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

CHAPTER 3

T he Private Diary of Sophia Hawkins

What is his scheme?

Foxworth claimed he would not physically harm my brother, and somehow I believe him. Yet wounding Edmund is undoubtedly his goal, if more subtle than with sword or pistol. He indicated he would take something precious.

What sort of items does a man consider precious? With Edmund’s wealth, Foxworth could not take enough money to dent his fortune. The townhome and estates are fully owned, and Edmund would not risk them in any sort of wager. My brother is not a materialistic person, and I cannot think of a single “thing” precious enough to fulfill the sort of revenge Foxworth touts. The question remains:

What is he planning to steal?

Heat flooded her.

Sophia gasped, clutching the book she once thought her target. The manuscript burned in her hands, as she pivoted to a man whose identity was obvious. She recognized that deep, dangerous voice, in a room risen by a thousand degrees, the tension as thick as the volume in her hands.

A pair of expensive Hessian boots came into view. They led to powerful legs, a long torso, an expansive chest. When she finally reached his face, her breath caught in her throat.

Beautiful.

It seemed a ridiculous sobriquet for a man, especially one so powerful, so dominant, yet no other word fit with such precision. He was fate’s masterpiece, chiseled features of high cheekbones, emerald eyes and full lips. His powerful arms were folded across his chest, his biceps straining the thin fabric, as challenge blazed.

Did he know what she sought? She might not be able to feign innocence, yet she would not admit guilt. “I apologize for my forwardness. I was simply browsing.”

“Browsing?” He stepped towards her, his boots echoing on the floor like the drum at a traitor’s execution. Her heart pumped furiously. “In my locked desk drawer?”

Heat spread throughout her, although whether from fear, anger or something far more mysterious was unclear. She resisted the urge to flee her predator, and the even more ridiculous urge to delve closer. He was like fire, and she a hapless creature entranced by the allure of the beautiful, perilous flame.

“Was it locked?” she muttered.

“We both know it was. Were you looking for something?” Before she could answer, his gaze swept to the table, where the hairpin shone, tiny and yet gleaming like a miniature sword.

Oops.

His gaze hardened. “You picked the lock.” His voice was like honeyed wine, low and smooth. “Is that why you came?”

Fury swept through her. Who was he to accuse her, when he fought a mysterious war against her family? She held up the book. “What is this?”

“My property.”

“You don’t care about property when it belongs to someone else,” she snapped, then bit her tongue. She swallowed an oath.

For the briefest of moments confusion lit his eyes, yet the challenge returned a moment later. “I do plan on stealing something.”

She just managed not to gasp. “You admit your crime.”

The confusion returned for an instant, then quickly vanished. “Are you accusing me of something, Lady Sophia? I have done nothing.”

She breathed out.

“Yet.”

She clutched the book so hard it bent in her fingers. She loosened her grip. “Why would you have a book about abductions? Are you planning one?”

He covered her hand. Heat streaked through her body, and she released the book, yet for a moment, he didn’t release her . She tugged away, yet the momentum was too much. She fell…

Straight. Into. Him.

Heat sparked an inferno. Large hands splayed on her back, steadying at the same time they seized. She pressed against the wall of muscles, as he towered over her, fully in control.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

“Never.” She ducked under his arm, emerged to freedom and an inexplicable chill. She turned with a triumphant grin, yet it was quickly extinguished by the power in his eyes. He shifted the book in his hands, the title blazing like a surreptitious message. If he didn’t allow it, could she ever escape?

“You still haven’t explained the book.”

He returned the volume to the drawer and locked it firmly. He straightened. “The title interested me. It’s a fascinating subject.”

The claim was as believable as a lion’s vow to forsake hunting. “Shall I suggest it to my ladies’ book club?”

“A splendid idea.” His eyes glinted in the firelight. “Ladies do not read enough about crime. Once you’ve finished, I have an excellent book on arson, followed by an entire series on tyrants.”

“You should be familiar with that,” she retorted. She pursed her lips together. This man tested her like no other. “You still haven’t explained why the book was in the locked drawer, along with your accounts.”

His gaze sobered. “Were you looking through my accounts?”

“Of course not.” She waved her hand. “I wouldn’t invade your privacy.”

His expression turned incredulous, as heat crept up her neck.

Ah yes, she had been rummaging through his drawers.

Which had been locked.

And he didn’t even know about the journals.

Perhaps respecting privacy was one of her lesser accomplished qualities. “You keep a book on abductions in your locked drawer. Tell me the truth. Are you planning to abduct someone?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Which meant the answer was…

The world turned dangerous. The duke was always intense, yet now the atmosphere burned with it. She needed to retreat. Not literally, but figuratively, from discussions of schemes, revenge and abductions. Forceful confrontations did not work with this man. He was simply too intelligent.

It called for a new strategy. Perhaps if she was amiable, he would relax enough to let his scheme slip. It would be one of the greatest challenges she ever faced:

She’d have to be cordial to Foxworth.

She attempted a smile.

He looked concerned.

“I’m sorry for looking through your drawer. Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me.”

Concern turned to suspicion. “Did you just say you were sorry?”

She nodded. And smiled again.

“I say, are you all right?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Your expression is strange, like you are choking on something.”

She was choking on the urge to grab him and demand he reveal all.

He stepped towards her. With his massive size, he could never be anything but intense, yet his words emerged soft, gentle even. “You have fashioned yourself my foe, even though we are no such thing. You are careless with your safety, and now I catch you rifling through my desk.”

“I was not rifling through your desk.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“Not rifling through your desk.”

His eyes sparkled. “Do you know what the term ‘rifling through a desk’ means?”

“Indeed. I simply want to apologize. For…” Rifling through his desk. “The misunderstanding.”

He looked at her as if she had left her senses in the desk.

She needed to be more convincing. “I have a perfectly reasonable excuse for being here. I didn’t break through any locks.”

He folded his arms across his chest, dropped his gaze to the drawer.

Oh yes. The desk.

“I didn’t break in anywhere else.” She smiled sweetly. “I have a perfectly good excuse for being in the library. The décor.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Apology accepted.”

“No, I didn’t mean–” He stopped, shook his head. “Lass, you’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Since charm didn’t work, perhaps she could confound him. “I noticed the new décor and asked Clara to give me a tour.”

“That sounds reasonable, but you’re missing one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Clara.”

She gulped back a chuckle. “You noticed, did you? You truly have an extraordinary grasp of small details. And, um, many other things.” Perhaps adding a little flattery wouldn’t hurt.

His frown deepened. “You’re not trying to be nice so I’ll tell you what you want to know?”

“Would it work?”

“Most certainly not.”

She ignored the retort, stepping away from him and his distracting presence. “We were touring the home together, when your grandmother summoned Clara. She should be back any moment.” She strolled past a trio of bejeweled emerald vases holding golden feathered fans. “I like your redecorating.”

“You didn’t like the previous décor?” He raised an eyebrow. “It was quite popular among ghosts looking to holiday.”

Sophia bit her lip to stop the smile. “Did the somber duke actually jest?”

His eyes crinkled at the sides, and for the briefest of moments, something not altogether unhappy passed between them. She cleared her throat. “I’m surprised you changed it. The prior decor seemed better suited to you. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t bring a whole array of Medieval weapons.”

“Actually, I did.”

She just managed not to stumble.

And he was beside her in a second, steadying her. “Are you certain you were only interested in the décor?”

And just like that, the world once more turned dangerous. She tore her gaze away to the book titles, yet they blurred next to his commanding presence.

“Everywhere I go, I find something that interests me,” he murmured. “Even when I expect the worst, I find a diamond. It is a beautiful and rare surprise, which I do not relinquish.”

She tightened. “I do not understand your metaphors, Your Grace.”

“I think you do.” He took a step around her. “Clara said you fought to better the world.”

He had discussed her with his sister? She trusted Clara, as did Priscilla, which is why she’d been invited to the Distinguished Ladies of Purpose . Yet Clara was also far less worldly than her brother. Had she unwittingly helped him in his plot against Edmund?

She showed none of her suspicion. “It is not an uncommon trait, even among women, despite what the ton believes.”

“I know many strong women.” Foxworth’s tone was genuine. “Including my sister. Of course, I do not consider myself true ton. ”

She furrowed her brow. “Of course you are ton. Few rank higher than a duke.”

“As I am all too aware.” Disgust laced Foxworth’s voice. “Those who previously disparaged me now ingratiate themselves at my feet. Those who speak poorly of my country – my true country – now praise it, while insulting it behind my back. It is all a facade, a mirror of perceived desires. I’d have people treat me as a fellow man, not as a duke.”

How unexpected.

It was a moment of discomfort, vulnerability even, which she would never point out, and he would never admit. The unexpected inheritance of a dukedom was a cause of great celebration, a boon that changed the path of a life. Yet perhaps not all considered it such.

For just a moment, sympathy surfaced. Was his dissatisfaction with his new role related to his anger for Edmund? Was this the origin of his crusade? “You should be pleased for your new situation. Scores of women want nothing more than a moment with the handsome new duke.”

She closed her eyes. Where had that come from?

She opened them to see a smile as wide as the Thames. “Actually, I never had a problem with the lasses.”

The heat travelled from the top of her head to the toes pinched in her fashionably tiny slippers.

“As Clara said, I would do anything for my family.”

“How did you know she said that?” Clara had uttered the words when they were alone . She gasped. “You were eavesdropping?”

There was no denial, excuse or apology. “Of course. I always watch over my domain, especially when ladies with unknown motives visit.”

“You’re the one with unknown motives.” She glared. “And nefarious plans.”

“You have plans of your own.” he countered. “You asked my sister some rather interesting questions.”

“How dare you.” Sophia clutched her skirt and her anger. It was far safer than the camaraderie of earlier. “Do you realize how inappropriate that is?”

Once again she’d underestimated him. While she believed she was conducting a covert investigation, he’d been watching her the entire time. It was only fate or fortune she’d had a chance to search the library and find the information she did. “I will not allow you to seek revenge on my brother.”

“You cannot stop me, lass.” He stepped closer and closer still, until he was standing over her. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

She stood tall. “I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.”

She clenched her fists, digging sharp fingernails into her palms. “Your veiled threats have grown tiresome. Tell me what you have planned.”

“Do not worry,” he rumbled lowly. “You will not have to wait long.”

Her heart lurched at the confirmation that whatever he had planned was imminent. How much time remained? “Then I will have to move quickly.”

“Lass–” His voice held an unmistakable warning. “You need not be fearful of me, yet it is perilous to challenge men twice your size.” He flexed his muscles. “Someone stronger and larger could take control.”

Unspoken indications filled the space. Did he plan to take control?

“The point is–” His tone darkened. “You put yourself in danger by your actions, and I will not allow it.”

“You have no say in what I say or do.” She lifted her chin. “I can care for myself.”

“By your penchant for danger, that is clearly untrue.” His voice was even lower, his exasperation turned to ire. “If Bradenton cannot care for you, someone else will.”

Every muscle clenched. In fury. In frustration. In an emotion that impossibly felt like excitement. And yet, despite it all, somehow not fear.

“That will never happen,” she ground out. “I will overcome any plans you have for my family. You may be massive, but I am just as brave and smart as you. Shall I prove it to you?” She glanced around the room, stopped at the ladder leaning against the bookshelves. Edged on by determination, she strode to it.

“What are you about?” He followed right behind her.

“When one faces challenges, they simply lift themselves up.” She hefted her skirt and placed a foot on the lowest rung. It wobbled slightly under her slippers, yet she clutched the sides and stepped higher, progressing steadily, even as it swayed. She ascended another rung, and then another. “As you can see, I am already taller than you. Cunning and intelligence triumph over strength and power every time.”

“Get down,” he commanded.

She climbed another step. “I rather enjoy the view from up here.” It was frustratingly true, despite the emotions he inspired. How could he still seem so massive, when she was now higher than him? Yet perspectives had not changed viewpoints – he was still a veritable giant.

He growled, low, deep and incensed. His gaze set, and he stalked towards her.

Uh-oh.

The ladder started to tip.

How he moved so quickly, she would never know. As the ladder swayed one way and then the other, her foot slipped, and she fell forward…

Into his arms.

Her breath whooshed from her lungs, as she fell against a solid wall of muscle. Powerful arms snaked around her, claiming, grasping, securing as tightly as iron shackles. He turned her, even as his hold remained secure. He always seemed large, never-endingly powerful, yet now he was enormous, as he gazed from so far above. His eyes blazed, their fiery depths alight with shadowy emotion.

He was going to chastise her, reprimand her for a taking a risk that could have led to grievous injury. He would be arrogant, overbearing and domineering.

Yet he did none of that. Instead, he reached out, and ever-so-softly stroked her cheek. “Are you all right, lass?”

She could fight anger. She could fight arrogance. She could even fight threats. Gentle words and soft touches? Impossible.

She closed heavy eyes against unknown emotions. His touch begot a longing, a feeling of utter rightness that had her leaning into him. “I am well,” she whispered.

“As I said, I will always be here to catch you.”

It wasn’t true, yet in this moment, it didn’t matter. She should retreat, thank him and pretend it never happened. She should cease all conversation, flee into the hallway to wait for Clara. Yet instead she stayed frozen, save for her rapidly beating heart.

He held her in thrall.

She didn’t try to escape, and he never offered to let go, holding her as if his place and his right. Of course, no breech in propriety existed for a gentleman saving a falling lady, yet now they delved far past any semblance of decorum.

“Why haven’t you released me?” she whispered.

“I rather like holding you,” he murmured.

Her breath caught. And she just managed not to share she rather liked him holding her, too. “Shouldn’t you put me down now?”

It was a question, not a demand, an inquiry, not a request. And somehow no anger arose when instead of letting go, his muscles tightened. “Is that what you want?”

It was her opportunity, her chance to escape this untamed duke. That he would release her was not in doubt, yet she would have to show him, or tell him.

She could move back.

Tell him she didn’t want this.

Ask for her release.

Instead…

She remained silent.

He waited a moment, and then another, providing the opportunity she couldn’t accept. Then…

He took her lips.

From a calm sea into a raging tempest, from constrained tension to unrestrained passion, heat surrounded her, powerful, fervent and all-consuming. The world blazed fire as he caressed her lips, tasting and testing with firm strokes. Senses scrambled as bodies pressed flush, every movement casting tantalizing friction and ribbons of desire. She breathed in his scent. He breathed in hers.

Out of the corner of her eye, the door started to open…