Page 10 of A Duke for Opal (The Carmichael Saga #2)

S plendid.

She’d attributed his efforts this day at chasing off Savage as a pissing contest between Strathearn and the handsome, dark, raffish lord.

It’d be far better and safer to believe that lie. Particularly seeing as how the truth couldn’t be explained—not for her and not for himself. Hell, how could he, when Strathearn himself couldn’t make sense of the cloying, unreasoning jealousy about the proud, spirited Lady Opal?

With her regal back and proud shoulders presented to him, Locke peered intently at the long-silent lady. She’d always been so very garrulous. No more.

He took in the whipcord tautness of her proud frame; with her spine so painfully erect, it would take but another harsh gust of wind to snap. Opal possessed all the gravity of a grown woman.

She’s no longer a girl…

Of its own volition, Strathearn’s gaze slipped over her exquisite form. Somewhere along the way, she’d not only become a ravishing woman, she’d changed .

Oh, her laughter still rang with unabashed joy and filled her glittering blue eyes. The smile she wore, as real as royalty.

But… her smile, came less frequently.

As a duke, he’d met in his life, only, and every, manner of false merriment: flirtatious smiles. Coy ones. Practiced giggles. Brittle laughter. From the moment Opal had come waltzing into Grimoire’s circulating room and Strathearn’s life, he’d marveled at the unrestrained way in which she went through life.

He’d never known such purity and good could exist, until her.

Somewhere, along the way, when he’d not been around to see it, time, as it invariably did all people, robbed Opal of her incorruptible blitheness.

No, time itself didn’t account for a person’s stoicism.

Strathearn’s frown deepened.

Life and life alone accounted for withered happiness.

In the distance, there came an echo of children’s giggles and laughter, a stark, painful reminder of Opal’s transformation, and also an unwanted reminder there were others in this heavy forest.

Grim for reasons that no longer had a thing to do with Savage or whoever the hell her Mystery Love was, Strathearn ventured closer.

“I’ve angered you,” he quietly remarked.

Opal spun.

Her eyelids flickered rapidly. “Locke,” she said like she’d only just recalled his presence.

Strathearn raised an eyebrow.

The solemn beauty gave a brief, clearing shake of her head. “No,” she said softly. “How could I be angry with you, Locke?”

He’d never been that way with her. But now, Strathearn found himself remarkably at sea and fell back on his rakish ways. “Easy,” he flashed a slow, seductive, smile. “I’m a bastard with countless blackmarks against me.”

Her somber gaze grew impossibly sadder.

So much for a rogue’s humor. Given the sorrow surrounding Opal’s question, Strathearn may as well have dealt her, and not himself, that disparagement.

“Why would you say th-that, Locke?”

“Because it is true, Opal.” With a grunt, he focused on that tell-tale shiver in the lady’s voice. “You’re freezing.”

Before he realized what he intended to do, it was too late; he’d already drawn Opal against him. Then, folding his arms around her delicate frame, he began to rub his palms in small circles over the narrow expanse of her back to bring the lady warmth, and tried not to think of how bloody good she felt in his arms.

The way Opal rested her cheek upon his chest, he felt the moment she angled her head, and tensed.

“You truly believe that,” she said softly. “You do not see how good a man you really are.”

What he’d been foolish to believe was that she’d not press him further.

“You are blinded by my friendship to Grimoire,” he drawled. “I really am a bastard.”

“You are no such thing.”

Unnerved by the vehemence in her voice and the intensity of her unwavering stare, Strathearn set Opal away from him.

“I’m a Renwick, love.”

She leveled a sharp gaze on Strathearn, one that cut right through him. “ And ?”

More fatigued than angered by her unwarranted display of loyalty, he sighed.

“Opal,” Strathearn spoke to her in the same way he did when she’d been a child. “Renwicks, we are a horrid lot of dissolute lords. We’re hellraisers, whose greatest credit to the name is our skills in seduction, good fortune at gaming tables, and an ability to charm, but only for self-serving means and ends.”

“You’re speaking about your father.”

His skin pricked at the feel of her all-too-astute gaze on him.

“No,” he said flatly. “I’m speaking about my father, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, all the way back to the first debauched duke and ending with yours truly.”

Around them, the wind gusted sending fallen flakes of snow back into the air where those flecks sprinkled the earth for a second time. “Come,” he said gruffly, catching her lightly by the arm. “It is co—”

“You think you are the same as your father.” Opal rested her hands on his chest, covering that place where his heart beat and now raced from nothing more than her innocent touch. Lust fired through him.

His jaw tightened. Dreaming of bedding his best friend’s virginal sister-in-law. As if any other proof were needed of his licentiousness than that.

“Do you believe I am the same as my father?” Opal quietly asked, so evenly she couldn’t begin to fathom the caddish thoughts racing in his head.

Strathearn let a sardonic smirk play across his lips. “There’s not a bit of his icy ugliness in so much as an inch of your entire being, and you know it.”

“Yes!” Opal went up on tiptoes and surged closer. “Precisely, and yet you insist you are the same because of the one who sired you.”

The entrancing minx spoke with all the earnestness only an innocent could.

“No, Opal. The difference being: you do nothing and behave in no way like your bastard of a father. While I?” His mouth twisted in a mocking smile. “I’m very much my father’s son.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Have you read of my pursuits in the papers?”

Silence met his question.

Strathearn didn’t let up. “Ah,” he purred. “You have.”

The color of her already red cheeks deepened in a telling blush that served as all the answer he needed.

He walked a slow, predatory circle about the suddenly silent Lady Opal.

“Have you doubted their veracity?” he asked silkily.

Opal dipped the tip of her pink tongue out and traced it along the seam of her heavy lips.

A fresh surge of blood sent his already impressive cock-stand rising to painful heights as he imagined teaching an innocent but spirited Opal how to take him in her mouth and showing her the way he loved. She’d be a masterful student.

His breathing increased.

“Hmm?” he taunted Opal and her newfound reticence.

At last, she found her voice. “I don’t know if they are true,” she said gravely. “I just know who you are.”

Strathearn chuckled. “And you believe the two can be separated?” He shook his head wryly. “Perhaps it is easier for you to justify your friendship with me, Lady Opal. Because I’ve been kindly to you and your family through the years, you allow yourself to shut out the manner of man I really am.”

She lifted her chin in bold defiance.

“But then,” he scraped his rake’s assessing gaze up and down her body, “maybe with the favor you’ve put to me this week, love, I no longer have to hide my true self from you. If I admit that I’ll eagerly seduce and bed unhappily married women and actresses, and really, any woman who tempts me, will that disabuse you of the high opinion you hold?”

Opal went as white as the snow around them.

Good. Let her know who she’s really dealing with. Shatter her starry-eyed illusions.

Why then, when in doing so, did feel like he was driving rusted blades into his own heart and twisting them?

“What of happily married women, Locke?” Opal spoke in a voice so soft, another gust of wind and the distant echo of a lively snowball fight nearly drowned out the question.

Nearly.

His muscles went taut.

Their eyes met and held; with his unyielding gaze, he dared her to look away.

Sweat slicked his palm.

“I know what you’re doing, love,” he gibed.

“And what exactly is that, Locke?”

“You’re trying to find decency in me because you need to see it to justify being associated with an unscrupulous scoundrel like your father.”

Opal sucked a breath in and recoiled.

Good! Now, she’d finally see him for who he truly was.

Strathearn took her again by her arm, this time, harder. “Why do you think I agreed to help you with your ridiculous plan to seduce some other chap?”

Wide-eyed, Opal shook her head.

Clutching her tightly, he reeled her closer. “You came to me as a friend to help you,” he taunted. “Your dear brother-in-law’s loyal, reliable best friend who’d never deny you anything.”

Strathearn steeled himself against the fear and misery that spilled from the glorious depths of her eyes.

“Do you happen to know who else I’d never deny anything?” he purred. “ Myself .”

Strathearn wasn’t done with her.

“The truth is, Opal,” leaning down, he pressed his cheek against hers and whispered into her ear, “the only real reason I agreed to help you is because I want to make love to you.” Liar . You bloody care about her and her happiness.

Her body trembled against his.

Shutting out the irritating voices in his head, Strathearn spun her quickly and drew her tight against him, so even, through the protective layer of garments between them, she could feel the rigid length of his shaft.

She whimpered—with horror…

His brows flared.

Or desire?

“Feel this, love?” he jeered. When she didn’t say anything, like the rogue he was, he rocked his erection against her flat belly. “This is what drives me always—lust.” His voice grew ragged. “My body responds to you the same as it would any other woman.” He lied a second time this day.

Pain flashed in Opal’s eyes and another blade struck his blackhearted chest.

Strathearn forced himself to keep on shattering every last illusion she wrongly carried about him.

“You asked me to teach you the art of seduction.” Desire leant a rough edge to his whisper.

He continued rubbing his manhood over her stomach.

Opal moaned.

Strathearn glanced down and his already strained lungs constricted.

Opal looked upon him with desire-laden eyes.

Any other virtuous lady would have run away wailing.

But then, Opal hadn’t ever been like anyone he’d ever known.

“I did so for entirely selfish reasons, Opal.”

That much had been true. He’d wanted to determine which of his guests he needed to kill and that dark, rakish place down deep inside him that he hadn’t acknowledged until now demanded he be the first to taste of Opal Carmichael and tutor her.

“I did so because my loyalty to Grimoire requires that I not ruin you,” he rasped harshly. “But my love of self and my own desire takes precedent before all and demanded I sample you first.”

Their breathing both came deep and labored.

“Lady Opal!”

Savage’s booming voice filled the forest and came this time much closer.

But for the way her sooty eyelashes quivered, neither he nor Opal moved.

Then, as if in slow motion he hooded his gaze and lowered his mouth nearer hers, at the very same time Opal inched her neck back.

I have never wanted a woman more than I do her…

Somehow, with a restraint he didn’t believe himself capable of, he twisted his lips up into another mocking smile. “Go play with Savage, love. And when you do, remember which of the gentlemen here at this party in your honor is the real savage.” With that, he released her.

Opal stumbled and then caught herself. With horror stamped in her exquisite features, she backed away from Strathearn. Giving him one last look, she took off running toward the very gentleman whose direction Strathearn had sent her fleeing.

The moment she’d gone, he closed his eyes. God, he despised himself. It mattered not that he’d attempted to scare Opal away to keep her safe from him and the dishonorable imaginings tempting him to sin.

Every muscle in his body taut with strain, Strathearn coiled his hands into tight fists. To keep from calling Opal back, he rested his forehead against the jagged stone wall welcoming the pain as the ancient rocks bit sharply into his skin.

“There you are, Lady Opal.” Savage’s infuriatingly silky greeting penetrated the winter quiet and brought Strathearn’s eyes flying open.

Whatever Opal’s response, it emerged too quiet for Strathearn to hear.

Carefully, he edged his head just enough so he could peek at the couple.

Like two intimate lovers caught in their own winter paradise, the pair stood facing one another. Opal clasped the duke’s hands in hers and proceeded to steer Savage so he couldn’t see Strathearn, the seething foe who lurked amongst the ruins.

Or, maybe that’s what you are telling yourself. Maybe she’d linked her fingers with the other man’s because he was, in fact, the one whose heart she’d come to Strathearn’s own estate, to win.

Her cheeks radiated merry color and the lips Strathearn had moments ago brought to a frown, now slanted up in a winsome smile.

Discovery be damned, Strathearn stared openly at Opal with another gentleman.

Strathearn gritted his teeth so hard it was a wonder he didn’t give himself away to Savage. As enrapt as the rogue was with Opal, Strathearn suspected the earth could crack in two, and the bloody, besotted fellow still wouldn’t notice as long as she and he occupied the same sliver of ground.

Whatever Opal said brought the other duke into a full, sincere laugh.

But then, that was the effect the lady had on every person whose path she crossed.

Opal joined in so the couple’s mirth tangled and joined like the most harmonious symphony of sounds.

A bitter ache burned within Strathearn’s chest and something that felt dangerously close to envy coiled about his heart.

“…I’ll give us away,” the duke was saying. “The pair hunting us are ruthless. Come.” The consummate rogue used the opportunity to catch Opal’s hand in his. “You appear to have found us the ideal hiding place.”

Bloody hell.

Strathearn swiftly edged himself back into hiding.

“No!” Opal said, her voice slightly pitchy. “This way.”

He glanced out to find her tugging the dashing duke along, and the bloody bastard went all too gleefully.

Strathearn stared after Opal and Savage’s retreating forms until they vanished from view.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on breathing; otherwise, he’d go mad at the thought of Opal alone with the handsome, charming Duke of Savage.

Nothing about this visceral response to the thought and sight of her with another felt brotherly, nor did it come from any sense of obligation to watch after Grimoire’s sister-in-law. Nay, this was the black, unceasing jealousy all the greatest poets wrote of; the kind of sinister envy that robbed a man of logic and left him blind and battered.

Now it afflicted Strathearn in the worst possible way, for the last possible woman it ought.

Bloody hell.

This was bad.