Page 11 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)
CHAPTER 11
T he Private Diary of Sophia Hawkins
Remain strong.
Do not forget why you are here, and at whose command. Remember your allegiances, the truths you hold in your heart. You must stay strong, focused and brave, as you navigate these uncharted territories. He is demanding far more than he purports, and if you allow yourself to soften, you will succumb to the danger that lurks.
He demands your surrender.
Kenneth never expected the surge of emotion when he captured his prey.
Relief. Satisfaction. The desire to never let her go.
Sophia watched him with wary eyes, edging back until she collided with the counter. She reached behind her, braced herself, but it didn’t matter. Her temporary escape was over.
She was his.
“I see you have met Sophia.”
The shopkeepers looked back and forth between the two of them. The elderly man knitted his brows together. “You know each other?”
“Of course she knows me,” Kenneth rumbled.
“Indeed, I do,” she swiftly agreed.
“We are married.”
“Married?” The old man grinned.
“Married?” The old woman clapped.
“Married?” Sophia gasped.
The couple looked at her, and she looked at him. “Of– of course. I am his wife.”
His wife.
It sounded right.
It was not what he’d meant to say, or even consciously thought. He was going to claim her as his cousin, visiting from London. It was imminently logical, allaying suspicion while allowing them to move freely about town. Of course, claiming they were married brought other problems, such as how he would explain her absence the next time he visited.
Perhaps he’d just bring her with him.
“We didn’t know you were married.” Rose was as shocked as he’d ever seen.
“We thought you were a bachelor,” George added.
“Indeed I was,” Kenneth confirmed. “This is new.”
“Very new,” Sophia echoed. “We just got married. Quite literally. In fact, it feels like mere seconds ago.”
“Don’t be silly, my dear.” He rubbed her back in a slow, circular motion. Muscles tensed, and he splayed his hand wider. “Surely, it’s been a full minute now.”
“Time does go quickly.” Rose’s eyes sparkled. “It feels like just yesterday I married my George. But when the connection is there, it’s irresistible.”
“We don’t have a connection.” Sophia waved both hands. “We don’t even like each other.”
At the couple’s startled expression, she flushed. “I meant we don’t like each other like that . You see… he and I… we… it’s a marriage of convenience.” She gave a shaky smile. “I brought refinement to the marriage, and he… he brought tyranny.”
“What?” Rose gasped.
“I’m sorry?” George stuttered.
Foxworth folded his arms across his chest.
“I meant he’s tyrannical about my safety,” Sophia mumbled.
If he wasn’t so frustrated by her escape, he might have smiled, but instead he stared at her with the full force of his power. Most people would have cowered. She glared right back.
She was glorious.
“A man with such a precious wife must keep her safe.” He stepped around her in a slow circle. “It’s my duty to keep you healthy and secure. To make certain you behave .”
Her expression turned thunderous. “No one dictates how I behave.”
“Are you sure?”
She opened her mouth, but Rose spoke first. “We were arranged, too, if you would believe it. I fought my papa, but he knew George was the right man for me. There are some things you simply can’t fight.”
Love? Kenneth rocked back on his heels. The shopkeeper was mistaken, of course. Love was vulnerability, weakness, pure and utter loss of control.
“It’s not the same.” Sophia looked as troubled as he felt. “Ours is not a love match.”
Somehow her words only increased the agitation burning his stomach.
“I still don’t understand.” George looked between the two of them. “If you’re his wife, why are you seeking passage to London?”
So his little escapee sought to flee the small town. He could make an excuse, find a way to explain, yet instead he gave her a stern look. She would learn not to run from him again.
He would always catch her.
“I should like an explanation.”
She opened her mouth, closed it. “I… I thought you had already left.”
It didn’t make any sense, and by the couple’s confused look, they didn’t think so either.
“You are mistaken, my dear. We are returning to London in a few days. Together .” He grasped her hand. “Don’t worry. I will ensure you do not wander off again.”
Her eyes blazed. “That is unnecessary, Your Gr… I mean Kenneth.”
He halted at the use of his name. First names were rarely spoken among the ton, indicating an intimacy, a far deeper connection. “I like when you say my name,” he murmured.
Her eyes widened, yet he was not untouched. Her escape affected him far more than he’d ever admit, not because he’d been bested, and not even because of his revenge. Knowing she’d wandered through unfamiliar territories, alone and without protection, sent fire through him.
“I told you there was a connection.” The old lady chuckled softly.
“It’s as obvious as the summer rain.” The old man sighed.
“Oh no,” Sophia protested. “That was–”
“Kenneth, you’re here!”
“How splendid!”
“We’re so glad to see you.”
Sophia took a step back as people poured into the tiny shop, her eyes darting back and forth. He squeezed her hand, instinctively shifting to stand in front of her. Dozens entered the store, with more waiting outside.
He smiled warmly. “It’s wonderful to see everyone again.”
“And you, as well.” A tall man with wavy blond hair and tanned skin stepped forward. With quiet confidence and unconditional kindness, Jonathon served as informal leader of their little town. “We received your surprise shipment last week. How can we thank you?”
Kenneth slid a glance to his would-be wife. Her expression remained neutral, even as curiosity flared in her eyes. “It was nothing. You’ve always been kind to my family.”
“That will never change, no matter what you do,” Jonathon replied, as the others nodded. “Please do not feel obligated.”
“Of course.” They were a proud and hardworking people, yet life was challenging in the small town. His aid made a difference, and he had no plans to discontinue it. “I enjoy helping.”
Jonathon gazed at him for a moment more, then relaxed. His wife, a pretty redhead named Mary, stepped forward. “We were hoping you’d come so we could thank you properly.” Her smile widened as Sophia peeked out from behind him. “It seems there is much to celebrate.”
For a moment, Sophia gripped him tighter. He squeezed her hand softly. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Sophia.”
Unease flared as everyone turned to her. Many ladies looked down their noses, quite literally, at anyone without a title, or at least a reasonable connection to one. Everyone awaited her response.
Sophia smiled pure sunshine.
“When did this happen?” Mary demanded with a wide grin. “We didn’t even know you were pursuing a bride.”
“When it’s right, you just know.” He traced a finger down Sophia’s arm, eliciting a shiver. Delicious. “I simply couldn’t let this beautiful woman escape.”
For a heartbeat, she stared at him. In the next, she was all smiles, as she turned to the townspeople. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She traveled from person to person, with a genuine greeting and a kind word for each. She was sweet and sincere as she ensnared everyone within minutes.
Including him.
When the introductions were finished, Mary rubbed her hands together like a general preparing for battle. “We must have a celebration. With the provisions from last week’s shipment, it will be grand indeed.”
It did sound grand, certainly more than a stuffy ton affair, with its unkind gossip and guests eager to outdo and outmaneuver. If he were alone, he’d agree instantly. “I’m sorry, but–”
“Thank you so much,” Sophia broke in. “We’d love to attend.”
Not good. “If you’d allow me a moment to talk to my wife.” He tempered his gait, guiding her to the corner instead of stealing her away as instincts desired. “What’s your game, Sophia?”
“I have no game,” she said quietly. “It would be impolite to say no.”
Perhaps, yet if the townspeople discovered the truth, the consequences would be far graver than mild disappointment. “They are good people. I will not allow anything to upset them.”
“Neither will I.” She gazed at him carefully, as if seeing him for the first time. “They obviously adore you.”
Her scrutiny was distinctly uncomfortable. He looked away. “I am simply a man with resources.”
“Yet few people make the effort,” she murmured. “But you do, I imagine in more ways than one.”
He looked back at the townspeople, who made no effort to hide their interest. When he helped others, it brought a joy he could scarce explain. “It’s the responsible thing to do. I have a feeling you do the same.”
Her flush gave credence to the statement.
He straightened, cleared his throat. “We should return to the estate. If they realize the truth–”
“What does it matter?” she interrupted. “They’ll learn soon enough, when you return without me.”
When he didn’t respond, she paled, yet notched up her chin. “Think of how disappointed they’ll be if we turn them down.”
The crowd’s expressions were expectant and hopeful…
“The least we can do is accept their kindness,” she implored. “You said I would enjoy myself during this… holiday. Did you mean it?”
She made a wily opponent, this clever woman. And an even more attractive partner. He exhaled. “All right.”
She beamed, and in an instant, it was all worthwhile. “But I’m keeping this.” He grasped her hand.
And this time, instead of pulling away, she smiled.
He had not allowed her out of his sight.
Not while they conversed with the never-ending parade of townspeople eager to meet the woman who snagged the town hero. Not while they travelled from house to house, gushing over babbling babies and offering congratulations to newlyweds. Not while they visited several housebound residents, at Foxworth’s – Kenneth’s – insistence.
How could this be the same man who kidnapped her?
He was kind and gracious, generous and considerate, charming grandmothers with humorous stories, inspiring young lads with wise advice and sharing boisterous conversation with everyone. He treated her not like an escaped prisoner, but like the cherished wife they pretended she was. And not just in public, but in the brief moments of solitude, when no audience watched and no consequences loomed. She would never admit it, but their conversations were enjoyable, delightful even. Most of all, dangerous .
She couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun.
Now they were visiting Jonathon’s farm, a modest collection of neatly tended fields and animal enclosures. Above them, the sky was an endless blue, the sun golden as it warmed the air. Birds sang cheerful greetings, fleeting dashes of blues and reds flitting from tree to tree.
When they arrived, Kenneth immediately offered to help, as he had at every home they visited. Unlike most lords, whose greatest physical strain involved tossing a deck of cards, he was unafraid of hard work, whether hefting lumber, pulling out tree stumps or corralling animals. He toiled in the sun and in the fields, next to men a thousand classes below a duke, as part of nature as the wild animals and ancient trees. And when he smiled… her heart stumbled.
Clearly Kenneth thrived in nature’s glory, with people who showed no false pretenses. Yet he was also intelligent, as evidenced by his knowledge on subjects from science to society to farming. The townspeople believed him extraordinary.
Perhaps she did, too.
A gentle breeze caressed her arms, bringing her back to the present. She sipped the cool, crisp lemonade, sighing softly as she leaned against the smooth balustrade. Beyond the handrail, tiny sprouts fluttered, their leaves reflecting diamond dew.
“Isn’t it amazing?”
That she didn’t flinch was a credit to her control. Somehow, she even managed a neutral expression as her husband ascended the wooden stairs, his sleeves rolled up, his body glistening in the sun.
He looked even tastier than the lemonade.
She pushed aside the traitorous thought. “What is?”
“The seedlings.” Another wind blew, and the plants swayed once more, as if taking a bow to his compliment. “They are so tiny, yet soon they will be three feet tall, producing food to sustain a town.” He gripped the railing. “It’s astonishing how something so small can bloom into something amazing.”
They locked eyes, and suddenly they were no longer discussing plants or sprouts or farming at all. The sunlight reflected golden highlights in his hair, cast his skin a beautiful bronze. “It reminds me of Scotland. The ton is so different than my home… my former home.” For a moment, sadness shimmered, as surely and strongly as those plants would soon grow, with stems of regret and longing.
He’d lost more than she realized. She was accustomed to the ton, with its stark class differences and confusing concoction of social rules. For someone used to green fields, blue skies and genuine smiles, it was a harsh change.
“Why did you come to London?”
He tightened, betraying surprise at the question she hadn’t meant to ask. “The dukedom, of course.”
She shielded her eyes from the sun. “A dukedom provides choices; it doesn’t take them away. You could have remained in Scotland, or even relinquished the title altogether.”
He gazed back at the fields. “It’s not as simple as that.” His voice was low, the Scottish burr rising. “My heir is a wastrel and womanizer, who spends his money freely at the gambling table and even freer on dangerous frivolities. No doubt the estate would be bankrupt within the year, and those under its care in dire straits. As for taking the title and simply ignoring it, that is not in my nature.”
No, it wasn’t. This man gave freely, with both his assets and his time, to an entire town. He would never neglect a responsibility, no matter the sacrifice.
“It’s also why I must secure a wife and my own heir. I cannot risk the dukedom falling into my cousin’s hands.”
A tangle of emotions splashed in her stomach at the image of Foxworth with a little boy, swinging him in his arms. She twisted a curl that had escaped its pins. “Do you have someone in mind?”
His eyes sparkled in the sun, as for just a second, a mysterious gleam appeared. “Actually, I do.”
The obvious question danced on her tongue, yet the words wouldn’t come. Who was he considering for his duchess?
When Jonathon returned, the opportunity was lost, yet her curiosity remained. The rest of the day passed swiftly. They spent a touch longer at Jonathon’s farm, before visiting other homesteads in the area. Even as she fought to ignore his charms, the untamed duke usurped her attention. He was kind, considerate and witty, almost irresistible. By his own admission, he hunted for a wife. No doubt every eligible lady in the ton wanted the position.
Everyone except, of course, her.
He was her enemy. Even if forged by misunderstandings, Edmund was unlikely to allow her to marry the man who kidnapped her. If scandal broke, he’d almost certainly find someone among his many friends, who would accept the sister of a duke and her handsome dowry.
Yet none of that mattered. She wanted, no deserved, a love match. Surely one couldn’t bloom in such contentious circumstances.
Yet for just a moment, something whispered, What if?
She forced the thought aside once and then a hundred times as they continued their visits. As the sun began its slow trek to the horizon, they strolled back to town, so close they brushed against each other, accidentally of course. They talked about that day, and many other days, although not about her brother or his father. It was enjoyable and comfortable, and, if she were honest, a bit delightful.
Just like him.
He was chuckling as she shared how she once managed to eat an entire summer’s worth of apple tarts by hiding them in plain sight. They were almost at town, when shouting pierced the air. They raced over the dusty ground, entering the wide main street.
“How dare you run away! You belong to me.” A man’s voice cracked, the words slurred by the inimitable influence of spirits.
“I belong to no one.” A waver betrayed the woman’s fear. “You have no rights over me.”
A crowd had formed in the center of town, hiding the speakers. Yet their voices were clear. “You’re coming with me.”
“No, I’m not!”
Sophia’s heart skidded. “Molly.”
“Do you know her?” Kenneth grasped her hand, holding her back from dashing into the street. Even as she struggled to escape his grip, she relayed the morning’s events, leaving out her impromptu instruction on self-defense. His jaw set, his expression increasingly grim, as she finished the story.
“I have to help her!”
“We will.”
Sophia pushed forward, but the crowd was too thick. “We must pass,” Kenneth boomed, and suddenly the audience was parting, moving in two opposite directions. They ran forward.
Sophia’s heart shuddered as the combatants appeared. It was indeed Molly, slender and slight, staring up at a beefy man with scraggly hair, leathery skin and a coyote scowl. His clothes were torn and stained, and he teetered as he glowered at the small woman. “We’re leaving.” He pulled with a heavy jerk, and Molly stumbled.
The crowd gasped, and Kenneth lunged forward. Yet before anyone could step in, Molly hooked her foot behind the brute’s leg. He flailed for a moment, releasing his captive as he stumbled. Backwards, backwards, backwards…
Straight into the horse trough.
The man sputtered and splashed and cursed enough to make a vicar faint. Molly gave the faintest smile as the crowd laughed, and for just a moment, a spark of power danced in her eyes. Yet her expression turned wary as the man pulled himself up, stood to his formidable size. He turned to the small woman.
And instead faced a very furious, very powerful duke.
Kenneth did not say a word. Did not attack. Instead he grasped the man by the scruff of his collar and helped him forward, towards the edge of town. Everyone watched, and although words were lost in the distance, the man turned as pale as a debutante’s gown. Then the ruffian turned and ran .
There were indeed matters an untamed duke was perfect for.
“Honey, are you all right?” The elderly shopkeepers stepped forward, their grandson close behind.
Molly stood tall. “I am perfect.”
“Yes, you are,” the grandson breathed.
Molly turned to him, and he turned bright pink. “I mean, I’m glad you are well.”
A thousand knowing looks were exchanged.
Immediately, dozens of offers emerged from dozens of kind citizens. Soon Molly had a room for lodging, enough food for a week and an appointment with the seamstress to discuss a position. By the time Kenneth returned, she was smiling widely, yet it faltered at the sight of the large man. Then, she straightened.
“You needn’t worry about him.” Sophia patted his arm. “My husband only likes to kidnap me.”
As everyone laughed, Kenneth’s gaze sparkled. “Who could resist kidnapping such an enchanting woman?” He turned to Molly, and his expression sobered. “Your stepfather decided to move on without you. He will not be bothering you again.”
Molly brought a hand to her lips, her eyes glowing with tears. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She took Sophia’s hand. “Both of you. He never would have given up without your convincing. Sophia, thank you for teaching me how to–”
“We’re so glad to help,” Sophia jumped in.
Too late.
Kenneth folded his arms across his chest.
Molly’s smile widened. And then Sophia was smiling again, and even Kenneth gave a begrudging grin, after informing her they would discuss it later. Yet his eyes matched the delight in her chest. And as he took her hand once more, something became inescapably clear:
There was a connection, after all.
Sophia hid her true self.
She concealed sweetness behind strength, vulnerability behind a will of iron. Her spirited nature was nothing less than magnificent, her passion extraordinary. If Sophia hadn’t intervened, Molly may never have resisted her stepfather, turning into another unknown tale of tragedy. She truly was a hero.
Yet Sophia was a woman of many facets, and her sweet side was just as beautiful: the blushes she couldn’t hide, the sweet melody of her laughter, the way her eyes softened when children were near. She bestowed smile after smile, no matter whom she addressed. She wasn’t too pretentious to tidy an old woman’s house, too snobbish to tell the latest London news to the young village girls or too haughty to catch a runaway piglet. While most ladies would have been agog in horror, counting the number of swoons on both hands, she laughed merrily, her sun-kissed cheeks as pink as the little piglet.
In one sun’s journey, everything had shifted. She treated him as a friend, or perhaps even the husband he pretended to be. She joked and jested, teased and conversed, in this little town where he was not a duke, and she was not the sister of his enemy. They were simply two people, reveling in the beauty of life.
It was all too easy to play the part of couple in love.
Now she was off with the ladies, getting pampered and primped and primed for the evening’s event, while he waited outside the tavern. Miss Sally, the town’s seamstress, had insisted upon lending Sophia her newest creation, an ornately described gown fit for a queen. Sophia had deferred at first, yet the woman was so hopeful, she agreed. It was yet another kindness.
He shifted on his feet, nodding to a young couple. A few times today, Sophia gazed at the road leaving town, yet her expression was more thoughtful than longing, and she made no attempt at escape. Still, he made the ladies promise to keep close watch on her. They’d laughed, and Sophia gave him a pointed look, which he promptly returned.
Of course, if she escaped he’d catch her before she made it to the next town.
“Are you ready to see your bride?”
He looked up as Jonathon and his wife approached, bearing twin smiles. “I cannot wait.”
They separated, revealing the woman behind them.
Magnificent. Glorious. Breathtaking.
No words could truly describe the beauty before him. Her cheeks were pink, her lips full and red, her hair cascading down her back like a shimmering waterfall. The silky purple gown floated around her like an ethereal cloud, with delicate puff sleeves, an overlay of embroidered lace and a décolleté that made him wish they were alone.
She was spectacular.
He stared for approximately a year and then longer. “I would say you are stunning, yet no term truly encompasses your beauty. Extraordinary, unsurpassed, a diamond of the first water, so true and yet insufficient.”
She blushed. “Thank you, Your Gr… Kenneth.” A stumble betrayed her nervousness, bringing a gentle pinkness to her cheeks. “You need not say such things.”
“I say them because they are true.” For once, he allowed her to see the emotions he ever-hid. “You are the most beautiful creature on earth.”
Sophia flushed deeper, smoothing down the skirt. “The gown is beautiful.” She turned to Sally. The seamstress’ eyes shined with unabashed delight. “You rival my London modiste any day.”
Sally put a hand to her heart. “You do not know what that means to me. I hope to bring it to London to sell one day.”
“Perhaps I can help with that,” Kenneth murmured, even as his eyes remained ever-riveted on Sophia. “I would be very much interested in purchasing it, if my bride would like it.”
Sophia parted her lips. “It is extraordinary. It would be the talk of London.”
Sally’s eyes grew wide.
Sophia smoothed down the skirt. “Of course I can pay–”
“Do not finish that sentence,” he warned.
For once, she listened to him.
He thought back to what he paid for Clara’s latest dress. Tripled it. The seamstress blinked, as if he’d offered the moon, sun and several stars as payment. “It’s too much.”
“Not at all.” By the happiness in Sophia’s eyes, even the celestial offerings would be fair. “No doubt you will get numerous commissions when my bride wears it in London.”
Eyes as wide as the stars, Sally could only nod.
He returned his attention to the woman who was his for tonight, perhaps for far longer. Sophia shivered as he placed her hand on his sleeve and rubbed her chilled fingers until they were as warm as a hearth. They glided over the rough ground like it was the smooth tile of a mansion, strolled past the tavern’s main room as if a spacious foyer of a ton event. They passed the threshold to the back room.
Sophia gasped.
The space was lit by moonlight and candles. Brilliant displays of wildflowers bloomed through open windows, scenting the world in nature’s perfume, while shimmering fabric dripped down the walls, cascades of silk waterfalls. Homemade quilts and white lilies adorned a dozen tables, flanked by wooden chairs, each with a thick ribbon tied in a bow. A beautiful melody drifted from a young girl at the town’s only pianoforte – a gift from Kenneth when he learned of the child prodigy – accompanied by half a dozen townspeople with homemade instruments.
Sophia slowly pivoted. “It’s the most breathtaking ball I’ve ever seen.”
Clapped hands and brilliant smiles welcomed the announcement. “I quite agree,” he agreed in a booming voice. “It is extraordinary.” No doubt, it would also cost more than they had to spare. He would double, no triple, his donations this month.
Jonathon stepped forward. “We are grateful for your assistance. Please enjoy the celebration.”
Kenneth led Sophia to the makeshift dance floor, as the musicians played a lilting ballad. What the sound lacked in fullness, it more than made up for in heart, fortified by the child’s extraordinary talent. Yet Sophia stole his focus as she smiled and laughed with lively abandon, finally sharing her true self. He grinned back as they finished the dance, and then another. As they touched, something in him shifted.
For the first time since he ascended his title, the world held promise, and the future was his to forge.
Molly and the shopkeeper’s grandson twirled by, their eyes locked as they danced to the music. The young man leaned down to whisper something, and his partner laughed.
“I do believe something extraordinary has begun,” Sophia murmured.
Yes, it had.
After half a dozen dances, they took respite at a large table, filled with smiling townspeople. Sophia included every single person in the conversation, inquiring into lives with genuine interest. She shared her own life, careful to avoid details that betrayed their identities, but including charming stories of her family. When it was over, she had delighted the entire table.
They dined on a delicious feast of local fare, including freshly baked breads, savory stews and steaming pies, before returning to the floor. The next dances were slower and softer, the perfect excuse to capture her in his arms. He held her as close as propriety allowed, and she pressed just a little closer.
“You are an excellent dancer.” She studied him closely, as if trying to make sense of some unsolvable puzzle. “Where did you learn such skills?”
“When my mother left England, she brought a little bit back with her.” He twirled her effortlessly, caught her back in his arms. “She hired tutors to teach us everything from dancing to language to society rules. It’s why my accent is not as pronounced as many of my countrymen.”
Understanding shone in her eyes. “She knew you would become duke one day.”
On any other day, with any other woman, the words would have stung, yet for once the pain was absent. “If so, she never shared. I knew nothing of my father save that he was an Englishman. I may have never discovered the truth had Adam not sought me out to bestow my inheritance.”
Most were shocked when they learned of his mother’s deception, yet Sophia merely looked thoughtful. “She must have loved you very much to keep such a secret. She knew you would be happier in Scotland.”
A rare peace descended, a glimpse of something he sought for so long. How could a few perfect words matter so much? “I’d like to believe that’s why she didn’t tell me. She was a wonderful woman, who didn’t deserve such a marriage.”
She nodded commiseration. “It’s difficult when people are arranged.”
“Actually it was a love match.”
Her eyebrows curved upwards. “It was?”
“At least she thought it was.” It seemed impossible, with so many wretched stories of his father, yet the elder Foxworth was once handsome and charming, as he wooed the shy Scottish lass with a plump dowry. “She learned fairly soon of her mistake. It took years for her to escape, and cost her the chance to find another match.”
Sophia held him just a little tighter. “Not all love matches end that way.”
True, yet such unions were rare and dangerous. His mother gave her heart away, and his father returned it shattered.
He would never give someone that power over him.
He pulled her a little closer. “I desire a logical marriage. A mate with common interests, a similar view of the world and comparable opinions. Not love, perhaps, but companionship.”
Her eyes flashed, dulling for a moment, before she lifted her chin. “With so many ladies vying for your hand, you shall have no trouble finding one that meets your requirements. Perhaps they shall even write a book about you. They can call it the Wicked Duke.”
“The Wicked Duke?” He gave a wicked smile. “I would prefer the Triumphant Duke.”
“The Overbearing Duke,” she countered.
“The Victorious Duke.” He winked.
“The Authoritative Duke.” She glared.
“The Conquering Duke,” he rumbled.
“How about The Untamed Duke?” she declared.
“Agreed.”
He spun her again, in perfect harmony to the music. What would she say if she knew he had already found the perfect lady? “Once I learned of my heritage, I had no choice but to relocate myself and my sister to England. I became responsible for two families and a never-ending list of duties. I may not hold a title in Scotland, but I lead an influential family. They need me almost as much as the dukedom.”
“That’s why you return to Scotland so often,” she breathed. “That must be difficult to balance.”
She truly understood. They moved without words for a few moments, in perfect coordination. Like a new day, she was full of promise and hope, beckoning a new journey.
She reminded him so much of home it hurt.
“When you are not being an overbearing kidnapper, you can be sort of pleasant.”
Amusement rose. “Thank you?”
The corners of her lips ticked up. “What I mean is you are not entirely untamed.”
His amusement deepened. “Quite kind of you to say, my lady.”
She chuckled softly. “I’m trying to compliment you.”
“And an excellent job you are doing.” He nudged her shoulder. “I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”
“Yes, you are.” The words were so low, it wasn’t clear if he was supposed to hear them. He grasped her hand and turned it over, tracing her palm. His hold was light, and she could have retreated at any time.
She didn’t.
He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed it softly, satisfied when it elicited a small shiver. “You are growing on me, as well, Lady Sophia.”
The next moments were spent in low conversation. They spoke of the important and the trivial, about everything from vital political matters to silly childhood tales. She even delved into the topic of social action. Shockingly, they concurred on many subjects, although they didn’t quite agree on whether women should be protected at all times.
She seemed surprised to learn how well-versed in English politics he was, and especially that he planned to take an active role in Parliament. When he listed social action as one of his issues, she fanned herself.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you were civilized.”
“Never say such a thing,” he admonished softly. “What if someone hears?”
She giggled. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. In fact, I would say you are quite extraordinary.”
He leaned closer. “Extraordinary?”
Her eyes dilated. “Indeed.”
“Indeed.”
Closer and closer and closer…
He brushed her lips.