeen
The day after Kitty’s magical adventure in the tree with the duke, she wrote to her mamma, informing her of plans to extend her fictitious visit to her aunt in Derbyshire for another week.
Outrageous, absurd even, but she had followed the impulse and requested her letter to be delivered posthaste. Since then, another few days passed charmingly yet had been fraught with an unknown peril. An odd sort of tension existed between her and the duke whenever they crossed paths or dined with his family. He’d rarely allowed them to be alone, and she had not noticed before, too uncertain of the strange feelings he inspired.
Kitty laughed at the idiocy of it all, though she sobered immediately.
Why won’t you be alone
with me, Alexander? And why am I not finding every reasonable excuse to run far away from you and this situation?
She knew she should be in London with her sisters. That old refrain only made her sigh with impatience. Kitty was both baffled and intrigued by the manner in which her mind and heart regularly turned to the dratted man. All the buried hopes had been stirred up, and Kitty was never one to shy away from her impossible and daring dreams or escapades.
With a sigh, she closed the book she’d been reading, lowered it to the small writing desk, and made her way across to the wide windows of her room. She stepped closer, pressing her palm against the cool glass as she spied Alexander seated in a rowing boat, gently floating atop the lake. As she stood watching the duke, a most astonishing truth became evident to Kitty. The duke was indeed afraid to be alone with her. Is it because you like me, too, Alexander? For she had not tried harder to leave his castle simply because she felt with her entire heart a connection of unprecedented proportions lingered between them.
A flash of green caught her attention, and she shifted her regard from the duke. Mr. Collins ambled across the lawns with a posy of flowers in his grip. He would bring them to her as he did each day, and they would take a walk along the lake, where he would make her laugh with amusing anecdotes of his travels. No anticipation shivered through her at the prospect of taking a stroll with Mr. Collins, though he was so very amiable and attentive.
Was Mr. Collins courting her? Merciful heavens. The idea seemed too outlandish. The man thought her to be Alexander’s fiancée.
Unless he knew the truth?
Yesterday, on a short stroll through the gardens, he had suggested calling upon her in town to meet her mother and sisters. She hadn’t had the chance to answer, sensing someone watched them. It had been Alexander, on top of the hill overlooking the gardens. When she noticed him, he’d merely turned his chair away and wheeled himself from her sight. She had made a cake of herself by grabbing the folds of her skirts and hurrying up the slight incline in his direction. By the time she’d arrived at the summit, Alexander had disappeared from view, leaving her to wonder where he’d gone.
Mr. Collins had seemed decidedly disgruntled by her actions, but he’d made no comment. Kitty moved from the windows, plucked the book from the writing desk, and slipped it into the deep pocket of her day gown. She made her way from the chamber down the long hallway and winding staircase. Mr. Collins smiled upon seeing her.
“Miss Danvers, good afternoon. Might you accompany me on a stroll?”
“Mr. Collins,” she said warmly, accepting the flowers he held to her. “Thank you for the invitation, but regrettably I have other plans. Perhaps after dinner, we could take a turn through the gardens? With Penny accompanying us, of course.”
He masked his disappointment quite gallantly and even made a charming bow. Kitty excused herself, placed the flowers in a vase, and rested them on the walnut table in the smaller drawing room. Then she made her way outside, walking along the path that led to the lake in the distance.
“Miss Danvers!”
The call had her turning around. “Mr. Collins, is all well?”
He reached her, panting slightly, his hair no longer impeccably styled, as if he had repeatedly raked his fingers through it. “It is,” he said with a smile. “I suspect you will visit Alexander, and I thought I might accompany you on the stroll to the lake.”
She hesitated, then replied, “I would like that, Mr. Collins.”
Kitty ambled beside him for a few paces and shot him a curious glance when his steps slowed before halting. As she’d suspected, there was more in this than merely keeping her company. “Do you wish to speak with me, Mr. Collins?”
He grimaced, staring off in the distance before settling his regards on her face.
“I suspect you are in love with the duke. On our long walks, I could feel that your mind was with him…and yesterday, the way you ran after him…”
Kitty flushed in abject mortification. “I admire and like him, yet I believe there is a difference,” Kitty said softly, glancing at him with a proud tilt to her chin.
He was silent for a moment, staring into her eyes. “He’s the loneliest man I’ve ever known. He needs love to ward off that loneliness. Yet he does not accept comfort willingly or readily. I suspect, though, he would give away his entire wealth if you were the person to offer it.”
“How absurd you should think so!” Yet her heart pounded with desperate hope, and from the smile on Mr. Collins’s face, he might have seen it in her eyes.
“I suspect you are aware of the terrible tragedy that took so much from Alexander years ago. For a time, he was an angry beast, snarling and hating the world for the loss of his parents and his inability to be the man he once was. Society did not call him mad, bad, and dangerous for sport. I daresay he was reckless and intemperate, young, and foolish in his pursuits: gambling, racing, I assume you know there were Cyprians. Alexander was well loved and respected. He has lived with pain, horrible pain as he fought to recover.”
Mr. Collins shifted his attention to the lake. “Years later and he is still not physically able to do many of the things he once did, and I suspect part of him relives that loss every day. It is hard for me…for Penny, for all those who care for him to touch that loss and offer comfort because, for all intents and purposes, we are still perfectly fashioned. And the most interesting thing about my cousin, Miss Danvers, is that he does not require that comfort from us.”
“What do you want him to share?”
Mr. Collins raked his fingers through his hair, mussing the once neat style. “Anything! He does not tell us he is lonely or unhappy, but we see it. He has eschewed all form of female companionship, and…” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Pardon my indelicacy, Miss Danvers. I will see you at dinner.”
Then he walked away, and she watched him until he disappeared from sight. What did Mr. Collins want from her? And not only him but Penny as well. Even the staff seemed to watch Kitty with an unexplained air of expectancy.
She continued her walk to the lake, and once there, she lingered by the bank, watching the duke rowing lazily atop the waters. Kitty was afforded an opportunity to study him at her leisure and couldn’t help noting how alone he seemed. Surely there must be some connection, she mused, for he paused, seemingly took a steadying breath, and then shifted his regard to her.
She lifted her hand in a wave, and from where Kitty stood, she saw a small curve to his lips.
Relief darted through her when he used the oars and turned the boat toward her. He stopped only a few feet from her, the muscles of his arms working as he angled the boat so the bow gently tapped the banking. Then he released the oars, resting his arms casually atop his thighs, and stared at her.
His cerulean blue eyes were so empty and distant, her heart ached. Kitty did not flinch from his regard but held it with a lift to her chin. “Have you been ignoring me, Your Grace?”
“Good afternoon, Katherine,” he finally said.
“Ah…so no walls up today. I anticipated ‘Miss Danvers’ from your lips.”
His eyes lost their cold, rather cynical expression, warming with humor…and desire.
She was surely too practical, and had too much common sense, to be beguiled by a smile, yet her heart fluttered madly at the sensual curve of his mouth. A sweet twisting ache stirred in her belly, and her heart quickened. “Would you like some company in your boat? I have a book,” she offered impulsively.
“Yes.”
Kitty would have been considerably disappointed if he’d refused.
Alexander stood, rocking the boat, and held out his hand. With caution, she stepped forward and reached for him.
“Jump,” he said, his eyes alight with amusement.
Kitty glanced at the space between the boat and the embankment with a scowl. “And if I should fall in?”
�
��I’ll not allow it.”
And without hesitation, she jumped, trusting him to help her safely into the boat, which rocked far too precariously when she landed. With a soft grunt, he steadied her, then assisted her in sitting down on the thwart. His touch muddied her thoughts and made her warm all over. “Do you row often?” she asked, a bit too breathlessly.
“There are times the walls of the castle feel…cold and oppressing, when the memories torment,” he said mildly.
“And you come here…” She glanced around at the wide-open waters, the graceful weeping willow trees in the distance.
“And I come here.”
He sat directly in front of her, collected the oars, and started to row. They stayed like that, in this silence that felt so peaceful. Kitty lifted her face to where the rays of the sun valiantly attempted to peek through swollen clouds. After a while, she withdrew the small leather book from her pocket and decided to start from the beginning, in the event he’d not read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow before.
She started reading, changing her voice at times to reflect the different characters who appeared in the story. Several minutes passed before she paused, glancing up. The duke was staring at her. A ripple of warmth shivered through Kitty’s heart at the tender regard in his gaze.
“You read beautifully,” he murmured.
“Thank you. I do so often for my sisters and mother. And Papa, too, when…when he was alive.” She cleared her throat. “Shall I continue?”
“Please,” he murmured, pushing the oars forward, then clawing them back with powerful grace. The muscles rippling under his shirt quickened her pulse alarmingly, and she looked away, hating the blush rising in her cheeks.
She read, and he rowed, his face slightly tipped to the warmth and beauty of the sun.
Kitty peeked at him over the pages at times, wanting to be a part of the peace he seemed to exude. The scarred section of his face seemed to pull taut over the elegant ridge of his cheekbone, and in the midst of it, an icy radiance appeared to emit from the duke. How odd that he found such enjoyment in loneliness. Or was it that he was too enmeshed with the state?
