Page 19 of Daring with a Duke (The Jennings Family #2)

19

Ash

A sh was going to kill Sam. As soon as he found the man. Which was why he found himself heading for the stables, since he had already scoured the entirety of the castle. Where there had been a very conveniently absent Sam.

His best friend had been damn near impossible to find since the little I can play move in the great hall yesterday. It shouldn’t be this hard to find one’s valet. Since they were supposed to…dress their employers and such. But funnily enough, Ash had found he had to dress and undress himself last night and this morning.

He ground his teeth. Hilarious. He was laughing so hard right now.

Damn his bloody best friend. Because that dance. That dance .

It ruined everything.

It had been everything .

He groaned. Where was a wall so he could bash his brains in?

His head drooped as he made his way to the stables, the weight of everything momentarily too much to hold up. Before, the main issue had been avoiding Lady Felicity’s advances. His and Colborn’s relationship was about as strong as a thin, wet sheet of parchment, and even if it were stronger, sleeping with his son’s betrothed was a surefire way to destroy it.

He could avoid bedding his son’s betrothed, even though he had an unacceptable attraction to her. Restraint was as familiar to him as his right hand was to his cock. This should be terribly easy.

So why the bloody fuck wasn’t it?

Because he was starting to wonder dangerous things. Wonder if there was something…deeper that had drawn him to Lady Felicity. A fanciful belief that whispered things like fated and once in a lifetime. Foolish thoughts, he was sure were influenced by his passion for mythology. And he knew they were foolish, because they made him want to do something selfish again. And when Ash was selfish, people got hurt. People died.

That fucking dance.

Two forms stood in the distance by the covered arena. One short and square, the other about twice as tall. Barrow and Sam. Excellent. Maybe he could persuade Barrow to aid him in his murder of Sam. If his friend hadn’t forced him into that dance, his heart wouldn’t be bleeding inside his chest right now. It wouldn’t be clawing against the cage he’d created for it, desperate to get to the woman it yearned for but wasn’t allowed to have.

Except as he approached the two, and they turned to see it was him, their conversation ceased immediately. And they wore identical expressions of we are doing absolutely nothing wrong.

Guilty bastards, that’s what they looked like.

“What are you two conspiring about?”

Sam stepped forward, a smooth smile spreading across his face. “Nothing, Ash. We were simply going over a bit of bad news, and when we saw you…Well, we knew you wouldn’t take it well.”

Ash eyed him, his gaze narrowing, and he crossed his arms. “What’s the news, then?”

Barrow’s voice rumbled low and gruff. “The roads are still impassible, Your Grace.”

“Bloody fucking damn it.”

But he wasn’t swearing because he was frustrated that he still couldn’t send Lady Felicity home. He was swearing because his chest had bloomed with warmth at the news, happiness pulsing in his veins. Which was not the reaction he should be having.

He knew that.

Do you, though?

He was in serious trouble. And not because he now had to find more ways to avoid her and resist her. But because it was becoming quite clear that he didn’t want to ever send her home.

The roads being impassable granted him more time with her before they inevitably parted. And though there were very selfish thoughts floating around in his brain—selfish thoughts he was most definitely not going to admit even to himself—the flooded roads were an excuse. One he had no control over. An excuse to keep her here and torture himself with her presence a tiny bit longer. And he relished it.

Ahh, there was that unhealthy obsession with pain again.

He glanced between his friends, a suspicious prickling coasting over his skin. “Has Lady Felicity been informed of this news?”

Sam nodded. “She has. I passed her earlier as she departed for Willow Grove.”

Ash’s eyebrows flew up. “Willow Grove? Did someone go with her? That area runs along the river and is surrounded by marshland. If the roads are still not fit for travel, that area could be dangerous.”

Barrow and Sam exchanged a glance, and Ash gritted his teeth because he didn’t know what it was, but his friends were up to something, and if it put Lady Felicity’s life in danger, he would kill them both.

Sam looked back at him. “She went off alone.”

Ash glared at his friend and didn’t even look at Barrow as he addressed his stable master. “Saddle a horse for me, Barrow.” His voice was near a growl. How could his friend have let her travel out by herself to such an area? Sam looked much too happy about the murderous glare Ash was sending his way. A slow death. Definitely a slow death for his best mate.

Barrow cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “I was actually just ‘bout to work one of our horses, so there’s one saddled and ready.”

Perfect. A little too perfect. Ash glared at his friends between slitted eyes. He would get to the bottom of this later.

Ash made his way to the stable, devouring the distance with rapid, long strides.

“Billy is working on Astoria.” Barrow’s booming tone reached Ash’s ears, slowing his stride.

He took a deep breath and fought for calm. Astoria was a volatile mare, easily spooked—dangerous. He and Billy were the only ones who could go near her—thank God for the boy.

Billy’s presence at Devonford Castle had been one of the few times fate had smiled upon Ash. A boy on the side of the road in need of saving, with a shocking amount of experience working under a farrier. A Duke with the means to do said saving, with a need for a new farrier to replace his rapidly aging one. Ash had brought the boy on based on gut instinct alone.

And Billy had been an invaluable addition. The last thing Ash wanted was to injure his new farrier in an attempt to rescue someone else. Potentially rescue . She’s most likely fine, Ash. Relax.

Ash took the long way around the stables to avoid Billy and Astoria and found a stable boy walking out the ready-to-ride horse Barrow had mentioned. A trusted, thoroughly trained bay, and not a green horse or one in need of rehabilitation. This was all deuced convenient. Ash couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that Sam and Barrow were meddling.

He rode hard to the Grove, having taken the ride so many times in his life he knew he wouldn’t have the horse stepping off anywhere dangerous. But for someone who wasn’t familiar…when there was flooding? He ground his teeth. It was unsafe; it could be bloody deadly for horse and rider.

It wasn’t long before he could see the grove of willows in the distance. Thus far, he hadn’t seen any signs of distress, occasionally comforted by the sight of a random hoofprint on the trail in front of him. Surprisingly, the path hadn’t been flooded as he would have expected, and the water level of the River Arun was oddly low.

Something churned in his gut, just as wild as the river’s current. If the river was that low, the roads would probably be safe for travel soon. Perhaps even tomorrow. The churning froze over, turned solid and heavy.

That sinking feeling in his stomach didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t at all disappointed. He was not .

He spotted a horse happily grazing near the grove of willows and finally let the tension sag from his frame. He guided his horse over and was about to dismount when a slip of white flashed in the woods to his left and then a soft mumbling drifted to him.

Ash hopped off his horse and headed for the glimpse of white in the wood. It didn’t take long for him to confirm his suspicions: Lady Felicity hopped on one foot, her back to him, clad in a white lawn shirt and breeches. Shite. Her breeches rivaled her dresses in being too small. They were sinfully tight. He could see every delectable curve, the way her arse was a perfect handful—

“Bloody shite bugger fuck tart.”

His eyes shot wide, so wide he feared he may have just stretched them past their limits.

His mouth opened and closed for an embarrassingly long time as he stared at her in shock. Thank God she couldn’t see him.

He cleared his throat. “Did you just say… fucktart?”

She spun to face him, wincing when she put weight on her foot. “Tits and tallywags,” she said with a pained groan.

He was before her in a heartbeat, scooping her into his arms, her arms instantly going around his neck.

He studied her face, his brows stiff and tense. “Did you injure yourself? What happened?” He carried her swiftly over to the massive willows and stepped inside the curtain of dangling branches.

She stared at him without speaking, amber eyes glowing. Her unfocused gaze seemed almost faraway, like she was lost in a dream. And now he was nervous she may have hit her head as well.

He gently shook her in his arms. “Lady Felicity, did you injure yourself?”

Her eyes cleared, sharpened, and her lips curved into a smile. “I hurt my ankle, nothing serious,” she assured him. “Just one of those situations when you step awkwardly and it’s like your ankle bone disappears and your foot bends sideways. Unpleasant and twinges like the bloody devil, but it’ll pass quickly.”

He leaned against the willow’s trunk and slowly slid down with her in his arms until his arse hit the ground.

He settled her next to him, laying her legs over his lap. “I would feel better if you let me look at it.”

He reached for her boot and paused, looking back at her. “Is that all right? I will have to remove your boots and touch your ankles.”

Her lips pressed together like she was fighting back a smile, and her eyes danced. Yes, definitely fighting back amusement.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Your Grace…I have been trying to get in your bed since I showed up four days ago. And you think I will—what?—blush or have a fit of the vapors from you touching my ankles?” Her face broke out in a small, delighted smile, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You are too much. But yes”—she waved her arm—“proceed with such scandalous touching.”

A low rumble of suppressed laughter shook his chest. “I suppose you have a point there.”

Her eyes took on a teasing glimmer, her eyebrows lifting in taunt. “Feel free to let those hands wander.”

He shook his head. This woman.

He began unlacing the boot on her injured foot. “So… fucktart. I haven’t heard that one before.”

Her smile bloomed into a grin. “I wasn’t actually going for fucktart, but I do like the ring that has. Does my debased mouth offend you, Duke?”

He glanced back at her, his gaze latching onto her full, rosy lips. Her pink tongue darted out. His pulse picked up. He really did not want to think of her mouth acting debase in any way. His cock twitched in disagreement. Lord, he hoped she hadn’t noticed that.

Said offending mouth was moving again. “For obvious reasons, it’s not something I declare from the rooftops of London. But I suppose you are in on my secret now. I swear like a sailor—or like a girl who grew up with two older brothers she constantly wanted to feel she fit in with. I have turned it into an art form.”

A smile tried to pull at his lips, and he began working on the laces of her other boot. “Ah, it all makes sense now. Trying to impress rowdy older brothers with foul language. I cannot say I’m not surprised by it, but I’m not offended in the least. I, too, swear like a fiend.”

He pulled off one boot.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear,” she murmured.

“It’s usually in my head. I don’t speak much aloud in general.” He pulled off the other boot.

“I’ve noticed,” she said, seemingly more to herself than him. “Why are you removing both of them? I only injured my right ankle.”

He glanced back at her as he gently tugged off her boots. “For comparison, to see if there are any signs of swelling compared to the uninjured one.”

Her pinched brow smoothed. “Seems sensible.” Then she let out a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I had hoped you were trying to undress me.”

He gently shook his head and tightened his lips. She made it near impossible to hold back his smiles.

“Can you wiggle your toes?”

Her little toes in her soft stockings wiggled in front of him, and he traced his hands down either side of her injured foot. He glanced back at her and applied light pressure, looking for any signs of discomfort. But all he saw were darkening eyes, heating as they locked on his own. Until he reached her ankle, and she winced before quickly schooling it.

He turned back to her ankle, running his fingers lightly over the spot that had caused her discomfort, glancing between her uninjured one and the one in his hands. No swelling. A good sign.

“How does it feel when I’m not applying pressure?”

He glanced at her, and she wore a sly smile.

“What answer keeps your hands on me, Duke?”

She winked at him, and he barked out a laugh. There was that saucy way she said Duke again. He liked this teasing side of her. Like she was trying to get a rise out of him. Certain parts of him made it clear she was successful in her attempt.

But her smile faded, and she stared at him like she’d never seen him before.

“Is something amiss, Lady Felicity?”

“Felicity,” she said softly.

He shook his head. He couldn’t possibly allow for such intimacy. But she gripped his chin, halting his movement. Like she had control over him. And the frightening truth was, she did.

He swallowed. Her hands on him, her legs sprawled over his lap, her amber eyes burning into him, had all his involuntary functions faltering. Things as elemental as breathing, as blood pumping, no longer worked without conscious effort.

And because his body—brain included—wasn’t functioning, he stupidly let her name slip from his lips. “Is something amiss, Felicity?”

Mistake.

That had been a horrible mistake.

His heart jabbed him in his chest for his stupidity.

Her fingers dropped from his chin, trailing down his neck above his cravat, her eyes following their path. “Yes. I’ve never seen you laugh before. It is a beautiful sight. I am willing to wager you don’t laugh nearly often enough.” She looked back at him. “And that is a bloody shame.”

Fuck.

His heart sped up to a frantic pace.

Fuck, fuck.

And for good measure.

“Fuck.”