Page 15 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

CHAPTER 15

T he Private Diary of Sophia Hawkins

Adapted from Rules of Etiquette for the Kidnapped, First Edition

In order to successfully resist a kidnapping, it is vital to adhere to the following steps:

1. Never cry, swoon, sob, beg or cajole.

2. Instead protest, argue, and demand compensation in the form of useful lessons.

3. Resist your captor at every turn.

4. Above all, do not fall for your kidnapper.

Tumbling onto the hard ground can really change one’s perspective.

Quite literally, unfortunately, as the world turned topsy-turvy, as she tumbled and bumped, rolled and rollicked until she was on her back, gazing up at the clear, blue sky. Metaphorically as well, as jumping into riding astride (also quite literally) provided results that were disappointing at best. The only bright spot? The horse was unharmed, looking mighty pleased with himself, after divesting himself of his rider. He tossed his head and turned away.

Seems even the horse disapproved of her methods.

She flattened her palms on the rocky ground, wincing as sharp pebbles scratched her ungloved hands. She pushed herself up, dusted off the pants she had found in Kenneth’s room and stood. Then the storm arrived.

Entirely different from last night’s tempest, this force of nature was no less powerful and far more furious. Dust and debris filled the air, as he approached her personal space and beyond. Then he captured her.

He was checking for injuries. It was obvious by the methodical way in which he worked, the focused gaze as he felt for bumps, bruises and scratches. Yet as firm fingers traced sensitive skin, powerful hands molding tender curves, her body did not care about his motivations.

It wanted more.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

The short answer was “no,” and the long answer was “not even a little.” His touch burned every inch, travelling through the thin shirt and over her entire body, overtaking all soreness. Her body became heated, swollen and sore. It was all she could do not to push into those hands, invite him to sooth the spots that most yearned for his touch.

The concern in his expression deepened. “I shall take you to bed at once.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

A thousand images flashed: Him. Her. The Bed. So many combinations thereof. If he carried her inside, she wouldn’t have the power to stop herself from demanding something a lady shouldn’t even know about. And that was a very bad idea.

Even if her traitorous body thought it was a very good idea.

“I am well.” She pushed herself back, but he didn’t allow it. “You may release me.”

“Why didn’t you answer?” he demanded. “Why do you look so out of sorts?”

Because of his…

Wandering hands.

Powerful body.

Sensual promise.

“I fell off a horse.” His gaze darkened. “As you can see, I’m fine,” she quickly added.

His gaze turned as intense as lightning. She looked down at herself and froze.

Well, that explained it.

In her haste to ride, she had glanced in the mirror for scarcely a moment. Everything appeared reasonably covered, even if the fabric was a little thin. Yet she hadn’t considered how the outfit would appear when silhouetted by the sun.

Shadows became outlines, crevices shone in exquisite detail. Fabric rounded curves, hugging in all the right, or wrong, places. When pulled taut, the effect was even greater.

She was all but indecent.

“You promise you’re not hurt?”

She swallowed, nodded. “Not at all. I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

Him. Her. The Bed. So many combinations thereof.

Understanding transformed his expression, as unease vanished, replaced with clear desire. His eyes smoldered, bringing pure heat. He edged closer.

She couldn’t decide whether to push him away or pull him near. “What are you doing?”

He slid his hands around the nape of her neck. He traced her spine, and she arched into him, flattening against the wall of muscle. Pinprick sensations blazed through the fabric, as her breasts brushed his chest. Blood flooded vulnerable spots, swelling, sensitizing, ripening.

Heat engulfed her as the warrior leaned down, his eyes blazing emerald fire. “Do you know you belong to me?”

Her response was lost in the kiss.

It was like returning home, to the place you’re destined to be. He held her as if she were a rare and precious gem, a delicate treasure. It was delicious temptation, slow torture, as she urged him closer, faster, more . Yet even as she quickened her movements, he continued as before, no doubt a consideration to her soreness.

What sort of kidnapper was so conscientious?

They parried back and forth in the sensual duel, as he became bolder, more daring, exploring ever-closer to the feminine spots that ached for his touch. She gasped as he caressed her lips and body, as she capitulated to his administrations. She closed her eyes, surrendering as he nuzzled needy spots.

An eternity passed before he slowly leaned back. Yet it was an eternity too little, as unquenched thirst lingered, tender cravings only he could fulfill. She fought to remain coherent, as he surrounded, enveloped, dominated . The question he posed before the kiss, and the answer she didn’t have, danced on her tongue.

Passion burning in his eyes, he murmured, “We should stop.”

“Most assuredly not.” She pressed forward.

This kiss was even more delicious than the last, as she urged him forward, showing him without words what she wanted, needed. He touched everywhere – her swollen lips, her vulnerable neck, on top of her clothing, under it. He stopped another three times, perhaps five, before she finally stayed back. Because if she didn’t, this wouldn’t end here, may never end at all. He was still her captor.

Somehow he read her resolution, even as his eyes blazed. She should feel satiated, yet it was not enough. His earlier question burned:

Do you know you belong to me?

It was untrue, at least at present. Little was required for it to become reality, for their worlds to become irreversibly intertwined. Yet she couldn’t think of it now, when her body still burned from his sensual administrations. Pushing all thoughts of untamed dukes and kisses from her mind, she announced, “I’d like to ride again.”

Widened eyes betrayed surprise, even as admiration shone. “You want to get back on the horse?”

“Of course. That is what one does when one falls off something.” With a deep breath of courage, she reached towards the reins.

A hand clamped around her arm. She gripped the thick leather harness so tightly it scorched her raw hands. “I have to get back on.” She blinked, unbidden emotion welling inside of her. And suddenly the moment was about far more than a horse. “Please,” she whispered. “I don’t know how else to live.”

She swallowed emotion, as he stayed still, regarding her carefully. He released her arm, yet not her, moving down to grasp her waist. In one smooth motion, he lifted her onto the horse.

“You are an extraordinary woman, Lady Sophia,” He caressed her waist, his gaze gentle. Then he cleared his throat, and his expression turned stern. “Yet it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take care. Until you are accustomed to your seat, you will only ride on straight, easy paths.”

She grinned. “Those are perfect for racing.”

Exasperated amusement lit his gaze, and the mood lightened. “Must everything you do involve danger?”

She thumped her chin. “Why, yes, it must.”

His lips twitched. “Most women enjoy calm activities, yet you prefer danger, with one exception. Tell me, is the sewing guild your only safe activity?”

Do. Not. Laugh. “Indeed, my lord. I find it most… calming.”

“Do you? Perhaps later you can tell me about it.” His eyes betrayed nothing, yet something told her this was no random question. Did he suspect the sewing group was more than it seemed?

She would reveal nothing, yet better to agree than raise suspicions. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace?” He frowned. “Are you humoring me?”

“It is a distinct possibility, Your Grace.”

“Will you stop calling me Your Grace?”

“Certainly, Lord Kidnapper.”

He growled, yet his expression betrayed sparkling bemusement. “I like Your Grace better.”

“You should have thought about that before,” she said cheekily. “Henceforth you are permanently known as Lord Kidnapper.”

“Even if I go riding with you?”

She stopped. Pretended she didn’t really, really want him to join her. “I suppose I can think of another name. How does The Untamed Duke sound to you?”

“Like the name of one of my sister’s romantic novels.”

Indeed.

“How about The Duke Who Steals Ladies?”

He rubbed his chin. “The Duke Who Stole Lady Sophia may be more appropriate.”

She looked upward, yet could not summon any true anger. “I suppose I can call you Kenneth, although it is highly inappropriate.”

He looked at her pointedly, or rather he looked at the lips he’d just kissed/caressed/fondled. “That’s what you are worried about being inappropriate?”

She had the grace to blush.

“I shall go riding with you if you promise to stay out of danger.” He patted the horse lightly. “I do not want to find you in the river’s clutches again.”

She shivered. She had no intention of going anywhere near that river again, at least not until a sturdy bridge spanned it. Yet danger was an inherent part of her life. Perhaps a compromise could be made. “How about I promise to be careful for the duration of our stay? Would that be sufficient?” Since escape was impossible, there was little to tempt her towards danger. Once she returned to London and the Distinguished Ladies of Purpose , however…

His eyed held unhidden doubt. “You promise to be safe while we are here?”

She nodded.

“And you won’t risk your life in the few minutes it takes me to saddle my horse?”

“I would hurry if I were you.”

He chuckled, yet all amusement fled as he leaned in. As the air turned serious, his voice was low, somber and dangerous . “If I ever see you risking your life again, I shall do everything in my power to ensure it’s the last time, even if it means curtailing your freedom. Do you understand?”

Indignation tightened muscles, yet she showed none of it. “Perfectly.”

He nodded and turned, walking to the stables.

She exhaled. Once she returned to London, she would live her life exactly as she pleased.

Danger and all.

His heart stopped today.

At least temporarily, when the horse sent Sophia soaring across the field, slamming into the uneven ground. By fortune or fate, she landed in a grassy spot, in between two jagged rocks pointing upward like daggers. He didn’t remember running to her, or his thoughts as he touched her far more intimately than appropriate. He’d attributed her aroused state to injury, yet clearly it was the affliction that affected them both.

Now even hours later, alone in his room, the memories returned in a never-ending loop. How did she captivate him so? Pure fear, not tempered concern, jolted him when she slammed to the ground, and his heart galloped even as she protested she was hearty and whole, proven by her uninjured state. The moment replayed in his mind again and again, alternating with the other times she’d put herself in danger. She thrived in peril, and his efforts to stop her had proven woefully inadequate. Henceforth, he would do more to protect her from herself.

Whether she liked it or not.

At least she was safe for the night, securely tucked into bed. He had allowed her to move from his room, reluctantly, relocating her to the chamber next door. He managed to only check on her three times.

He gazed out the window of the large master bedroom. Outside the air was cool, but not cold, with a gentle breeze flavored with the scent of night roses. A nocturnal bird sang a pining melody, its harmony joined by dozens of night creatures. Despite the late hour, energy burst within him, unresolved longing for what he could not have.

He needed to expend energy. Physical exercise not only strengthened his body, but also tempered his emotions, and he normally partook every day. Perhaps a late night dip in the water would help, not in the river, of course, which raged endlessly, but in the calm, clear spring that bordered his property. Laps in the naturally warm water made for a pleasant yet challenging exercise.

He took a moment to scribble a note and place it on the table, should Sophia seek him in an emergency. He strode from the room, just managing to pass his guest’s room without checking on her again, then made his way through the manor and stepped into the cool, comfortable night.

He strolled through the cleared paths, taking his time as he travelled the short journey. The night’s weather was as flawless as the previous night’s was turbulent, with a bright moon presiding over a cloudless sky. A breeze ruffled his hair, soothing raw senses, as the lake appeared behind a copse of trees.

He stopped and closed his eyes, basking in the purity of the natural world. The ton ignored such treasures, instead focusing on false splendors of little substance. The superficial riches they worshiped were like paste to the raw beauty of nature, their pursuits of wealth, titles and land unending, while they devalued the true worth of goodness, kindness and charity.

Not Sophia.

She showed what others didn’t. Sincerity and compassion, kindness and respect, to everyone, no matter a person’s position in society. She didn’t care how much money was in a man’s pocket or what title was attached to his name. In a kingdom of goodness, she was royalty.

Desire for his enchanting captive flared once more, as he reached the bank of the glittering water. Grasping the hem of his shirt, he divested himself of the garment, followed by his pants and even his underthings. He usually swam in the nude, and yesterday’s outfit was still damp from his little dip yesterday. Of course Sophia was asleep, and the lake was not visible from her window.

He leapt into the crystal clear springs, opening his arms wide to the welcoming warmth. He cut through the water, sliding in its silky embrace, propelling himself forward with smooth, even strokes. As Sophia’s image reentered his mind, he swam faster, through the winding springs, under a miniature waterfall. A cascade of violet blooms massaged his back as he glided under a hanging tree down a meandering path.

He swam one lap and then another, and then another and another. Yet no matter how fast he raced, he couldn’t outrace the image of his captivating guest. She thought he had stolen her.

She had stolen him as well.

Sophia stared at the wall above her, counting the number of times the owl hooted in the distance (26), the number of roses painted on the cream colored walls (142) and the number of times the fire crackled in the deep marble fireplace (309). She examined the cherry wood furniture, tossed on the four poster bed and snuggled into the silky sheets. She watched the tall trees swaying in the night breeze.

Yet she was no closer to sleep than before.

This was Kenneth’s fault. When he had stolen her, he had also stolen her attention, good sense and even her ability to sleep. She tried all the methods to cure insomnia.

Counting owl hoots turned into counting kisses.

Counting roses turned into counting the number of times she wished they kissed.

Counting fire crackles turned into counting the number of kisses they might share before this trip was over.

She leapt onto the hard floor, wincing at soreness from the previous day’s misadventures. She had no destination in mind as she donned a soft lavender dress, slid her feet into slippers and bound her hair into a soft knot. She padded to the door, and stopped.

Whatever she went, she would avoid anything too dangerous. It would not do to go back on a promise, even to her kidnapper. After all, he hadn’t deceived her. He’d made perfectly clear he was going to kidnap her.

Then, he did.

She’d promised to avoid danger, not remain in her room like a prisoner. Surely a walk on the grounds posed no peril.

She grasped the door handle. Half expecting to see an uninvited duke slumbering outside her door, the empty hallway came almost as a surprise. Still, she moved quietly past his room, then quickened her stride as she padded through the hallway and descended the long staircase. She reached the front door and stepped into the night.

Like a soothing blanket, the wind wrapped itself around her, as if apologizing for yesterday’s tantrum. It was scented by roses, their dark red blooms visible against the emerald bushes, even in the moonlight. The river was far enough to provide a comforting cadence, a gentle backdrop to the lilting nocturnal birdsong.

A rare peace descended, as she strolled through enchanting gardens, under a brilliant star-studded sky. She wandered without destination or direction, always keeping the estate in view. Getting lost would definitely meet Kenneth’s definition of danger, and no doubt she’d find herself sleeping next to the formidable duke again.

She ignored the sudden urge to become hopelessly lost.

Like her steps, her thoughts wandered down meandering paths. She liked her life in London, yet it was a cacophony of nonstop movement, a never-ending performance with every exchange watched, every mistake seized. Kenneth scrutinized her, yet with good intentions, her safety and security his primary goal. At times, it almost seemed he cared.

Just as she cared for him.

He was not the man she had imagined, not even close. He was honorable and good, kind and compassionate. He showed his true self in his interactions with the townspeople, as he gifted his time, efforts and funds. If not for his revenge…

Impossible. The revenge was as much part of him as the good. Whatever feelings she had for Kenneth, she loved Edmund. She must remain loyal to the man who helped raise her.

She stepped over a fallen log and sat down upon its crusty side. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

Water splashed, and she jumped. She immediately pivoted to the river, yet it was too far to be the source. She rose as the splash sounded again, then slowly advanced. The moon was large and bright, illuminating her path as she slunk through velvety leaves. The wind whistled, tickling the trees, as the sound grew ever louder.

The swaying trees drew apart, revealing a glimmer of water, like the surface of a looking glass. A natural spring glistened amidst a canopy of flowering vines, shining under the full moon and countless twinkling stars. It extended in meandering swirls, with waterways delving beyond the trees.

The floral scent grew stronger, so lovely it was almost intoxicating. Dozens of majestic trees arched above, moss and flowers dripping down their branches like fluttering butterflies. Lilies bordered the edges, in whites and yellows, their fragrant scent beautifying the air.

Sophia hopped over a small dip in the ground. The spring was shallow along the edges, with a wide shelf of fine sand before it deepened to a fathomless bottom. She stopped only long enough to pull off her slippers and stockings, then stepped forward. Yet just before she reached the inviting pool, she hesitated. It would not do to get the dress wet. With his uncanny instincts, Kenneth would take one look at the damp bottom and immediately deduce what she had done.

Before she could think better of it, she grasped the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. The night wind blew, yet its coolness only invigorated her. She folded the dress neatly on a rock next to her stockings and slippers, smoothed down her shift and stepped forward.

Unlike the river’s jagged shore, the rocks here were softer and rounder, interspersed with soft moss that tickled her feet. She moved slowly in the relative darkness, careful to avoid tripping on the slippery floor. She braced herself for a shock of cold that never came, as the water remained deliciously warm, like a fresh bath poured from steaming buckets.

She sighed as she glided forward, until her ankles, and then her calves were submerged. She fought the urge to travel further, to immerse herself entirely in the natural bath, yet then she would have to fully unclothe, and unseen dangers could prowl the unfamiliar waters. She settled for sitting on a flat-top rock, her legs dangling in the water, her palms flat against the smooth surface behind her. Pure bliss.

Water splashed again, and she smiled as tiny silver fish danced a waltz to the melody of the night birds’ orchestra. More splashing came, further yet louder, cast by something far larger than the little fish. She studied the darkness. Then, she froze.

Someone was there.

Moonlight glinted off a powerful form in the distance, cutting through the water like Poseidon, lord of the sea. He moved with the grace and power of a shark, his muscles rippling as he pulled forward with one arm and then the next in bold strokes. He was massive and he was dominant, a predator of the waves.

Kenneth.

She’d recognize his formidable form anywhere, yet she never imagined this. How did he move with such effortlessness, defying the water’s pull? He conquered it with ease, just like he vanquished every other challenge in his path.

Move. Stay. Go. Remain. A thousand conflicting urges paralyzed her, as she stayed still on the smooth rock, even as he stalked closer. He emerged from the shadows, and she sucked in a breath.

He. Was. Nude.

A shark couldn’t have moved her now, as she stared at the man who ruled not just the land, but the water as well. He was power defined, master of his world. He always seemed immense, always massive, yet the true measure of his power shone like never before. His shoulders were broad, his back muscled. She looked lower…

In the wet world, her throat dried.

My goodness. One didn’t really consider such things, and she certainly had nothing with which to judge. But really…

Wow.

As a lady, she should turn away, should not stare, should not avoid blinking for even that momentary interruption to her one person show.

She never really listened to shoulds.

He turned, ever-so-slightly, yet it set him on a different path, one that brought him closer to her. Suddenly, he was on a journey with her as the destination, yet still she couldn’t move. And then it was too late.

He stood before her, a warrior king rising from the mist. Water dripped down his body, outlining bare skin, corded curves and exposed angles. Her skin prickled as droplets moistened it, even as she pushed herself up to stand so far beneath him. He towered above her, his gaze piercing, as their eyes locked.

Then he leaned down and whispered, “Time for consequences.”