My Darling Duke

“My mother also saw adventure in the clouds and the stars. My father once told me he fell in love with her because of her spirit for the whimsy,” he said gruffly.

Kitty grinned, apparently delighted by that tidbit. “It was a love match?”

Alexander looked out across the valley. “He said he saw her at a ball, stepped on her toes in the crush, and she laughed. He said he knew then he would marry her.”

“How lovely,” she said with a soft sigh. “My mamma and papa were childhood friends, their estates abutting each other. Papa said he knew at the age of twelve that Mamma would be his wife. Mamma, who was ten years at the time, said she also knew—and she wonders why her daughters are incurable romantics.”

A large bird swooped low and perched on the branch right above their heads. Katherine grabbed his arm excitedly. “Oh, look at those glorious feathers!”

They watched the bird in silence until, with a flap of its wings, it flew away, soaring toward the clouds.

“I’ve been thinking,” she murmured.

“What beautiful mischief is churning in that mind of yours?”

She bounced him with her shoulder playfully, then delicately cleared her throat. “Our charade cannot be forever…your interest ensnared endlessly.”

He wanted to refute her claim, truly unable to imagine a moment where she would not captivate him. She was clever, resourceful, impudent, and just so damn lovely.

“I owe you an astronomical sum of money, and I—”

“You owe me nothing,” he said gruffly. “The amount to let the town house is a pittance.”

“Still, once our engagement ends, I cannot importune on your generosity further.”

“And do you suppose it shall end soon, Miss Danvers?”

She sent him a sidelong glance. “I would ask the same of you, Your Grace. My expectations have been upended. I am not locked away in a tower like a heroine in a gothic novel despairing for my virtue while hatching desperate plans to escape the wicked, wicked man who whisked me away from the comforts of my family.”

She was laughing at him.

He grazed the softness of her cheek with the back of his hand. “Do you want me to act the ravaging beast, Katherine?”

Her pulse visibly leaped at her throat.

“You do know I cannot stay here much longer,” she whispered. “I was thinking you could come to London. We could go to the theater. The gardens. Even the museum. Wouldn’t that be fun? And we are engaged, so there should be little to no speculation.”

Her eyes sparkled with unspoken promises, and he did not have it in him to be cynical. Instead, he drifted closer to her on the branch, surrounding her with his bulk and thinking for a moment that such promises could be real.

“Do you imagine you could live here and be happy?”

There lingered a teasing pout to her lush lips. “An extremely dangerous question, Your Grace. It implies you plan to keep me captive forever.”

Before he could answer, she tipped onto her toes, leaned in, and kissed his brow. Truly her impudence could startle him no longer. She continued her ministrations by tenderly kissing the bridge of his nose and finally, his mouth. The softest of brushes, yet it reached down into his cold, lonely heart and filled it with astonishing warmth and a lightness he had never felt before.

Refusing to deny himself in this moment, he cupped her cheek with his free hand, dipped his head, and took her mouth, softly and tenderly at first, then wild and rough. Her mouth was a living flame beneath his—passionate, sweet, and irresistible.

Then it was over before it truly began. He pulled away slightly and waited for her to say something, anything, but she only stared across the wild beauty of the land. Yet her lips remained curved in a secretive smile. Awestruck by the beauty and power of her smile, he simply stared, but at her, not at the scenery before them.

They did not mention the kiss, but she watched the clouds alive with the birds and the lands that he owned. Disembarking had been tricky, but he made it down without much mishap, though he had barely resisted the urge to groan aloud as his muscles absorbed the shock of his descent. Once on the ground, they had reposed on the blanket and drunk the entire bottle of wine and ate the delicious rum cake. Alexander had even suspected his Katherine might have been a bit foxed. He had stupidly made snow angels without snow at her delighted insistence, and grass was everywhere on his body and in his hair.

They had argued more over the shapes in the clouds and had debated the merits of a headless horseman being real and how he could be a champion of the underclass of London. After a while he had wondered if he, too, was foxed, since their conversations were unlike any he’d ever had before. They had spoken at length of the orphans of England and the motions he would have his supporters take to parliament in its next session.

More than an hour had passed. A chill permeated the air, and a lavender cast blanketed the sky as twilight approached. Yet they did not make any effort to retreat inside the castle walls. Nor was Alexander startled when Hoyt appeared with two very warm blankets, cushions, and a lit lantern. The man had set them down without a word and melted away discreetly. Katherine had laughed in happy bemusement and had hurriedly swaddled herself in a blanket after wrapping one about his shoulders.

Now he sat with his back against the tree’s trunk, one leg drawn up and the other stretched out, his thigh acting as a pillow for Katherine. Upon his leg, her head rested as she read the gothic and surprisingly engaging story of The Murderous Monk.

His heart started beating again, if unevenly. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed the dreams to burrow a little deeper under the hardened icy surface.