His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two

Rosalie’s breath came in sharp pants as she jogged up the three stone steps, slipping on the wet stone. She wrapped a bracing arm around a column to steady herself. Her heavy skirts dragged behind her as she stepped fully under the shelter.

She took a quick look around her new sanctuary. It was a monopteros with eight slender columns and a domed ceiling. She took two steps forward, inspecting the central statue posed on a plinth. It was some kind of maiden or goddess with her arms outstretched, her body contorted in an odd dancing pose. It was neither sophisticated nor handsomely carved.

Rosalie laughed aloud. She had a sudden image of some young gentleman with more inspiration than talent feverishly sculpting alone in a studio, ruining the proportions of the maiden’s limbs with a heavy-handed chisel.

“Bloody hell, it’s raining like anything,” came Renley’s deep voice.

She tore her gaze from the statue, watching him dash up the stairs. Like her, he slid at the top, his eyes going wide as he threw out both arms to balance himself. She stifled a giggle as he met her gaze and let out his own laugh.

Moving past her, he took off his hat and popped it on the stone nymph’s upturned hand. Then he peeled off his wet leather gloves and dragged both hands through his dripping curls. “I’m so sorry about all this,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” she replied, still feeling breathless.

“This will soon pass. Then we’ll head home before Mrs. Robbins sends out a search party.”

She turned away, pulling the few pins out of her hair that secured her hat. She hung it over the stone maiden’s other hand. Renley watched her every move. She smiled, patting her damp curls with a self-conscious hand. “You keep catching me in the rain, sir.”

His gaze heated, those beautiful blue eyes darkening, and she realized it was the wrong thing to say. For now, they were standing mere feet apart, thinking about the last time they were left unchaperoned in a thunderstorm.

He closed the space between them, and Rosalie felt suddenly nervous. She fought the urge to laugh again. It was ludicrous. Hadn’t she slept naked in his arms last night?

“Rose,” he said on a sigh, his face lowering towards hers.

She sucked in a breath and leaned away, breaking their trance. “What happened with Marianne?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted them unsaid. She vowed to herself she’d not ask. His life was his own.

But Renley looked almost relieved. “Nothing,” he said, taking a step closer. “Nothing happened, I swear to you. I escorted her home. She told me what she said to you, and we argued. We are most assuredly not engaged.”

Rosalie wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the chill of her wet clothes sinking into her skin. “Why would she tell me such a lie? What did she hope to gain?”

Renley leaned against the column to match her stance with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “I think she saw us dancing at the ball…in fact, I know she did. I believe it made her jealous.”

Rosalie blinked. “But…you danced with many ladies at the ball. Elizabeth and Blanche, even Madeline twice. Did she tell all your dance partners of her prior claim?”

“No,” he muttered. “Just you.”

“Why only me?”

He shrugged, one eye watching the storm as a fork of lightning twisted across the darkening sky. “Because she knows you’re different from the others.”

“Different?” Her mind suddenly filled with images of the other young ladies—the grace of their dancing, the practiced flutter of their fans, the superior cut and color of their gowns. Rosalie’s dress for the occasion had at least been new, but it was not the same kind of dramatic, beaded affair worn by Lady Olivia, or even Blanche.

“What did I do wrong?” she whispered. “What gave me away as being so…different?”

He blinked, pulling his eye from watching the storm. “What…no.” He pushed off from the column with his booted foot, crossing over to her. “You’re not different. You’re…god, you’re perfect. I should have said it was I who was different.” He raised both hands to cup her face. “Whatever this is…this feeling of being moored to you…apparently, I’m not hiding it very well.”

His thumbs brushed along her jaw, and she fought the urge to close her eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest to match the storm. “Renley—”

“Marianne has known me a long time,” he went on. “No doubt she saw how I looked at you all night.”

“And…how were you looking at me?”

His mouth quirked into a smile as he brushed a calloused thumb over her parted lips. “The same as I am now…like you’re the only one I see.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “You flatter me, sir.”

“No,” he replied. “I’m no good at flattery. I speak only the truth. You captivate me, Rose. You have from the first night you stumbled into Alcott, half-dipped in mud with your hair all wild like a forest fairy.” He smiled, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. “You have that same look now, you know—cheeks flushed, eyes fierce. The spirit in you calls out to me. I can’t look away. I never want to look away from you.”

Blinking back tears, Rosalie raised both her hands and covered his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Renley, please—”

“You keep doing that,” he said with a frown.

“Doing what?”

“Calling me ‘Renley’ instead of my name. It’s a shield you like to use. You’re keeping me at arm’s length—”

“Oh, what is it with you men and your names?” She tugged herself free and paced away three steps. She couldn’t breathe if she stayed standing so close. “You know, it does not signify. Plenty of married couples go their whole lives referring to each other only by their titles.”

“It signifies with you,” he replied, reading her like an open book.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why must you all press for such intimacy?”

He raised a brow. “Who else is pressing?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she cried, ignoring his question. “Three weeks ago, I arrived at Alcott expecting to meet a woman who was once my mother’s friend. That is all. And now I find myself so…out of balance.” She couldn’t think of another way to explain it. “I’m so afraid I’ll make a mistake. I know what you want, and I cannot give it to you. I can’t—I don’t know how to be what any of you want—”

He crossed the three feet separating them in a stride, his hands reaching for her face as he pulled her in close and kissed her deep. His tongue flicked lightly against her bottom lip as he pulled away. “You’re fighting me,” he said on a breath. “Fighting what you feel for me. I know you’ve been burned before. You’ve been hurt. God—” He groaned, his hands tightening as he leaned in, touching his forehead to hers. “Thinking of it…picturing it…you have no idea what it does to me. I would tear your demons limb from limb.”

Hot tears pricked her eyes as she fought to contain her roiling emotions. “My ghosts are not your burden. I’m stronger than I look.”

He met her gaze again. “Don’t I know it. You protect your heart at all costs, as you should. You have it wrapped in bands of iron. Rosalie, you say you can’t be what I want, and I say you’re wrong.”

She leaned her face into his hand. “We’ve talked about this and we—we want different things. Even setting Marianne aside—”

“And is she set aside?” He bent at the knees so he could look evenly in her eyes, his hands holding firm to her face. “Do you believe me when I say it’s over? Do you believe she means nothing to me?”

“I want to,” she admitted, her voice little more than a whisper.

“Then do,” he pleaded. “You keep saying we must take you at your word, so take me at mine. I don’t want Marianne Young. Just as I don’t want to marry some society debutant with a reticule full of diamonds and a head full of bonnet ribbons.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want you.”

Her heart stopped, breath in her throat. “Renley—”

His gaze softened, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re a rare and wild thing, Rosalie Harrow. You let people think you’re this little canary in a cage. I think sometimes you play the part so well, you even start to believe it. But I see you.”

He lowered his hand, splaying it gently over her heart. She glanced down, watching as his hand rose and fell with each exhale. “You are not a frail, wounded bird,” he whispered. “You are a phoenix, just waiting to burn bright…and I mean to be close enough to feel your every flame.”

She struggled to keep the tears from falling. Why did he always know exactly what to say? “You would have me be free of all cages? You would accept me as I am?”

His smile fell as his eyes flashed with resolve. “The man who dares to change you will answer to me.”

One moment they were standing inches apart. The next, she was in his arms, fighting him for dominance in a fierce kiss. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, rising up on her toes to reach his perfect, soft lips. He groaned into the kiss, one arm around her waist, while the other dug into her dark curls.

She opened herself to him, teasing him with tongue and teeth. The kisses sank deep. She felt the fire burning through her, chasing away the chill of the rain. He trailed kisses along her jaw to her ear. She fisted her hands in his damp curls. Renley sighed with pleasure as she gave a sharp tug, pulling his head back. Their gaze met as they both panted for breath.

The words on the tip of her tongue came spilling out. “I won’t give up Burke.”

A long moment of silence stretched between them, broken only by the pattering rain. “I would never ask it of you,” he said at last. His breath was ragged as he added in almost a growl, “I want Burke right where he is.”

He went to kiss her again, but she pulled back, heart in her throat. “Wait—what—can you mean it?” She narrowed her eyes, searching his face, one hand cupping his strong jaw.

He held her gaze, his blue eyes blown black with desire. He looked…dangerous. Wholly unlike her laughing, kind friend. This was a man of deep passion. A man starving with need. “I say I want him where he is,” he growled, nipping at her chin, his breath hot against her skin. “Between us, behind us, under us. I like to share, and I like to be shared.”

Rosalie gasped, her body humming at the idea. “Renley—”

His voice lowered, a gravelly rasp in her ear. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I met you, Rose…but I’ve wanted Burke since I knew what it meant to want. He stays.”

The finality in his tone had her whimpering with need. He plunged in for another heady kiss and they shuffled backwards, seeking something to brace against. As they moved, Rosalie snagged her heel on her sodden skirts and took a stumbling step.

“Ouch.” Her eyes shot open. The stone hand of the dancing nymph stabbed her between the shoulders. She arched her back, pressing into Renley to escape the sudden pain.

But Renley was off balance too. She shrieked, squirming away as his weight pressed her harder against the stony hand. Suddenly, the statue rocked, tipping off its plinth. It fell to the ground with an echoing crash.

They both took in a shaky breath, meeting each other’s eye before they burst out laughing. Rosalie peered over the plinth, inspecting the damage. One arm of the statue was shattered into pieces and the body was cracked.

“Oh no…we broke it!”

Renley tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “Hmm, is it just me…or does she look better this way?”

Rosalie slapped his chest with a laugh. “What are we going to do? Should we try to lift it back up?”

“Of course not,” he replied, nudging the statue with his toe. “What kind of shoddy craftsman doesn’t bolt it down? I say they wanted this to happen. We’ve done her a favor.”

“You’re impossible,” she replied with another laugh.

He turned her to face him, his smile turning devilish. “I am merely enterprising. One goddess shall fall, so another may rise.” He gripped her by the hips, lifting her onto the plinth, and stepped between her legs.

He nuzzled her neck, kissing her once, twice, his teeth nibbling her ear. She hated herself for her next words. “Renley…the rain has eased.”

His body went still, his face still buried in her neck. “A gentleman would stop, I suppose. A gentleman would see you safely home before they send out that search party.”

She brushed her fingers through his damp curls. “Undoubtedly. But…what would a sailor do?”

He lifted his head off her shoulder. “Do not tempt me to elaborate. It is not for a lady’s ears.”

His full meaning sent a shiver over her skin. But the low rumblings of thunder told her this was only a temporary hold on the storm. She sighed with resignation. “I think Renley the gentleman should take me home now.”

He nodded, pulling away.

She halted him with a finger under his chin, placing a last soft kiss on his lips. “But know this, sir. I tremble with anticipation, eager to meet the sailor caged within.”