Page 36 of A Stroke of Luck (Intrepid Heroines #4)
The duke wondered why was it that his fingers could move with unerring precision through the most complex musical score, while his tongue tripped up in trying to compose a simple compliment. “No! That is, er, the metaphor was not meant quite as mundanely as you think.”
“No?” Her brow cocked upward. “I should like to see how you are going to dig yourself out of this one.”
“As I have left my spade in Islay, it won’t be easy,” he murmured.
Her faint smile reappeared.
“Hmmm.“ Taking a deep breath, the duke plunged ahead, figuring he had already made a cake of himself. “ What I meant was, like McTavish’s Bruichladdich you may burn the tongue at first, but the fire quickly mellows to a unique flavor that leaves one hungering to savor another taste.”
Her lips parted slightly, and her cheeks took on a flush that matched the color of barrel-aged whisky.
Prestwick found the sight quite intoxicating.
“You need not shovel on such florid teasings,” she stammered. “Though I admit, I shall miss our bantering exchanges, as well as our more serious discussions on art and music.”
He watched as she crumbled a bit of moss between her fingers.
“As for Nonny and Perry, they will be heartbroken to hear you are leaving. They have become very fond of you.”
“I shall miss them, too.” No longer able to contain the urgency of his emotions, he feathered a caress along the line of her jaw. “And you, Zara? What of your heart? Is it untouched by the prospect of our parting?”
She turned in profile and pressed her eyes closed.
Though his fingertips were barely grazing her skin, the duke could feel her pulse pounding in concert with his own.
And then, to his surprise, he felt her trembling under his touch.
He had always thought of the redoubtable Miss Greeley as much the braver of the two of them, but at that moment he saw mirrored in her face the same doubt and fears that him wrapped in their grip.
Did he dare speak of what was resonating in his own thudding heart? He had kept his feelings under cover for so long it was not easy to bare his soul. Still, Prestwick knew he must summon the courage to do so now, else risk having her sail out of his life, perhaps forever.
And so, he ventured the first tentative notes of a melody he had never played before—a declaration of love.
“My dear Zara,” he murmured. “I ask because … Because unlike Michelangelo’s David, who stands a solid hunk of marble, serenely immutable by the vagaries of life, my own paltry heart is in danger of cracking into a thousand shards at the thought of not having you always here by my side.”
The wind off the water had picked up, and was blowing her loosened curls in a red-tinged aureole around her face. It reminded him of her standing at the tiller, battling the elements to steer her way through the storm. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, for her to decide on how to reply.
For what seemed like an age, her gaze remained fixed on the river’s current and its everchanging pattern of ripples and swirls. “And my heart,” she whispered, ”feels rather like my little boat, in danger of breaking up upon the rocky shoals should you disappear over the horizon.”
Prestwick’s arms stole around her. “Perhaps together we might chart a new course.” He smiled. ”Beginning with a special license, so that we may be married before setting off for Town.”
“But Deverill! I do not move in the same exalted circles as you do. I fear there would be all manner of treacherous hazards lurking beneath the surface, and all manner of squalls to weather. I should not want for a second time to put you in danger of sinking along with me.”
“There is a safe harbor in Prestwick House, my love. And calm waters with kind people like Frances Woolsey and Lord Barton, where you will be free to express yourself without fear of running aground.” The duke drew her closer within the sheltering circle of his arms. “Besides, I have learned a thing or two about navigating rough waters.”
Smiling, Zara pressed her cheek up against the soft folds of his cravat. “Including the fact that it wreaks havoc on your wardrobe.”
He chuckled, savoring the heady spark of her humor, along with the comforting warmth of her body nestled close to his.
For a moment he was tempted to tilt back his head and sing a hymn to the heavens for bringing such perfect harmony to his existence.
But deciding to retain a shred of ducal dignity, he deferred such serendipitous celebration until Zara actually agreed to be his bride.
“In all seriousness,” she continued, her expression growing very grave. “The journey will likely be rather stormy at times. And two rambunctious lads will, on occasion, rock the boat.”
“A little rocking and rolling will keep me on my toes.” A fond grin tweaked at the corners of his mouth. “I shall enjoy trying to keep pace with Nonny and Perry. Even if my best Hessians are once in a while reduced to rubble.”
“Y-you are sure? Your ordered life is bound to become a good deal more unpredictable.”
Prestwick drowned her halting concerns in a long, lush embrace that left them both breathless. When he finally lifted his lips from hers, it was only to rain a torrent of kisses down the arch of her neck.
“And furthermore,” went on Zara, now that she had recovered the ability to speak.
“Have you considered all the practical implications of marriage to a nobody—and an unconventional hellion to boot? I am not likely to endear myself to the high sticklers of the ton, for my temper is too hot and my tongue too unbridled.” She gave a ragged sigh. ”Nor is it likely I shall change.”
“To the devil with rules and conformity! Surely you cannot think I would wish for you to change one whit. After all, stirring up the waters keeps one from becoming too complacent in life.” The duke twirled a lock of her hair around his finger.
“Another thing I have learned from music and art is that sometimes the best things happen when one is inspired to throw all caution to the wind and … take the plunge.”
“Well, if you are willing to go overboard on this …”
“I am!”
“Oh, Deverill … then yes!” Zara tugged on the tails of his cravat, then tossed the strip of linen up to float away on the breeze. “Yes! Let us dive into the future together, no matter where the waves shall carry us!”