Taming The Duke

The stag nibbled tender shoots from the low brambles. Dalton sighed. He would love to spend the entire afternoon here in the peaceful glen, but he had important work to do. He turned and strode toward the sorrel gelding nearby.

Indeed, the brief respite in the silent woods had restored his good humor. Hopefully, Lady Alicia was in a more receptive mood, too. He needed to talk to her. He had sketched some designs for a round pen that could easily be built away from the stable yard. If Alicia approved the plan, the high-fenced pen would allow her the freedom to work with Bashshar, while protected from the unwelcome stares of his mother’s guests.

When he approached the paddock, Dalton dismounted and walked toward the stable, handing the reins to a waiting groom. He was almost past the corner of the pavilion when he recognized Bashshar’s loud whinny. He stopped and peered through the white-painted fence of the pavilion. Inside, in the center of the ring, Alicia stood like a statue, her arms at her sides. In one hand she held what looked like an old woolen scarf, hanging limply to the ground. A few feet away, Bashshar angrily pawed the earth.

Dalton watched with fascinated interest. She flicked the long scarf. Bashshar watched her warily as he moved along the opposite end of the enclosure, his bright eyes never wavering from her.

Dalton waited for Alicia to react again with the long scarf, to do anything; but instead, she remained immobile, facing the animal. Minutes passed, and Dalton finally realized that she was imitating Bashshar’s movements—while holding the power position of center stage.

Bashshar knew it and didn’t like it. He scratched the dirt, tossing his head in protest at this lovely woman who didn’t seem to be afraid of him. Bashshar refused to settle, his eyes warring with hers.

Whatever was going on, Dalton had no idea, but he couldn’t look away. He watched transfixed as the powerful stallion played into her hand. When the horse appeared ready to rear, Dalton pushed open the gate and rushed inside. “Alicia, back away!”

Bashshar shook his head wildly, then kicked his hind legs in the air.

Alicia stepped back, then whirled to face Dalton. Her face was a study of silent rage as she slapped her hands on her hips. She glanced over her shoulder at the black stallion. As though satisfied the horse was all right, she strode determinedly toward Dalton, then shot past him.

“Wh-where are you going?” he asked as she strode from the ring. He took off after her. When they had left the paddock, she turned around to lock the gate. When she had slid the bolt through the latch, she rounded on him.

“If I am to make any progress with your stallion, you must not interrupt me.”

“Interrupt? I was trying to save your life. See here, you don’t seem to understand how dangerous that horse—”

“I know exactly what I’m doing!”

“No, you don’t!” He found himself glaring down at her, arms akimbo, as she mocked him, exactly as she had done in the stable, the first night she arrived.

“Come, Lady Alicia,” he said, peering around to see if anyone was watching. “I would like a few words with you.” He took a deep, unsteady breath, then took her elbow, leading her to the bench inside the high arbor of roses he knew would be vacant this time of day. Most of the female guests would be napping before dinner, and the men were either at billiards, whist or shooting skeet. The rose garden would be the perfect place to explain the rules to this recalcitrant wench.

Alicia said nothing as he hurried her along and stood while she took a seat on the curved Italian marble bench.

“Well?” She glared up at him in such a fierce attempt to unnerve him, he almost laughed.

“Have you forgotten the orders that I already gave you?”

Alicia took a deep breath. “Your grace, I’ve dealt with injured animals before. But I can’t help Bashshar if I can’t win his confidence. Now if you continue to interfere when I—”

“Bashshar is a high-strung animal. He’s a one-man horse, and to expect to work with him without my presence is simply foolish.”

She took another deep breath, and Dalton was becoming more than a little irritated with his immediate reaction to her. “You are his master,” Alicia said, the sun catching the fiery glints in her hair. She leaned her face into the sun, reminding him of a pink blush tulip opening to the dawn.

“I have no wish to infringe upon your mastery with your horse. But Bashshar must come to trust me. Trust me completely. And it will occur more quickly if I am the only one he sees. Not the stable boys, or the grooms or even the stable master. That is why I’m asking you to refrain from interrupting our sessions while I’m working with Bashshar.”

Dalton could only stare at her. Didn’t she know that men quivered in their boots when addressing him? Didn’t she know that she was breaking every civilized rule to address him with such audacity? Damn, she was giving him orders like they were equals.

She looked so small, so helpless, sitting before him. He remembered Elizabeth’s hurtful comments earlier and how hard Alicia had tried to cover up the pain he knew she felt. An overpowering need to protect her shot through him. “You must promise me you won’t take chances again with Bashshar.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I’ll make you an offer.”

He almost laughed. Damn! She’d make him an offer? He was the duke of Wexton, and she would make him an offer? Her dark eyes twinkled, and he could only wonder what she had in mind.

“Very well, what is your offer?”

Her slight smile hinted that she thought she was making progress, and the thought gave him a surprised spark of pleasure.

“I won’t take unnecessary chances,” she said carefully, “if you promise me one thing.”

He eyed her warily. “Which is…?”

Her mouth turned up in a bow as she studied him, as though judging how best to begin. “I want you to promise me that you won’t have any contact with Bashshar for…four weeks.”

His mouth dropped open. “What the—”

“And I promise to be extremely prudent in my future actions with your horse.”

“Four weeks? That’s absurd!” Dalton stepped back. “First, Bashshar won’t allow you to bring him food and water to his stall.” Satisfied that he had won the argument so easily, he chuckled. “So you see, I can’t remain away from him.”

Alicia shook her head. “I will feed and water him.”

“Bashshar won’t let you.”

“Bashshar will go hungry until he does.” Her words were said without sarcasm, merely as a statement of fact.

“You’d really let him go hungry?”

She smiled. “Bashshar is too smart to go hungry. He’ll come around, and I’ll gain his trust in the bargain.” Alicia lifted her chin. “You know there’s wisdom behind my technique.” Her smile widened, revealing a small dimple at the side of her enchanting mouth. He wondered, for a fraction of a second, what it would be like to kiss that adorable mark.

“Well, your grace?”

Dalton drew his thoughts away from her mouth. “Ah, well…no! No, I won’t allow it, and that’s final.”

“Very well.” She rose to her feet. “If you’ll instruct the stable master to send a groom for my trunk, I’ll pack while a carriage is made ready and the horses are hitched. If I leave before dark, I should be at Marston Heath by morning.”

“What the devil—?”

Alicia ignored him as she trudged past the fountains and headed along the green toward the stables.

“See here, you gave your word.” Dalton’s long strides easily kept up with her.

Alicia stared straight ahead, her stride never wavering.

“Your father will be most distressed,” Dalton added.

She marched evenly, her arms ramrod straight at her sides.

When they reached the paddock door, Dalton caught her elbow and spun her around to face him. “You are the most stubborn woman….” His words faded as he stared into her large, warm brown eyes, filled with laughter.

“You’re a vixen, Lady Alicia Spencer.” A beautiful, strong-minded young woman, one like he had never met before. “Very well. Four weeks, but not a day longer.”

Her eyelashes lowered, then swept up as she gazed into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said simply.

He expected some sign of her win, like the smugness she had shown earlier when she had won the race to the barn by diverting the way back to the stables. She was so unlike the other women he had known. Unspoiled, fresh, she had a natural grace that came from an inner wholesomeness that he found so appealing. For an incredible instant, he wanted to gaze into her lovely eyes forever. He felt mesmerized by her. Damn, but she was a vixen, a tempting siren who could cast spells upon men and beasts.

With an incredible effort, he stepped sideways to let her pass. Then an idea struck him and he touched her shoulder.

“If I remain hidden,” he said, his voice hoarse, “will you allow me to watch you train Bashshar?”

She smiled as though considering his request. “Absolutely not,” she said, opening the gate bolt and strolling inside the paddock.

He heard Bashshar whinny as she entered, and Dalton realized, for the first time since the accident, the stallion had his thoughts on something other than the explosion of gunfire that had terrified him.

For that, Dalton owed Alicia a great deal.

Chapter Five

A few minutes before midnight of the following evening, Alicia stared at the full moon through the bedroom windows above her bed. The silver light cast lacy shadows across the rumpled silk sheets. Suddenly, the clock above the mantel struck midnight. For the past three hours she had tossed and turned, unable to sleep, the unbidden face of Dalton Warfield, the duke of Wexton, haunting her.

She buried her head beneath the pillow. In spite of her busy schedule, thoughts of him had intruded into her daydreams. What was the matter with her?

Through the open window, the faint strains of a waltz floated from the manor ballroom, feeding her imagination. She could almost feel Dalton’s right hand at her waist, her fingers pressing lightly at his broad shoulder as he held her in his arms and led her in step to the music. Her blood soared with the thought.

She saw herself dressed in a low-cut gown of shimmery white chiffon, a striking contrast to Dalton’s dark good looks. They would glide across the ballroom, whirling to the music as the guests stood in awe of the beautiful couple waltzing before them.

“You don’t belong here!” screamed a shrill voice. The crowd parted and the dowager duchess scowled down from her throne, thumping her diamond-studded cane as the room fell into a deafening silence.

Alicia bolted upright in bed, her heart hammering. She glanced about the moonlit room, then finally caught her breath. Her mother always said that moonglow could drive a person crazy. Thick draperies had kept away the lunar rays at Marston Heath windows. As a child, Alicia had rebelliously thrown open the shades and basked in the moonlight after her mother had carefully shuttered the windows for the night.

Maybe her mother had been right, and Alicia now suffered from sheer lunacy. What other reason could there be for her dreaming of Wexton?

She sighed as she ran a hand through her tousled hair. She had suffered enough. Moonlight shone bright enough for her to go horseback riding. The idea lifted her spirits. She rose from her bed and dressed hastily in the moonlight. A lit candle might wake Marie, the young French maid, sleeping in the next room. Olivia had insisted the girl remain with her in the cottage and tend to her every need.

When Alicia had finished dressing, she brushed her thick, waist-length hair, securing the long curls with a green ribbon. Quietly, she tiptoed outside and made her way along the cottage path to the tall, neatly clipped boxwood that sheltered the rose garden.

When she reached the arbor, she paused to stare at the golden glow coming from the manor. A thousand candles must be burning from the hundreds of windows. She felt like a spy. The thought was frightening, yet strangely exciting. She dare not venture any farther, least she stumble upon a wayward guest.

She smoothed her hand along the empire neckline of the high-waisted jade gown. At least Alicia wouldn’t call attention to herself if one of the houseguests were to come upon her—that is, if they didn’t already know who she was.

Alicia ducked into the stable and hurried to Cinnamon Rose’s stall. The frisky mare tossed its head in greeting. When she finished saddling the horse, she stepped up to the mounting block and arranged herself on the sidesaddle. Ten minutes later, she was pacing the animal into an easy canter, heading toward the open fields.

What a glorious night! The full moon rode high in the sky, casting upon the earth almost daylight brightness. The wind blew through her hair, whipping her face with cool, clover-scented air. Horses and riding had always calmed her spirit, and hopefully a night ride, if only for the moment, might block the painful fact that she didn’t belong with the beautiful people twirling beneath the crystal chandeliers.

When Alicia had returned from her ride, the sound of hurried footsteps caused her to duck behind the boxwood hedge. She recognized Lady Olivia rushing along the path that led to the sheltered trees in front of Alicia’s cottage. “Lady Olivia, what’s the matter?”

Olivia started, then turned toward her. “Oh, Lady Alicia, I’m looking for Dalton. By chance, have you seen him?”

“Why, no. I thought he was at the ball.”

Olivia shook her head, her brows furrowed with concern. “No, he hasn’t been seen since this morning.” She wrung her hands. “Something dreadful has happened, and I must find him.”

The thought that Dalton was with Elizabeth came to Alicia’s mind. “Have you asked Elizabeth?”

Olivia’s breath quickened. “I’m afraid Elizabeth is in no condition to answer any questions.” Olivia glanced around as if she were afraid to be overheard, then she stepped toward Alicia. “Elizabeth embarrassed herself this evening with the earl of Rothbury. Mother is frantic and determined that Dalton announce his engagement to Elizabeth, before news of this becomes known.”

“Elizabeth embarrassed herself?”

Olivia’s face looked pale in the moonlight. “I think she was only trying to make Dalton jealous. But she and Lord Rothbury were drinking. Thankfully, Lord Templestone found them before anyone else saw them. He notified Mother.” Olivia paused. “Oh, my dear, forgive me for my insensitivity. This news must remind you of…”

Alicia was touched by Olivia’s compassion. “It’s quite all right, Lady Olivia.” She swallowed, realizing that Olivia, as well as the other members of the ton, knew the embarrassing details. “Then Dalton will marry Elizabeth?”

Olivia shook her head. “No, he mustn’t! I have to alert Dalton before our mother finds him.”

“I don’t understand—”

“I don’t have time now to explain it to you, Alicia. Please help me find my brother.”

“Of course.” Alicia took Olivia’s arm and urged her toward the stable. “Let’s ask the stable master if a horse was saddled for Dalton.”

“I’ve already asked Ulger. He said Dalton usually saddles his own mount. Penn said the sorrel that he favors is missing from the stable.” Olivia’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “Oh, where can he be this time of night?”

“Who are you looking for?” Dalton’s deep voice caused Alicia and Olivia to gasp in surprise. He stepped from the shadows, leading the sorrel beside him.

Relief welled within Alicia as she drank in the sight of him. Dalton was dressed in a royal-blue riding clothes. The moonlight gave a blue-black sheen to his hair.

“Dalton,” Olivia cried, clasping her hands. “Lord Templestone found Elizabeth with the earl of Rothbury. She’d drank too much and caused a great scene. Thankfully, Templestone can be trusted, but Mother is determined that you announce your engagement to her before the ton hears of this.”

Dalton glanced at Alicia, then turned his attention to his sister. “Is Mother still at the ball?”

“You mustn’t go to her!” Olivia caught herself and lowered her voice. “Not until we think of some way for you to—”

“My dear little sister, don’t worry about me.” He smiled at her with such tenderness that Alicia was caught off guard by his compassion. “Why don’t you stay with Lady Alicia in her cottage while I’m gone? I’ll return as soon as I speak to Mother.”

Before Olivia could object, Dalton stepped behind the hedge and was gone. Alicia forced back the sudden feeling of dread that threatened to engulf her. “Come, Olivia. We’ll have a cup of tea while we wait.”

Couples strolled along the moonlit gardens and the wide veranda leading to the French doors of the ballroom. Dalton climbed the stone steps and moved past the throngs of people who would linger until dawn. His gaze met Sir John Oxley, his solicitor, who immediately moved toward him.

“Enjoying yourself this evening, Sir John?” Dalton smiled at the tightly pinched face of the serious old man whose family of solicitors had served the duke’s family for generations.

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