Page 16 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

CHAPTER 16

J ournal of the Duke of Foxworth:

Adapted from Rules of Etiquette for Kidnappers, First Edition

In order to conduct a successful kidnapping, it is vital to adhere to the following steps:

1. Hide all emotions.

2. Do not allow distractions.

3. Maintain control in all situations.

4. Above all, do not fall for the lady.

Was she an apparition?

A conjuring of his imagination?

An ethereal creature sent to bewitch him?

Perhaps all three, yet as he drew himself up, senses proved she was all too real: quickened breaths, cheeks flushed with emotion, the intoxicating scent of violets.

She was a sparkling star in the moonlight, her skin flawless, her ruby lips plump and inviting, her eyes brilliant. The shift clung to her like a second skin, outlining a trim waist, slender legs and oh-so-tempting curves. She was pure beauty, an enchantress of the night, and she was his .

He could forgive himself for thinking her otherworldly. She had taken residence in his mind, trickery of an artful imagination. She could have been fate’s way of reminding him of its power, that his path lay in destiny’s clutches. She could have been a waking dream, a fulfillment of never-ending wishes. Yet close enough to touch, she was all too real.

For a moment, he stood motionless, staring at her, before he managed to reach the nearby rock where he placed his towel. Her eyes tracked every movement, as he tied it around his waist and returned.

Most ladies would have fled the instant they spied him, or, having been caught, reacted with mortification and endless apologies. She did neither, as she stood like a queen, resplendent in a cotton shift. He swallowed, tightened. It would be so easy to reach out, pull her near…

Control yourself. By her response, she was not here for that, and even if she was, it wouldn’t matter. He could wait. He would wait. He didn’t want to wait. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice was a breathless whisper, as she tilted her head in the starlight. Her gaze dropped, her pupils dilating as she stared at his chest, before she snapped it up.

“Would you like me to get dressed?”

“Absolutely not.” She blushed the color of a blood rose. “I mean yes! Of course, yes. Absolutely, positively yes.”

The blush deepened.

Her gaze burned into him as he retrieved the rest of his clothing and donned his pants. Did he imagine it, or was there a flash of disappointment in her eyes? Then her gaze tracked to his bare chest, and she brightened.

She tested his control like no other.

“Explain yourself.”

She drifted her fingertips across the water’s surface, casting tiny circles into every-expanding rings. Such was her influence on him, the slightest touch rippled to chaos. “I have nothing to explain.”

“Why did you defy me again?”

She lifted her hands, inadvertently splashing them both. Bubble-eyed fish scattered in silvery disarray. “I wasn’t trying to escape.”

“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged, “yet you were in the water.”

She lifted a delicate shoulder. “You cannot compare a placid spring with a raging river. I simply wanted a walk.” Her lips quirked into an impish smile. “Do you think me so clumsy as to drown in a foot of water?”

“It’s the middle of the night.” His mood darkened, as a thousand scenarios played in his mind, all culminating with her injured and alone. “You shouldn’t be exploring by yourself, and certainly not in unfamiliar waters. What if you slipped and hurt yourself?”

“By your definition, any solitary activity is dangerous. Should I stay attached to your side for the next month?”

“It would be my preference.”

It was true, for so many reasons. She inspired unease with every daring misadventure, fear from a man who feared little. Who knew what peril she courted in London? She needed someone to watch over her.

Permanently.

“What if you became lost?”

She lifted her hands. “I kept the estate in sight. You can even see the roof through the trees. I must live my life, Kenneth, just as you live yours.”

As a duke, it may seem like he had every choice in the world, yet his life was not truly his own. He’d been the head of the family for as long as he could remember, responsible for so much and so many. Protecting others was his greatest responsibility, yet at times it yielded difficult choices. Of course, she wasn’t officially his – yet.

He could force the issue. Could confine her to the estate when he wasn’t by her side. It was tempting, yet perhaps it was not the best method. As she said, she needed to live her life, and a nocturnal walk was not truly unsafe. “I understand your need for freedom.”

She parted her lips. “You do?”

“If I say yes, will you hold it over me?”

“Forever.”

He hid his smile. “Next time you crave a late night sojourn, wake me and we can go together.” He raised his hand to stop the oncoming protest. “Unless you do not enjoy the company?”

Her eyes drifted to his chest again, and she licked her lips.

Clearly, she was trying to end him.

She cleared her throat. “All right, but only while we are here.”

He neither agreed, nor argued. Of course, just because they returned to London, didn’t mean he wouldn’t still guard her.

“I know the next thing I want you to teach me.”

He grimaced. “War strategy?”

The impish smile returned. “Perhaps another time. For now, I wish to learn how to move through the water.”

“You want to swim? I’m surprised, after…” His voice trailed off, yet the words did not need to be said. After she almost drowned.

Flashes of her sinking struck again, the cold murky water, the moments she disappeared. The horror, the fear. Yet even as he grew rigid, she stood straighter. Fear did not defeat this woman.

“It must feel glorious to move like that, like flying on earth. I’ve spent time in Bath, yet they allow little more than relaxation. No one ever offered this.” She breathed deeply. “Should I get into trouble again, I wish to be able to rescue myself.”

He would always be there to rescue her. The thought was immediate, yet it wasn’t quite true. With so many lakes, ponds and watering holes, a simple fall risked tragedy. “I will teach you on one condition. You must never attempt to navigate the river. The current is far too strong.” He lowered his voice. “I am serious, Sophia. I would have your word on this.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

He believed her. Like him, her honor was paramount. “All right,” he agreed. “Tomorrow, we can start.”

“What about now?”

“Now?” She wore only a thin shift, her courage and moonlight.

“We are both wet, and the moon is bright enough to light the way.”

He resisted the immediate denial. If they stayed in the shallow area where the water was clear, he could easily see her. A traitorous voice whispered , He could teach her better if she wore nothing at all. “Do you promise to stay close?”

“I will stay as close as physically possible.” She paled. “I mean I’ll stay close, but not that close. Certainly not as close as possible, because that would be…” She stopped, shut her eyes. “I mean close enough to be safe.”

“Of course.”

She placed her small hand into his large one. He grasped it for a moment, steadying her as he moved them forward. The bottom of her shift swirled in the water, revealing small feet, shapely ankles, slender calves. Something shifted in his breast, as she entrusted herself into his care.

She wasn’t trying to end him. She was going to end him.

Her willpower had dissolved an hour ago. Focus on the water, she told herself. Focus on technique, position, breathing, anything and everything that wasn’t the towering man sculpted from pure muscle.

Instead she focused on the towering man sculpted from pure muscle.

By the time an hour had passed, she’d made excellent progress in focusing on the towering man sculpted from pure muscle and far slower progress in swimming. That was to say, she still sank like a rock. Only she sank slower now, which was progress if one wanted to enjoy a leisurely sinking instead of just getting straight to the point.

Yet no matter how many times she sank, her instructor remained positive and optimistic, certain she was moments away from navigating the water like the fish that danced around them. He was skilled and kind, patient and understanding, as he assured her a hundred and one times. And when she started to sink, he was always there to catch her.

“Let’s get you into position.”

That was how it always started.

And like before, instead of saying “No, thank you, because if you touch me one more time, I may not be able to resist kissing you,” she smiled and nodded.

Then his hands were everywhere .

He positioned her on the liquid bed, supporting her stomach with hands so huge, they nearly encircled her. When she shifted, his knuckles inadvertently brushed the underside of her breast.

And so she shifted. A lot.

He ran a hand down her legs, demonstrating the technique again. She heard half of what he said and felt twice of what he touched, as the thin cloth provided little barrier. He touched her bare leg.

Senses flooded with desire.

“Do you mind if I move your clothes for a moment, so I can demonstrate how to kick?” He slid his hand down her leg.

“I don’t mind!” She lowered her voice. “If it can help me learn.”

“Don’t stay so rigid,” he instructed, grasping her leg. “Move with the water.”

She dutifully obeyed, paddling one arm in front of the other just like he’d showed. He splayed his fingers on her belly.

She gulped a mouthful of water.

She choked as he patted her back, holding her up as she coughed. He rubbed her shoulders, making soothing noises, as she heaved in a breath of air to dislodge the watery film coating her throat.

“Are you all right?”

No, she was not. Physically, perhaps, yet senses were scrambled, undone by his endless touches. Like a storm-lashed ship held by an anchor, she clutched at the warmth, the beacon of strength. His grip never loosened as he turned her in his arms.

“Are you well?” he murmured.

A moment or a thousand passed. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“Neither do I.” He breathed in deeply, and she brushed against him. Her breasts felt heavy as the wet fabric clung to them, as she pressed against his chest with only the translucent cloth separating them.

“What do you do to me?” He leaned lower.

“The same thing you do to me.” She closed her eyes.

The first taste was extraordinary.

He brushed her lips, as he firmly took control with an intoxicating blend of whisper soft touches and firm strokes. He massaged her body, her mind, her . Yet she was a willing participant, surrendering as he softened her with intimate caresses she couldn’t resist.

Only a sliver of clothing and a sheen of water separated them, yet she ached for more. His gentle hold tightened, and he wrapped his hands around her to bring her closer. Her body pressed flush against his, tantalizing friction with every movement.

The watery world brought them closer than ever before. They were no longer separated by a dozen layers of clothing and the heavy burden of society. Here, in their enchanted pool, only the two of them existed.

He licked the seam of her lips, and she opened for him. Yet she demanded as well, exploring, manipulating the heavy muscles under her hands. He stole her control, her senses, her every resolution, as he deepened the kiss. He rubbed her skin, ran his hands through her wet hair, cupped her vulnerable neck. The thin shift gave no protection against his sensual onslaught.

Why was her shift still on?

The thought came on its own volition, like a lightning bolt in an amorphous world. Her wicked mind flashed with images, naked skin to naked skin, bareness to bareness, hardness to softness. The fictional images mingled with true sensations, movements that became bolder by the second. It was unbearable delight, yet something more lurked out of reach.

So why was her shift still on?

The question’s second arrival was less fanciful wonder, more potential reality. As they writhed against each other in the sensual dance, each iteration bringing them closer, his presence was everywhere. It was perfection, yet it was not enough. She wanted more, needed more, deserved more.

Why shouldn’t she embrace passion’s ultimate ritual? Society’s dictates were arbitrary and unfair, misogynistic by their very nature. She could show the ton, albeit without their knowledge, that she would not be constrained by their skewed opinions on right and wrong, would not deny herself for their unfair decrees. Indeed, making love was a most rational, and even logical, decision.

His hands strayed to her backside and squeezed.

Forget logic and reason.

She wanted him.

Even knowing the break was only temporary, pulling back was an endeavor to require a warrior. “Kenneth…” She closed her eyes, fighting the dual urges to protect sensitive spots and open herself up to his administrations. She settled for a combination, yet when he nipped at her, she gasped.

He sighed, and his movement stopped. Ever so slowly, he retreated. “I’m sorry. I just wanted one more taste.”

She swallowed. “How about a feast?”

He looked up sharply.

“I didn’t pull back because I wanted to stop. On the contrary…” She breathed in a taste of intoxicating male. “I want to continue.”

Confusion joined the need in his eyes… then enlightenment. “Sophia–”

“Do not.”

“Do not what?”

“Do not sacrifice our lives to society’s whims.” She lifted her head. “The ton forbids ladies from what they tolerate, and even expect, from men. A woman can not so much as enjoy a chaste kiss, while a man can enjoy an endless parade of mistresses.”

“Our kisses are hardly chaste.” He gently stroked her cheek. “Yet you are a maiden.”

She placed her hand on top of his. “What does it matter? Everything changes the day I marry, so does it truly make a difference if it is a little sooner?”

His nostrils flared. “What are you saying?”

“I refuse to live with regrets.” She took a deep breath. “Claim me.”