Taming The Duke. Jackie Manning
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Better to be alone with her horses than to accept one of the unsuitable men who had offered for her.
Alicia banished the bitter memories from her mind, refusing to nurture the grudge against the unfairness of it all. Now, her days were filled with satisfying work and profitable income from healing the animals of her neighbors and friends.
When Alicia came to the grassy edge of the stream, the aroma of roses from her mother’s garden drifted on the July air. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight glimmering off the water, she scanned the area beneath the ancient willow, but there was no horse in sight. A gust of wind billowed her skirts; she brushed down the pink muslin fabric, her gaze searching the pasture.
She was ready to march back to her father, demanding to know what game he was playing, when a horse’s soft nicker rose from the other side of the trees. There, in the sunlight, stood the most splendid mare Alicia had ever seen. She stopped to stare. The animal, as though on cue, trotted toward her. Alicia sensed the horse’s strength and well-being.
The cinnamon-colored Thoroughbred tossed her head, the silky black mane shimmering in the golden afternoon. The mare walked gracefully toward Alicia, who watched, mesmerized by the horse’s elegant demeanor.
Her father had been right. This animal was a fine piece of blood. Their fortunes would be reversed if this horse proved as superior as she appeared to be. Breeding this mare with Jupiter could result in winning racing stock.
The mare lifted her refined head in a playful game. Alicia reached to touch the satiny red coat and found it as soft as a dove’s back.
“Like all beautiful ladies, she takes your breath away, doesn’t she?”
Startled by the deep masculine voice, Alicia whirled toward the sound. In the dappled shade beneath the oak tree, a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in an elegantly tailored, black superfine waistcoat, leaned lazily against the tree trunk. His snowy white shirt and dazzling cravat gleamed brilliantly against the dark shadows of his jacket. He grinned crookedly at her. She noticed his lean hips and thighs, encased in buff, calf-length trousers. The elegant silver spurs he wore on his black leather boots were more suited for show than for riding, Alicia thought. He sketched the briefest of bows.
Alicia met his amused blue-eyed stare. “Do you always hide behind trees, ready to pounce upon unsuspecting maidens?”
He laughed. A warm, rich, intimate laugh, as though she had just shared a funny secret about herself.
She took a deep breath. His abrupt appearance caused her knees to feel like jelly, jarring her with the loss of speech—something that rarely happened to her. Maybe her strange reaction was caused by the trick of sunlight and shade, which played across his aristocratic features. Black shiny hair, longer than what was fashionable, framed his regal face. His deeply chiseled mouth lifted in a sardonic tilt, and she realized he was very much aware of her assessing gaze.
His blue eyes twinkled. “I only pounce on lovely maidens, and a prettier maid than you I’ve yet to see.”
The flippant compliment returned her wits to her. “Who are you and what is your business at Marston Heath?” Just then, Cinnamon Rose pranced toward him and nuzzled against his jacketed sleeve. “Do you have something to do with this mare?”
“Forgive me, my lady. Your rare beauty makes me forget my manners.” The intelligent eyes beneath that lazy gaze told her this man never forgot anything.
“I’m Dalton Warfield, the duke of Wexton, at your service, Lady Alicia, and I’m here to see if Cinnamon Rose suits your fancy.”
Alicia gasped. Warfield—the duke of Wexton. Although it had been three years since that fateful night of her social ruin, all the shame and injustice of that evening ignited within her.
Her heart pounded. She blinked back at him, as angry as if the incident had been yesterday. Those vivid blue eyes—just like his mother’s—brought back the painful accusations.
Alicia fought for control. “What do you have to do with my father bringing home this horse?”
Dalton raised a well-defined black brow. “Your father didn’t tell you of our arrangement?”
Alicia felt her anxiety rise. “Our arrangement?”
He patted Cinnamon Rose on the neck. “A month ago, one of my stallions—Bashshar—suffered an accident that left him badly injured. Since then, his physical wounds have nicely healed, but the horse suffers greatly from hysteria. I’m afraid I’ll have to put him down unless…I was hoping you might treat him.”
Alicia felt her stomach clench. “My father knows of this?”
A hint of surprise flickered across Dalton’s face. “Of course. In fact, your father agreed that you would come immediately to our country estate. In exchange for your healing skills, I’ve offered him Cinnamon Rose, one of my family’s more promising mares. He said your stable needed a quality mare.”
Oh, Father, how could you? She felt like she had been kicked in the stomach. Fighting for control, she took a deep breath. “I’m truly sorry that your horse is injured, but I’m certain that you can afford more than your share of healers.” She took another fortifying breath. “But there’s no way I’ll consider your offer. My answer is no.” She gave a lingering glance at Cinnamon Rose. “And take your bribe along with you.”
She strode purposefully toward the path. Dalton’s long strides quickly caught up to her.
“It is said that your sweet nature can tame savage beasts, my lady,” Dalton drawled. “So maybe you refuse me, not because you are unkind, but because of my wealth. I assure you, my horse’s misery is as great as if he belonged to a beggar man. Or is your compassionate nature only a rumor, then?”
Alicia stopped and turned to face him. She shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand. “Your wealth has nothing to do with it, your grace. And I find such your suggestion offensive.”
“Offensive?” His brows formed a V.
Alicia’s patience was at an end. “Do you pretend to know nothing of your mother’s part in my fall from grace?”
Dalton stood, his mouth open. “What the deuce are you talking about?”
Alicia took a deep breath. Obviously, her loss of reputation was such a trifle to him that he’d forgotten all about it. “Very well, if you wish to play sport with me, I’ll tell you why I won’t honor my father’s arrangement.” She brushed back an auburn tendril from her cheek. “Only a scoundrel would forget what your mother did to me. And I don’t honor arrangements with scoundrels.” She turned and dashed along the path, but his long strides soon overtook her.
“Do you know that if you were a man, I could challenge you to a duel for besmirching my mother’s honor?”
She paused. Whether it was the injured tone in his voice, or the very fact that Wexton refused to understand it was she who was the injured party, Alicia couldn’t ignore his charge.
“A duel, is it?” She glanced up at him, wiping her hands together in glee. “How I’d relish to meet you on the field of honor. Oh, if only I could run you through—”
“I believe you would!”
“But you’re not worth dulling my blade,” she snapped. “Now please stop following me. Our business is concluded.”
Dalton clenched his teeth as he watched Lady Alicia stride past the rose garden, her long chestnut hair cascading down her back. Damn, what was all that breeze about his mother causing her to fall from grace? A scoundrel, she’d called him. Why, the woman was dicked in the nob!
Cinnamon Rose raised her head and whinnied a low horse laugh. “Ah, you think it’s funny, too?” he said, grabbing the horse’s halter as he led the mare along the path. He wasn’t sure whether to confront Alicia’s father now or later. Yet Dalton surmised that confronting her father was exactly what Alicia was planning to do this very minute.