Taming The Duke. Jackie Manning
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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