Chapter Nine

Kitty had never been to Scotland before. She hadn’t paid much attention to the landscape in the carriage, content with reading to pass the journey. In truth, she was not even sure when they had crossed the border into the lowlands. It must have been some time ago if they were now close to the duke’s castle. Her impression of Scotland was rain and verdant beauty with rolling hillsides and valleys. The wildflowers dotting the lowlands were breathtaking in their vibrant colors.

After trekking for about fifteen minutes on the rain-and-mud-logged path, they broke through a wide clearing to find a cottage with a heavy stone chimney and thatched roof. A sigh of relief slipped from Kitty. She needed desperate relief from these wet, muddied clothes and boots. The coachman clambered up the few steps before them and opened the door.

Alexander paused for several moments, then slowly ascended the steps and went inside. Kitty followed, glancing around warily. The hallway was small and clean, and she stooped and untied the laces of her half boots.

At the duke’s pointed stare, she replied, “I would hate to track mud all over the place.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I will have the cottage cleaned when we depart. The parlor is this way, if you’ll follow me, Miss Danvers.”

The duke preceded her, his gait slow and slightly uneven. Concern blossomed through her, but she held her tongue. They arrived at a simply furnished parlor with two armchairs by the hearth, a small table with four spindly chairs positioned near a small window, and a dark blue rug in the center of the space. Or perhaps a sitting room? Either way the clean elegance of it surprised her.

George, who had lit a fire, stood and nodded to the duke as if he’d asked a question. Kitty hurried over to the fire and held her hands above the flames. She couldn’t prevent the soft groan of pleasure as the heat of the fire warmed her chilled fingers.

The duke made his way beside her, removed his sodden gloves, placed them on the mantel, and pushed his hands close to the wonderful warmth. “The cottage is clean. The firewood is stocked. And there is food in the larder. The roof was recently rethatched, so we should be fairly safe from the wind and rain.”

She snuck a sideways glance at him. He was staring at the fire, his expression carefully neutral.

“Do you think we are in for more of the storm, then?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed, not liking to remember the frightful ordeal a few minutes past. “And where exactly are we?”

“This is my groundsman’s cottage.”

She glanced around at the clean, neat space. “It has the touch of a lady,” she said.

“He is recently married.”

Look at me, she silently implored. “I gather they are not here?” There was an echoing emptiness to the home.

“They’re gone on their honeymoon.”

She blinked, never hearing of a groundsman taking his bride on a wedding trip before. “I see.”

Finally, he shifted his regard to her. There was a bleakness in his eyes she’d not expected. He stepped back, encasing himself further in the shadows of the small room, and she wondered if the bleakness had been her imagination.

“There is a path from here to my estate. It is a long walk. A couple hours at a brisk pace. George will make the journey soon and come back to us.”

“I’ll go now, Your Grace,” the coachman said.

“It is still raining,” the duke pointed out.

“And it shall rain the night. Best I be going now.” The old man gave her a sly glance. “I’ll be back with help soon, Yer Grace.”

Kitty frowned, suspecting the man lied, but couldn’t credit he would not heed his master’s command. It was as if they were friends. The notion was odd and entirely possible as evident by the fact the duke rolled his eyes.

Who is this man?

“With all alacrity, George, return with all alacrity,” the duke said with dry fondness. “Alert only the necessary staff. We must be protective of Miss Danvers’s reputation, and I do not wish to hear even a whisper of this incident.”

The man dipped into a quick bow and hurried away on legs that moved rather quickly despite their shortness. A strange sensation unfurled through her stomach when she sensed the intensity of the duke’s stare.

“Will he be back soon, do you think? And with the proper help?”

He grunted.

She sent him a scowl. “Was that an answer?”

He smiled. “I suspect he will be back when the roads are passable.”

“And when will that be, do you think?”

“A few days.”

Alarm jolted through her. “Days? Surely you jest!”

His eyes narrowed, shrewd and probing. “Perhaps two or three.”

She glanced around the cottage. To be alone with the duke for days? In this small cottage? The thrill of something unexpected and wicked tingled along her spine, but she quickly suppressed it. This situation was intolerable, and very different from being alone with him in a castle with dozens of servants, plus his sister and her governess. “And are you to promise marriage after?”

His expression became impenetrable. “Of course not.”

She folded her arms across her middle in a protective gesture, disliking the slight unease wafting through her. “Then you know that situation cannot happen. I cannot stay with you in this cottage for a few hours, much less days. It’s…it’s too improper, Your Grace!”

He hobbled over to the front door and held it open. A frigid wind blew through the door with misty rain. “I’m sure if you hurry you will catch up to George. He’ll gentle his pace, so you can keep up with him. There you can tidy up and reassure my sister I will return as soon as the roads are clear enough for a carriage to come for me.”

Shame burned through Kitty that she hadn’t thought to truly consider why they, too, were not trekking back to his estate if they were within walking distance. She made her way over to him. “How selfish I’ve been; you’re hurting. Please forgive me, Your Grace.”

“Think nothing of it,” he murmured after sending her a side-eyed assessing glance. “Do you wish to leave?”

She gripped her hands very tightly at her waist, indecision beating at her. He was in pain, and she did not want to leave him alone. She swallowed with difficulty. “No,” she finally breathed.

He closed the door and the latch with a soft snick. Immediately the sense of intimacy increased, even as the howling wind and beat of the rain muted. A soft grunt escaped him as he made his way back toward the fire. She’d never seen him limp so, and she felt wretched with shame. He had done everything to save her, the horses, and his coachman. At the cost of himself, and from the deep grooves bracketing his mouth, he was in agony.

“Let me help you, please,” she whispered fiercely.

“I am well, Miss Danvers,” he said, moving stiffly over to one of the armchairs. “The rain will pass soon, and then we will make our way to the estate.”

And what was he to do then? Suffer horribly in silence? Her throat went tight. “I can see you are on the verge of collapsing; please let me offer assistance. Did my touch not help before in the gardens?”

The raw flash of anger that seared from his eyes had doubt clawing at her. Dear God, had she offended his pride? “Your Grace—”

“I wonder, Miss Danvers, how industrious are you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“George will not return tonight with help, not with these wicked rains and winds.”

She glanced at the window at the sleeting rain, recalling that sly expression on George’s face. Kitty quite agreed; the man had no intention of returning, even if he could.

“We will have to serve each other.”

The truth of this observation struck her most forcibly. The words settled between them in the small space. The duke was without his valet and manservant, and he was a sodden, muddied mess. This would go beyond a shameless massage of his damaged muscles. His boots would have to be removed. His clothes. Her breath panted harshly. Dear God. And so would hers, and without a lady’s maid.

Good heavens.

“I see,” she murmured, thoroughly vexed with the heat flushing through her body and up to her cheeks. She couldn’t have stopped her blush if her life depended on it.

“Are you up to the task, then?” he asked, his tone coolly mocking, his eyes watchful.

The bonds of probity and all that was proper shattered and dissolved at her feet like fragile chinaware.

“Ah, your expressive face reveals your worry.”

She folded her arms across her waist and glared at him.

His slow smile made her heart beat suddenly faster.

“Do not fear— wretched, drowned cats are not to my taste,” the duke said with mock sympathy. “A tigress would be another matter entirely.”

The wretched tease! She released a breath she hadn’t been aware she held. “Of course I am up to the task,” she said with calm practicality. And she would find some way to cease the infernal blushes!

“I will accept your aid, Miss Danvers, but only after I have assisted you from those sodden garments and dried your hair. My conscience could not bear your death.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He pressed a hand against his heart and bowed. “It would be my honor to be your lady’s maid.”

There was no help for it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to find equanimity. Her flesh crawled with the desperate need to be out of her wet, muddied garments. She glanced around the cottage and made her way down a small hallway to another room. Right before it, there appeared to be a linen closet. There she found two small towels, a blanket, two sheets, and no more. They would have to do.

Then she went to the bedchamber, over to the armoire, and opened it. Only two dark plain dresses and a nightgown lingered within its confines, and at a glance she deduced the groundsman’s wife was a large lady. The garments would swallow Kitty. There was a fawn-colored shirt, a blue one, a jacket, and trousers also neatly folded.

With trembling fingers, she closed the door to the armoire.

“We’ll make do,” the duke murmured.

She stiffened at the closeness of his voice. She hadn’t heard his approach. Taking a soft, bracing breath, Kitty faced him. “I suppose we shall.”

Something unreadable touched his gaze for a fleeting moment. “Our situation is unusual, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It is.” And the dreadful anxiety coursing through her was intolerable. Worse, there was a strange but pleasant thrill thrumming through her veins. Kitty could not decide if she liked the sensation. It felt hungry and chaotic, and the secret heart of her liked being alone with the duke.

His midnight gaze bore into her, a searchlight, as it caressed over her face. “We’ll have to rely on each other until George returns with help.”

“Which could be days,” she pointed out, still disbelieving of that.

“Hmm, days.”

“Do you not think that deliberate, Your Grace?”

He gently turned her around. “I daresay it is time you call me Alexander…Katherine.”

She remained motionless for a moment. “Kitty,” she finally whispered. “My friends and family call me Kitty.”

He dipped behind her, his lips perilously close to her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath, the heated press of his body scandalously close to hers. The devil insisted on teasing her so!

“Kitty,” he finally said.

There was a hint of bemusement in his tone. A touch of curiosity and something unidentifiable. Yet her body reacted shamelessly, that peculiar heat curling from her toes all the way to her throat.

“Allow me to assist with drying your hair.”

A subtle tremor flowed through her limbs. “I… My hair is the least of my worries.”

As if to mock her words, rivulets of water trailed from her forehead down her cheeks and neck. The icy water still soaking her strands dripped onto her face and throat. And a mortifying sneeze slipped from her.

“I would hate for you to fall ill…or worse, meet death because of a false sense of propriety. We are alone. No one shall ever know how we assisted each other. We’ll share a secret, Miss Danvers, and quite a wicked one, too.”

“You have my permission.”

He removed the pins from her hair, tumbling the wet, heavy coil over her shoulders down to her lower back. A towel was pressed to her strands, and he attempted to dry her thick mass with brisk movements. His economic movements reassured her, and some of the tension eased from her frame.

“Do you need help in undressing?”

It was impossible for her to remove her carriage gown without aid. How would she reach the hooks and small buttons of her various garments? Kitty had never had a reason to attend to her own dressing. Even now, with their finances so dire, their mother allowed for the hiring of a lady’s maid, whom all her girls shared. The proper appearances had to be maintained.

No one will know…

“Yes,” she said so softly, it was a wonder he heard.

Awareness of her vulnerability seeped into every crevice of her being. In silence he unfastened her gown, and the heavy, sodden garment dropped to the ground. She was suddenly petrified to face him, though she remained in her stays and petticoats. Never had she been in such a state before a man.

“There is another matter that we must discuss.”

Her entire body quaked when he slowly, oh so slowly tugged at the laces of her stay. “And that is?”

“There is only one bed.”

That was the last thing Kitty expected the duke to say.

Her gaze jerked to the small but seemingly sturdy bed flushed in the far corner of the cottage. One bed…one bed…oh! Then she considered the two small padded armchairs by the fire in the parlor. With his leg bothering him, it would be selfish to even think for him to retire in one of them. But might she push the two chairs together and find some sleep atop its lumpy cushions?

“Are you thoroughly wet?”

She snapped her head around to meet his regard. The deep blue of his eyes glinted with wicked knowledge and mirth. For an alarming moment she’d thought he referred to the strange dampness she could feel between her thighs, where that unladylike ache resided.

Fighting another dreaded blush, she turned away from his too-knowing stare and faced the armoire. “Yes, all my garments are dreadfully soaked.”

“Should I then remove your stays…and petticoats?”

She was stricken to silence and was aware of nothing but the hammering of her heart. Dear God. Kitty closed her eyes. And there will be no marriage after this.

She tried to think logically. The air was chilled and the fire in the hearth barely suffused the room with warmth. She was sodden through, and it would be impossible to remain in this clothing. He was being so matter-of-fact about it…except his voice had a low, raspy quality that did utterly odd things to her heart. How it tumbled and flipped with frightful intensity.

How do I dare? The wildest improbabilities darted through Kitty’s thoughts. “Yes,” she finally said. “I certainly do not wish to catch my death.”

He jolted, then faltered into remarkable stillness. Clearly the duke hadn’t anticipated her response. They stood silently, breathing together. Her body felt incredibly alive, every sense feeling somehow keener, sharper. A bittersweet longing flooded her. She braced herself against the rioting, foolish needs with a long, steady breath.

His hands tugged at her stays. Her lids fluttered closed, her heart a thundering roar in her ear. I am three and twenty, she reminded herself fiercely. Not a silly miss.

It did not work. The shivering sensation low in her stomach intensified and felt as if she were falling…endlessly.

With alternately sharp and gentle tugs, he unlaced her stays and petticoats, and within seconds she was down to her chemise and stockings.

“Go behind the screen,” he murmured. “I will take a basin of water to you…and a blanket.”

She glanced at the pitiful excuse of a screen, appalled at how little privacy the groundsman’s wife would have when she cleaned herself. Was it the way for the lower classes to be freer with their nakedness?

Kitty felt his retreat more than heard him. How did he move so soundlessly when he hurt so? Clutching the towel between her fingers, she hurried behind the small, sheer screen. Turning about, she could easily see him through the material.

And that meant he could see her with similar ease.

A blush engulfed her entire body. How could they bear such intimate familiarity for days?

A basin with water was placed at the edge of the screen. He disappeared in that silent way of his and returned with a second basin of water and a small bar of plain soap.

“Thank you,” she whispered, unsure if he heard.

Bending, she tugged it to her and rested it atop a small wooden table. Glancing up, she observed as he hobbled with an uneven gait to the sole armchair in the small bedroom and lowered himself into it. She couldn’t discern if he returned her stare through the flimsy screen.

Kitty was in an agony of apprehension. How terribly wicked and improper it all was. Her eyes trained on the shadowed form of the duke, she bent slightly and rolled off the ruined stockings. There was no sound in the cottage save for her soft, ragged breathing and the crackle of the fireplace.

Did he stare at the screen, or were his eyes closed?

She straightened and, taking a steadying breath, removed the last protective garment. The chemise dropped to the floor, and then she was naked. Her body felt flushed and unfamiliar. Kitty turned away from the shadowed form of the duke. If his eyes were indeed open, and he could discern her shape through the screen, it would be her backside he would see. For shame! The thought had her body blushing more fiercely.

Taking up the bar of soap and dipping the washcloth into the cold water, she washed herself as thoroughly as possible. Several minutes later she was trembling but blessedly cleaned. She finished drying the heavy mass of her hair to the best of her ability with the small towel before pinning it haphazardly in a loose chignon. Then she wrapped her body into the blanket, forming a bulky toga around her frame. Taking a bracing breath, she peeked around the screen.

The duke’s head was tipped to the cottage’s ceiling, and his fingers were dug into the armrest of the chair.

Kitty strolled over to him with the second basin of water, which she had not used. She placed it by the side of the armchair, and without speaking, she lowered herself to her knees and tugged at his knee-high boots. The fingers clenched into the armrest flexed, but he remained silent, his regard on the ceiling.

She removed his boots one after the other with careful consideration of his discomfort. Placing them neatly by the side, she took the washcloth and dipped it into the basin, then gently lathered it with the soap.

Coming onto her knees, she leaned forward and reached up, wiping the caked mud from his cheek and chin. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at her. Swallowing away the nerves, she cleaned away the mud and twigs as economically as possible. She dipped the washcloth into the basin, so very aware that his brilliant, piercing stare watched her every movement.

This time she lifted the washcloth toward the scarred section of his face. A terrible tension wound itself through his body, leaped from him, and twined itself around her. His skin pulled taut over the sharp edges of his cheekbones. The eyes that stared at her were so cold and watchful, it was a miracle her teeth did not chatter.

Holding his stare, Kitty pressed the washcloth to his scarred skin. His jaw clenched under the tip of her finger. Then she wiped away the mud, her stomach knotting at the ridges of scars felt through the cloth.

One of his hands released the armchair, and a finger slipped beneath her chin and lifted her face to his penetrating stare, searching her upturned face.

“How brave you are, Miss Danvers.”

Unaccountably, the softly spoken words felt like a threat.

He lowered his hand back to the armrest.

It was impulse that guided her to use her fingers to brush locks of hair from where the wet strands touched his forehead. Cynicism and pain were carved in the ruthless lines of his patrician face. Not allowing herself to be drawn into crossing wits, she lowered the cloth to the basin, pleased with the job she had done.

Then she reached up, unknotted his cravat, and tugged the muslin cloth from around his neck. It slid through her fingers, soft and supple, the slowness of her motions feeling sensually intimate. She dropped the scrap of cloth onto the floor. She undid the top buttons of his shirt one by one, revealing the strong column of his throat. There, too, he had twisting scars. Unable to help herself, she dipped the washcloth once more and brought it to his exposed throat. The flesh there was clean, but she carefully wiped along the ridge of his wounds.

There was a perceptible stiffening of his posture. The duke followed each movement with his eyes, his expression carefully inscrutable, but now…now she could see the beat of his pulse at his throat. He was not as serene or unaffected as he presented to her, for his pulse fluttered like a caged bird seeking escape. And the knowledge acted as oil to kindling. A flame of heat, unexpected in its intensity, blossomed through her.

What would he do if I leaned in and kissed his throat? The wildly improper thought burned shame through her. It was as if the situation had encouraged all her good senses to leave her and to draw forth the wild heart she’d always struggled with.

She stood, gripping the edges of her blanket. “If you will stand, Your Grace.”

He obeyed, and she tilted her head slightly to hold his unflinching regard. Her gaze lingered one second too long on the golden skin at the base of his neck. “Am I to act as your valet?” she murmured, a blush crawling over her entire body.

“Alas, I am quite able to undress myself, Miss Danvers. I’ll not shock your sensibilities anymore.”

There was that provoking amusement again in his tone, and she was glad for it, because now some of the tension that had been thickening the air like smoke had dissipated.

“If you will make us something to eat, I shall tidy myself posthaste.”

Make them something to eat? Having never prepared a meal in her life, Kitty’s mind blanked for precious seconds. But never the one to shy away from impossible tasks, she made her way toward the small kitchen. Once there, she was grateful to see a few tallow candles had been lit. The counters were neat and tidy, and it did not take her long to discover the cheese. There was little else in the way of food that she could prepare. Still, by the time she returned to the small room, the duke was standing by the fire in clothes that were decidedly not his, yet fitted his lithe frame well, raking the towel through his thick dark hair.

“Cheese and apple?” she asked, placing the plates on the small table in the center of the room.

His gait was very slow and uneven as he made his way over and lowered himself into one of the two chairs. She sat, conscious her sole claim to clothes was a blanket. They ate their simple fare of a few chunks of cheese and apples in silence. Kitty was of a mind to think they might starve for the next few days.

A clap of thunder had her jerking and glancing out the lone window into the darkness. “Do you believe George has made it to your estate?”

“He is clever, adaptable. And used to the terrain. He’ll be quite all right.”

Then dratted silence again. Sudden exhaustion pulled an indelicate yawn from her. Flushing, she glanced at him. “I believe I shall go to bed.”

“There is not much else to do,” he replied, an amused twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes.

She nodded, pushed from the chair, and all but marched over to the armoire. The lady of the cottage was in possession of a nightgown. Rummaging through the armoire, she grabbed the voluminous dark cotton garment. It would have to do.

She went behind the screen, pushed off the blanket, and slipped the gown over her head. It hung ridiculously on her smaller frame, the hem dragging several inches on the ground. The front gaped, and she gathered it to her chest, made her way from behind the screen, and scrambled onto the bed.

She lay there for several moments, cursing the fact she’d agreed to his ridiculous command to travel with him here. But could she truly have resisted? And Kitty wondered if she had tried enough to resist his blackmail coined as mutual bargain, or had she too willingly tumbled merrily down the path of ruin? Surely he wouldn’t have ruined her…

The silence lingered, and it felt awful and uncertain. With a gusty exhalation, she jumped from the bed and fisted a hand on her hip.

The duke had reclined once more in the armchair, his head tipped to the ceiling.

“Your Grace.”

He lowered his regard to her. “Are there ants on the bed, Miss Danvers?”

She scowled and he smiled. Odious, odious man! Still… “Do you plan to spend the night in that chair?”

“I have little wish to further traumatize your sensibilities.”

“Your Grace, we are adults. You are honorable, and I am a lady of good sense,” she said with a touch of desperation. “Surely we can spend the night together in a bed without any inappropriateness or discomfort in each other’s presence.”

The intensity of his gaze kissed over her in a heated caress. “And I’ll not be met with swooning and hysteria in the morning?” This was demanded with a healthy dose of skepticism.

“I’m not a silly miss!”

“No…you aren’t.” He stood with pained slowness. “You are quite safe with me. You can rest assured on my honor you will be.”

She circled the bed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “You will rest on this side. And I will take this side.”

Then she grabbed one of the two pillows and placed it in the middle. Kitty was nervous. Silly to be, of course, with all the shocking intimacy she just endured with this man.

With a huff, she settled on the bed once more, lying on her side with her back to him. Several moments later, the bed dipped. Fighting the temptation to turn around, she slammed her eyes closed, until they naturally remained that way because of her exhaustion.