Page 8 of A Duke for Opal (The Carmichael Saga #2)

Y our first lesson, love? The way to ensnare your gentleman? Is by being you, by telling him how you feel, and being free in your longings for him.

What in God’s name had Strathearn been thinking last evening?

The long and short of it?

He hadn’t.

Nor did the self-castigations which kept Strathearn awake the entire damned night— which , had made him late to meet Opal—have a bloody thing to do with the obvious, reprehensible sin he’d added to his long list of them: a shocking discovery of uncontrollable, savage, lust—the power and likes of which he’d never, in the course of his entire debauched life, known with any woman—for his friend’s sister-in-law.

No, the greatest mistake, amidst a slew of many, many had been Strathearn’s guidance .

Your first lesson, love? The way to ensnare your gentleman? Is by being you, by telling him how you feel, and being free in your longings for him.

That is the bloody guidance you gave her, you cummberground, dalcop, clodpoll?

Standing on the stone terrace overlooking his grounds, Strathearn rubbed his gloved palms vigorously back and forth, not for warmth, but to keep from using them to take someone apart.

No. Not: someone.

Rather, a specific someone.

Seething, even amidst the erstwhile, bitter cold, Strathearn glared into the distance.

Watching on, a voyeur to Opal some seventy yards away with the Duke of Savage, Strathearn had never regretted more the roguish guidance he’d doled out to the innocent, passionate beauty…or wanted to kill a person more than he did, Savage…and, Strathearn’s current company of himself—included.

“First last evening’s dinner, this morning’s breakfast, and now, the day’s festivities. I daresay my planning leaves much to be desired, Your Grace.”

Startled, Strathearn cursed and spun around.

“Lady Glain,” he gritted out. “Grimoire.”

God, had the lady made herself his bloody shadow? This time she’d brought company, in the form of Strathearn’s friend.

Apparently undeterred by his churlish temper, Opal’s sister offered a blindingly bright smile. “It is most lovely to see you, too, Your Grace.” She lifted her gaze to Grimoire’s. “Isn’t it, dearest husband?”

Strathearn’s unwanted guests joined him at the balustrade. Fabulous.

“I’d say, under ordinary circumstances, considering Strathearn tends to be an amiable fellow, it would be,” Grimoire said dryly. “Given he’s generously hosted the affair, and is unfailingly—until now—friendly enough, we can make exception for whatever it is that’s left him with a bee under his bonnet.”

Another blast of wind gusted, and with the dustings of already fallen snow came the clear, bell-like sounds of Opal’s silvery laugh, followed by Savage’s deeper, booming guffaws.

A stygian, unreasoning, rage, blackened Strathearn’s vision.

“I don’t have a bee under my bonnet,” he growled.

Which only recalled the glorious beauty who’d been wearing one earlier. That was until a gust of wind knocked the crimson bonnet free of Opal’s head and left her glorious black strands whipping like an onyx flag amidst the snow-covered white terrain.

“Yes, I believe that’s accurate,” Grimoire drawled. “Considering you aren’t wearing a bonnet.”

Opal and Savage remained near the same tall rows of holly bushes. “Of course, I’m not wearing a bonnet,” Strathearn muttered, distractedly.

The spirited chit appeared to be fiddling with the branches.

He clenched his jaw.

Savage, on the other hand? No, the roguish peer hadn’t taken his damned gaze from Opal, but then…why should he?

Between Opal’s radiant, elfin spirit, quick, clever wit, and form, grace, and a beauty to launch ten thousand ships, well, as Strathearn knew from the start, she’d certainly not required any help on his part capturing anyone’s notice.

Hell, Opal could have roused a damn eunuch, which Strathearn, nor Savage, were anything remotely close to.

There was no doubt as to what bloody, too-handsome-for-his-own-good bounder, Savage was up to, or rather, planning.

“There’s also the matter of all the bees have gone into hiding for the winter, dear husband,” Lady Glain reminded.

Why, in this instant, was Savage even listening to whatever Opal was saying?

“Do they hide?” Grimoire asked, raising his wife’s fingers to his mouth for a kiss. “Or hibernate?”

Likely not.

“Oh, they most certainly do not hibernate, dear husband. In fact, I read a scientific journal on that very topic at your library…”

Strathearn flared his nostrils.

The lady deserved a suitor who hung on each and every last word she uttered.

“Astounding information my wife is in possession of, isn’t it, Strathearn?” Grimoire asked.

“Yes, yes,” Strathearn said distractedly. “Most astounding.”

Likely, even now, Savage, the inveterate bachelor and rake, plotted where he could whisk the lady away to for a few stolen moments so that he could take her in his arms.

Just as Strathearn had done fifteen hours earlier.

She’d been pure, scorching hot, fire.

His hands still twitched in remembrance of the feel of those luxuriant, silken, tresses wrapped about his fingers. The feel of her supple lips and under his tutelage, the eagerness with which she’d learned from Strathearn…and the unabashed way in which she’d kissed in return.

Would she be all breathless moans and pleas with Savage?

It was the wrong and absolute worst, wondering to percolate in Strathearn’s fevered brain.

Especially given at this very instant, the suave Duke of Savage drew Opal’s bonnet back into place—but suddenly stopped.

Damn your eyes, Savage!

Strathearn’s increasingly harsh breaths stirred clouds of white.

Do not even think about it, Savage…

As a fellow rakish gent himself, Strathearn knew his silent warnings came in vain.

Sure enough, the handsome, ungodly rich, powerful, respectable, most coveted bachelor in the damned realm, leaned close and whispered something in Opal’s right ear.

That same delicate shell Strathearn himself had licked and teased.

Blood rushed to his extremities and filled Strathearn with a savage and uncontrollable bloodlust.

Cursing roundly, Strathearn slammed a fist against the railing. The dense, wet mound of snow blunted the blow, saving his knuckles from a sure break but wholly unfulfilling.

The ragged spurts of his harsh breathing punctuated a silence once filled by his friends’ prattling.

As heat climbed his neck, he turned his head.

With matching, wide-eyed expressions, Grimoire and Lady Glain stared at Strathearn.

The happy pair looked at him as though he’d gone insane.

In fairness, Strathearn himself believed his logic, reason, and self-control had all fled and left him stark, raving mad.

“Forgive me,” Strathearn said. “I recalled I have business I neglected to see to.” Beating a hasty bow, he made to step around the pair.

Regal and unflappable amidst even Strathearn’s humiliatingly explosive display of temper, the lady smiled. “I do hope you will find time to join in some of the events?”

“Most certainly, Lady Glain,” he mustered, with a calm at odds with the tumult within. “Again, I appreciate the thought and care you’ve put into the festivities…”

The latest of which had Opal out alone with Savage.

Strathearn stole a glance out at the couple in question, just as the pair disappeared into the forest.

Rage tightened his gut.

“It is I who should thank you,” Lady Glain’s murmur was all that kept Strathearn from leaping over the ledge and hunting Savage, like the wild animals that’d once roamed these lands. “You have given me, Abaddon, and Opal our first meeting together in too long.” Tears gleamed in the young woman’s eyes. “I long for a day when we are free to come together without…” The old duke’s certain retribution.

Grimoire drew his wife into his arms.

“I hope that day is one day soon,” Strathearn said quietly. “And if there is anything I can do within my power to make it so, you have my promise, I will.”

At this precise moment, however, he’d one specific someone he needed to see now .

Making another hasty goodbye, Strathearn hurried inside, and soon after, took an alternate way outside to his ancestral grounds.