Page 4 of A Duke for Opal (The Carmichael Saga #2)

“W here did I put it?” Strathearn muttered to himself, doing a sweep of the grounds. “Ah! There it is.”

Bemused, Opal watched on as Strathearn made a show of collecting and dusting off his satin top hat.

If she weren’t about to dissolve into a blubbering mess, she would have laughed at the zeal and attention he put into both his task and the obvious way in which he avoided her gaze.

She scowled. Why, she may as well be a flesh and blood Medusa.

Her insides twisted into painful knots.

But then, to Locke, you clearly are.

For a few, joyous, magical moments Opal had foolishly, optimistically, naively believed Strathearn had been as bespelled by her as she was by him.

She closed her eyes, recalling when he’d powerfully and possessively taken her hand in his. He’d stripped each finger free of the kidskin leather like he unwrapped a bowed, brightly wrapped Christmastide present, he knew and relished the contents of.

And then, he’d licked, kissed, and traced the lines upon her palm and wrist, and his kiss, his touch, his loving endearments were all she’d dreamed of and what sustained her during her miserable years at Le Innocence.

Be it her cruel, jeering father, or the devastatingly charming gentleman who owned her heart, she never had, and never would be, one to cower.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been sent away … a voice mockingly chided.

Thrusting aside those unhelpful lamentations, Opal reminded herself of one very important piece of information she should not and could not dismiss—Strathearn hadn’t recognized her and when he’d believed Opal to be a stranger, he’d desired her.

All her knowledge and understanding of passion may have come from the books that’d been the final bit of straw that’d led to her being sent away—books and the occasions when she’d caught Glain and Abaddon, locked in one another’s embrace. And Opal herself may have never been kissed, but the hot glint in Strathearn’s eyes and the hungry, mellifluous quality of his baritone as he’d whispered forbidden endearments to Opal, bespoke a man who’d hungered for her.

That was, until he’d realized her identity.

In fairness, despite his rogue’s reputation, Strathearn was first and foremost a gentleman. More than that, he was as loyal to Grimoire as any brother. Right now, he’d be silently flagellating himself for his and Opal’s exchange.

Sweet, all-powerful hope came to life within her being.

Just then, Strathearn took such a forceful swipe at the luxuriant, satin article and knocked it from his fingers.

Opal’s initial sadness vanished and amusement tugged her lips up at the corners.

Taking mercy on the flummoxed duke, she intercepted his efforts, retrieved the snow-dusted-once-more hat, and handed it over.

He grabbed it quickly from her hands and took an even quicker step away from her.

“Uh, yes, thank y-you.” Giving all his attention back to the article, Strathearn resumed his frantic cleaning.

“I’m fairly certain if you brush that brim anymore, Locke,” she drawled, “you’re going to take the sheen right off.”

Like a misbehaving boy startled by a stern tutor, and not one of the most powerful peers in the realm, Strathearn jerked his head up.

Bright crimson splotches suffused the sharp plains of his chiseled cheeks—color she’d wager a lifetime living at Le Innocence had far less to do with the cold and entirely everything to do with the fact he’d mistaken Opal for some French tart.

“Uh…yes.” Strathearn coughed into his hand. “Snow.”

The Duke-Glib-of-Tongue-Master-of-Words-Hearts-and-Souls had been reduced to one-word utterances.

Perhaps, the universe held more surprises and miracles in store, after all.

She cocked her head. “Uh…yes. It is snowing.”

“No,” he said on a rush. “That is, there’s snow on my hat.” Creases lined his high noble brow. “Or, there was.” Half-heartedly, he returned the object in question to its proper place, atop his dashingly unkempt, honey-blond hair.

Cocksure. Swaggering. Arrogant. They were all words that came to mind when she thought of Strathearn. This endearingly flustered side of him, she’d not only never seen, but never believed him capable of, either.

Opal took mercy on him. “Locke,” she said, gently. “It is fine.”

“Uh-yes. It is,” he noted, peering at his hat. “Quite cleaned it—”

She interrupted him. “I’m referring to our exchange earlier.”

The color in his cheeks heightened. “I don’t…I…”

“You clearly mistook me for someone else, Locke.”

He blanched.

“I won’t breathe a word to Abaddon or Glain or Flint or anyone else.”

The previously always unflappable Strathearn yanked and twisted at the fur lapels of his cloak. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” he croaked. “I was merely having fun—”

Opal slanted him a warning look. “Oh, was it?” she asked slyly. “If that’s the case—”

“It is!” he exclaimed.

“Then, perhaps you can discuss your idea of fun with Aba—”

Strathearn’s gaze grew frantic. “Won’t be necessary, Opal.” He stole a terrified glance about.

Her previous giddy joy died a quick death. Strathearn didn’t want to be here, any more than Opal in this moment, wanted him here.

Right now, with him horrified and frantically contemplating an escape, she wished he’d hurry up and go on and scurry off so she could give in to a good, much-needed cry. Her improbable goal of getting Strathearn to fall in love with her was always going to be a difficult task. The most difficult variable she’d not, however, allowed herself to factor in, was that Abaddon stood as an almost impassable barrier between she and Strathearn.

It bloody figures. He would. As if the universe needed to send me any other signs, reminders, and warnings that she and Strathearn would never align.

The contrary dunderhead.

“May I?” he murmured, motioning to the seat beside her.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she muttered, and by his pained expression, continued to say just how much he didn’t want to, either.

Ever the gentleman, he didn’t take that seat without permission.

Ever the rogue, he didn’t leave.

Instead, he dropped a gleaming black boot upon the bench and rested his weight across his knee.

She couldn’t bring herself to look him in those always sparkling, dark brown eyes. Lest she did and he saw all the pathetic, pitiful regret tearing away at her foolish heart.

Instead, she fixed her rapidly blinking stare on his gleaming black hessian, which proved just as costly to her senses, as she stared transfixed by his—of all things—muscular calves. Her mouth went dry and she tried to look away, but as if of their own volition, her eyes climbed the length of his long legs; athletic from riding and boxing and swimming.

It was the wrong thing to recall—the time she’d come upon him swimming at his ducal seat in Cambridge.

He’d allowed Opal and her family to use his properties as a place where they might meet with the duke’s consent. What other nobleman would have gone so out of his way for his friend, or for that matter, anyone?

Yet, he had.

Sad, that should matter the most to Opal, but didn’t.

Emotionally depleted, she drew her knees up and folded her arms about them.

“Care to talk about it?” he ventured, and he spoke with such a quiet, commanding ease, she almost forgot the sloppy situation which preceded it.

She shook her head.

“You’re certain I can’t join you, Opal?”

Opal.

She’d far preferred: minette. Mon amour.

“I’m certain as you’re a duke and these are your grounds, you are free to do whatever you w-want,” she said bitterly, her teeth beginning to chatter from the cold.

Locke straightened and clasped his arms at his broad back. His black cloak whipped angrily about his warrior-like legs. “Yes, primogeniture and patrimony does say that,” he said quietly, his focus out on the vast countryside, blanketed in white.

Locke moved his gaze to Opal. The searing intensity of his eyes robbed her of breath.

“I would not, however, force myself or my company on anyone—most especially not you.”

Most especially not me?

Her heart kicked up its cadence.

He cleared his throat. “Being Grimoire’s sister-in-law and all.”

Being Grimoire’s sister-in-law and all.

Of course.

Grudgingly, Opal nodded to the place beside her.

Unable to suppress a shaky, forlorn sigh, Opal buried the miserable expression in the folds of her wet skirts until her teeth clanked together so violently, she had to clench hard to keep from grinding them.

When Locke made no attempt to sit, she cast him a quizzical glance. He shrugged out of his cloak and in one fluid movement, he draped the enormous garment around Opal’s shoulders.

She made a sound of protest. “ Locke .”

“Tsk. Tsk. I insist.”

His body’s heat clung to the fabric and seeped into her body so that she’d never be cold again. She drew the article close about herself, wanting to climb inside it…and him.

The wool and fur-lined garment also bore the hint of sandalwood and cedar, and Opal couldn’t help herself. She closed her eyes and breathed deep of his favored cologne; that scent the same he’d worn, as long as she’d known him.

“That bad?” he murmured.

It had been. Everything being with him was right and wonderful.

She sighed. “Worse.”

When Opal didn’t elucidate, he encouraged her to continue. “And?”

“ And ,” she muttered, huddling deep. “I cannot talk about it.”

She felt a slight rush of air, and another welcome blast of unexpected warmth amidst the cold as Strathearn sat beside her. “Can’t or won’t, ma petite ?”

My little one.

He still saw her as Glain’s little sister, but he had added love to it, and so there was that.

“Both?” Despite her racing heart, she managed to say speak calmly.

Locke leaned down and moved his lips close to her ear. “Ah, the whole ‘you don’t like dukes’?” he whispered, his breath setting off another firestorm of emotion within her. “And here I thought you made exception for me, Opal.”

Dazed, she lifted her gaze to his. “No,” she murmured, unable to take her eyes from his. “I said I might make an exception for you.”

Locke shifted his mouth nearer. “And?” he repeated, and as he spoke his lips brushed the shell of her ear in an accidental kiss. “Have you made an exception for me, sweet Opal?”

Her eyes slid shut and she prayed Locke attributed her silence to stubbornness.

Too proud though to let him know the effect he had upon her, Opal drew back to look at him, and her brain in conjunction with her lips forgot their function.

His beautiful, hard lips quirked at the corners in a rogue’s half-grin.

She’d been wrong. There was something far worse than his not referring to her by any of his previous endearments. These past years, her heart raced just remembering his smile. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for seeing that devastating grin in the flesh and blood.

Yes! You are the one and only man I’ve ever made an exception for, Locke . She’d learned firsthand the cruelty a father could and oftentimes did wreak upon their daughters. She knew wives oft found themselves suffering that same fate at their husband’s hand.

But Locke? He was different in every way and would be the man she married.

For, if she couldn’t bring him around…

Her body recoiled and a blast of cold penetrated at the future awaiting her if this week ended in failure.

His grin faltered.

“ Ma petite ?” he murmured, concern leant a deeper, gruffer edge to his voice.

Ma Petite.

There it was again.

She swallowed convulsively.

“What is it?” he demanded, all commanding duke, but instead of one who sought not to crush a woman weaker than him, but to crush the one he suspected of hurting her.

Opal opted for the nearest thing to the truth. “It turns out the small gathering I’d expected is not so small, after all.”

“ Ah .” A palpable relief filled Locke’s exhalation. He rubbed his large, powerful hands together quickly to warm them. “Do you care to explain why that is a dilemma?”

The Duke of Strathearn, protector of the Carmichaels, the solver of her and her family’s problems, and seducer of only experienced women’s hearts, he’d see talking to Opal about the house party as both safe and harmless.

She smiled wryly.

He had no i—

Opal stilled.

Solver of her family’s problems.

Protector.

My goodness! Yes!

From the tiny, but imperishable seeds of hope, sprung the answer, and grew the plan she’d been unable to craft—until now.

Opal carefully chose her words. “You see, Locke—”

“Ah, I fear I do not.” He winked. “ Yet .”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I imagined a smaller event—”

“Yes, you said as much.”

“So that I could spend more time alone with one of Grimoire’s patrons.”

The previously debonair grin froze on Strathearn’s lips.

Not so smug now, are you…

His dark blond eyebrows dipped. “Beg pardon?”

Opal gave a cursory wave of her hand. “I fear I’ve fallen hopelessly and helplessly in love with—”

“Who?” Locke’s sharp bark exploded like a shot amidst the unnatural quiet left by the storm.

Yes, seeing her as a little sister, he would be outraged at even the possibility of Opal and a grown, lofty lord.

With a feigned concern, she leaned closer to him. “Locke?”

“I asked ‘who’?” he gritted out.

“Who?” she echoed.

“What is his bloody name?” he shouted this time.

Glaring, she slapped a finger against his lips. “Shh!” The last thing she could afford was to have this meeting interrupted. She stole a glance about. After Opal confirmed she and Strathearn were still alone, she spoke again. “It doesn’t matter.”

Locke growled. “The hell it doesn’t. You are entirely too young, too innocent, too—”

“I’m nineteen,” she said, indignant.

“As I said, too young.”

Folding her arms, she gave him a pointed look. “You didn’t seem to think that when you took me for a French tart you wanted to get into your—”

Locke slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the rest of her sentence. “Do not say it,” he whispered frantically.

“Say what?” She asked when he removed his palm. “I was going to say—”

“Opal!” he warned.

“Cloak, Strathearn.” Opal cocked her head. “What did you think I was going to say?” she asked, all feigned innocence.

“Cloak,” he croaked.

She flashed him a naughty smile.

Locke narrowed his eyes. He gently but firmly took Opal by her arm and pulled her to her feet. “We’re going back.”

Indignant, Opal dug her boots in. “Duke—”

“No.”

“I didn’t even ask you anything.”

But both of them knew once she did, Locke would do as she requested. He’d never been able to say no to her or her family.

Now, she could only hope the same held true for her eventual request that he marry her and spend the rest of his life, loving her.