Duke Herheart Final Read online

  The loud stomach rumble that accompanied these thoughts added to her poor physical state. Devoting her troubled mind to determining a way to get a message to Christy at least distracted her thoughts temporarily from her very empty belly. That dinner of fat free yogurt and crunchy peanut butter had not gone far.

  Temporary distractions lasted only a few minutes, and while Kathryn’s stomach was still growling, she started shivering and was pretty sure it wasn’t just from the cold. She hoped this episode would pass and she would in a short time feel normal, rational and sane again—

  to the extent she could under the circumstances.

  The initial shock of waking up in a strange bed, in a strange town, in a foreign land, in what she now knew to be a totally different century from her own was indeed fading. Kathryn could and would manage.

  There was really no choice. Kathryn had taken care of herself her entire life. At least she no longer felt completely, utterly alone since the sexy guy named Asterleigh was supposedly out getting her some clothes.

  Kathryn was grateful.

  After all the years of being on her own with only her sister Christy to care for and no man to rely on, here she was in such a foreign place, with a stranger acting the hero for her, like her very own knight in 10

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  shining armor.

  If he failed her it wouldn’t really matter because this was only a dream anyway, wasn’t it? Kathryn thought once again she might wake up and soon. A little self-delusion wasn’t going to hurt, not if it made things easier for now.

  The rattling of the door handle startled Kathryn from her self-pitying and she plunged under the bed in case the person on the other side had a key. When the rattling stopped, she realized the person must not have expected the room to be locked. Probably a maid had come to freshen up the room.

  She obviously needed to get out of it. “Come on legs, move. Breathe Kat, you can do this.” She grabbed up the now useless pile of junk that had made this odd journey with her, slipped the case off the pillow and stuffed it all in. She peeked into the hall and made a mad dash for the room next door praying it belonged to her new friend and he had left the door unlocked.

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  Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

  Chapter Two

  Captain Michael Stafford, lately of His Majesty’s Army, contemplated the petite woman with her swirling rainbow of hair and warm drawly voice. Thoughts of her brought an involuntary smile to Michael’s face and his body reacted uncomfortably to the image of warmly expressive green-gold eyes, an elusive but captivating smile, and dark peach skin. Michael had been particularly mesmerized by the woman’s perfectly formed pink painted toes she had not even tried to cover.

  She had hidden under the bed quilt but it had done little to conceal her charms because she was radiant. It was all there in her openness and candor, the vibrancy of her skin, the way her words rolled off her tongue as if she was confident, even in such a distressing situation. Good grief, he had clearly been without any proper distractions for far too long if he was thinking of the tiny American’s charms in such a hopeful manner.

  Indeed, what could possess him? She surely was altogether not respectable. What proper lady travels alone? There’s no maid, no coachman, no footman? Why was no one watching her? And while he had not met many Americans, of the ones he had, none had talked like she had. As he descended the stairs, Michael decided the woman was definitely not a lady, at least not in the way the English meant the description. Surely doing the bidding of an improper woman was not a foreshadowing of what this new life was going to be like. Although his life had been rather dull before the Army, the American was no doubt going to cause him any number of hours of distraction.

  It was apparent to Michael almost immediately that he would find no ladies gowns to purchase on the street and worse, that if he did it would cause him a scandal he would rather avoid. He hadn’t planned this campaign well at all. In fact, looking back at the inn, he half expected and feared seeing any minute the woman being thrown out the front door. Why was the dammed woman, that particular one of all people, commanding his thoughts to the exclusion of all else? It was just her and her exquisite shape and her eyes, into which he could drown.

  “Pardon me, Your Grace?” The slight man stopped short in his path, fingering his hat in his hands and bowed stiffly.

  Damn. Caught, distracted. “Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” The vicar’s collar was a giveaway but Michael did not know this one and had 12

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  not really expected to be recognized just yet. He had been gone a long time and his departure had been as a uniformed officer with close-cropped hair.

  “Ahh, it is you. Your Grace, we are relieved to see you returned hale and whole…but I forget my manners. I am Stogwell, the Vicar. We hope you will join us for services. Your mother …” he lowered his eyes reverently.

  “Yes, I know. She was a generous patron. I intend to honor her memory. Perhaps you and your wife will call on me after I have settled in and you will share with me how I can assist you.” The foray into the streets had been necessary but now he realized too late the error. Several of the townspeople were regarding them with curiosity and a few with outright awe. His coat of blue superfine and elegant cravat stood out among the drab of the villagers. Smiling at the closest onlookers, Michael returned his attention to the vicar.

  “Your Grace, we would be honored. Mrs. Stogwell will be delighted.”

  “I trust you will bring me news of the festival?”

  “Oh yes, and well the ladies of the committee will want to include you.”

  Michael realized the gentleman in front of him might save him more traipsing. “Mr. Stogwell, have we developed any seamstress shops since I’ve been gone? I am in earnest for a gift for my sister.”

  “Alas no, Your Grace. Gloves or bonnets will be your only choices.”

  “My mistake. I should have gotten a present in London. I must be off. My staff will be expecting me.”

  “Oh yes, Your Grace. Very well.”

  Michael nodded and parted from the still-bowing clergyman who he hoped he had not offended with his curt dismissal.

  * * * *

  Determined to have the question of the woman’s situation settled, Michael’s quick step gained him the inn’s porch in a few short strides. The tap’s few patrons were busy with their morning plates. The sausages had been quite good and the coffee strong to his liking and he suddenly realized the woman had probably not enjoyed the hearty breakfast he had if she had no clothes. Concerned, Michael charged on The shabby innkeeper was not at his post. Gut churning at the possibility that they might have discovered the green-eyed minx, Michael took the stairs two at a time. He fingered his key and slipped it into the lock but the door eased open with no effort. Had he forgotten to lock it in his distraction?

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  He knew instantly on gaining his room that she had been there. The woman had left a faint smell of woman musk, salt and something oddly tropical. He had never smelled a woman like her. Hers must be essence of America he thought with a wry smile.

  And damn it all she had slipped past him while he had been detained by the vicar. The muscles in his chest tightened as he caught sight of a single sheet lying on his bed on top of a puddle of pink fabric.

  Dear Sir,

  Someone tried the door to my room and since I did not have a way to pay, I slipped into your room to get away. I’m really sorry to run off but I figured you would not want to come back and be discovered in your room with a woman wearing only a nightgown. I borrowed a pair of your pants and a shirt and have left you my nightie in exchange. I hope someday to repay you, since I am sure your riding pants are worth far more than what I left you. Thank you for your kindness. I wish you safe continued travels home.

  Sincerely,

  Kathryn

  A frustrated grow
l boiled from his gut, but Michael resisted the urge to reduce her missive to ashes. Kathryn. Her name was Kathryn.

  Michael slumped against the bedpost. His deceased wife had been Catherine and it somehow seemed fitting that he was once again embroiled in a sure scandal with this Kathryn. Right now, she was walking the street dressed as a lad in likely ill-fitting shirt and breeches.

  If he didn’t find her soon, this Kathryn would be ruined if she wasn’t already.

  The garish garment she had been wearing was pooled on his bed.

  The moment he touched it, his pulse raced from the texture, from its surprising softness. He buried his face in the delicate bundle and Michael breathed in the earthy, provocative smell of vital, alive woman. He’d barely been home in the last eight years but the force driving him at this moment had nothing to do with getting home, but everything to do with finding one improperly dressed female. Stuffing the garment into his coat pocket, Michael quit the room on a frustrated groan.

  “Your Grace?” Michael’s mousy man Minton caught him at the bottom of the steps.

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  “Ah, just the man I was looking for. Can you and John Coachman see to the carriage and take my valise up with you? I have a bit of business here.”

  “You want us to go on without you, Your Grace?” Minton spluttered.

  “Yes, don’t be so surprised. Surely, you are ready to be at the end of your travels. You need no longer delay here with me.”

  “Oh, I am ready, Your Grace, but I thought, I mean…”

  “They’ll welcome you. Don’t worry, man, Hallthorpe is expecting you. Go!” The commanding tone left no more room for the servant’s excuses.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Minton had no choice but to obey the command.

  Ridding himself of his all too worldly valet had been imperative so Michael could concentrate on his search for Kathryn. The inn’s stables had excellent prospects for hiding a wayward lady wearing ill-fitting men’s clothing. Looking as she must, quite enchanting and out of place, the lads would surely take pity on her. Once he ran Kathryn to ground, Michael could solve the mystery of her plight and see the woman settled and on her way to wherever she belonged—out of his life.

  “Kathryn, are you in here?” Avoiding the lads working in the far stalls, Michael called her name in a low whisper. She did not answer.

  Fists clenched, nerves taut, Michael meticulously checked the loft and each unoccupied stall but no minx was in the stables. He stalked through the village and after hunting in all the obvious hiding spots for well nigh an hour, Michael was gravely concerned for Kathryn’s safety and completely out of sorts.

  After surreptitious glances into the storefronts along the street, to no avail, Michael stepped into the Climbing Vine Inn to inquire of the barman at the tavern. “A pint if you please.”

  “Yes, milord.” The barman filled a tankard and plopped it in front of Michael on the bar. Michael placed a guinea next to the mug and the man’s eyes glinted at the largesse. “What can I do for ye?”

  “I am looking for a lady who is dressed as a lad.”

  “Nay. Haven’t seen anyone like that through here today. Had some visitors but I’d say they’re all in their right clothes.”

  “Thank you my good man.” Michael tipped the mug and took another long drag but ale was not what he needed right now. He needed a titian-haired houri. Ah, yes, houri was the perfect description, she was truly an exotic temptress.

  Michael calculated that Kathryn must have headed directly out of town but how and in what conveyance? Hadn’t she had told him she had 15

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  no money? There were not many ways to leave a town like Wilton when someone was without means to pay. But she had something any number of men would have accepted as payment. He cursed loudly since no one could hear.

  The woman had been coy and quite lovely but she had not propositioned him. She had asked for help and he had freely given it. But what if the next man she approached was not a gentleman? That thought was enough to make an old soldier groan.

  Cursing her possible fate wasn’t going to find the woman so Michael turned his steps back down the street, lengthened his stride and began planning the next move in his campaign.

  There were only two roads leading into and away from Wilton and he doubted she’d choose any of the narrow bridle paths. So for departing, Kathryn could make for London or take the split that led to Hawthorne.

  Unbidden, images of Kathryn carted off by ruffians or set upon by highwaymen flashed before him. His protective instincts surged and he said a quick prayer that she had chosen the Hawthorne track, where she would be safe. She would also get a nice surprise when she landed on the doorstep of the man she had asked to help her then deserted. Michael rather liked the idea that Kathryn would get the opportunity to pay him back in his chosen currency for the clothing she had pilfered.

  The satisfaction of that thought was fleeting as he stalked back into the Blue Bell, settled his account, and summoned for his horse to be brought around. Michael could not shake the tightness in his chest he felt at the woman’s effective disappearance. He had to beat a swift and steady pace toward the missing woman and to intercept her before she arrived at Hawthorne. As much as he wanted her to be heading there, he didn’t want her to precede him. His staff would be in a spate if she arrived at the door dressed …or only partially dressed, as a man in clothes that Minton or his all-too-perceptive butler Hallthorpe might even recognize as Michael’s own. That would be unacceptable.

  Fury’s hooves ate up the distance while Michael scanned the open fields for any sign of her. He remembered every copse of trees, the hedge, and hiding places that had been the site of childhood adventures.

  Today his land was alive with the smell of earth, sheep, cows, horses and hay, and fresh grass and he breathed it in deeply, letting the familiarity and the constant pounding of the hooves calm his fraying nerves.

  As the road drew to its familiar end, Michael’s concern for Kathryn mounted. He should have overtaken her by now and since he had not, he knew she had not headed in this direction after all. He contemplated turning around but his mount would not be able to ride that distance.

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  Michael was too close to home and the possibility of gaining a fresh horse to risk it. He would go back but not yet.

  Slowing Fury to a walk, Michael scrubbed his hand over his face and tried to clear his mind from his pursuit of the missing woman to prepare for what lay ahead. He was coming home for the first time since losing his father and brother. He had for thirty years been the second son, the spare after all, the one destined to be a soldier. Now he was riding toward a completely new destiny. Surveying the familiar land spread out before him on all sides, Michael was indeed quite keen on taking the reins of his family’s vast holdings and becoming the Duke of Asterleigh.

  He kicked his heels and spurred on his horse.

  Excitement building, his heart welled as the façade of Hawthorne came into view. Nothing had prepared Michael for the emotion he would feel, the possessiveness of being master of this…of Hawthorne. Home.

  He reined in. A lad rushed from the stable for Fury and stopped short when he realized who the rider was. The boy was not alone in his wonder and curtains tittered throughout the building, curious eyes peering out in awe at the lone rider.

  “Milord, welcome home,” the boy murmured.

  “Thank you, lad. He should cooperate for you as he’s been ridden hard.”

  “Yes, milord.” Michael saw acceptance in Fury’s huge eyes as he gave himself to the lad, as if he too realized the weight of responsibility that fell on his master’s shoulders and deigned to acquiesce to the ministrations of an underling just this once. The horse also likely recognized a dab hand. Michael expected the boy would become a fine stableman.

  Taking in the view on all sides, Mich
ael admired the long row of stately trees marching alongside the drive that culminated in the wide circular graveled forecourt, then glanced at the lane leading to the stables where the lad had started off with Fury. He could see the stable down below and smell the faint scent of manure and constantly churned dirt.

  He had been up this drive too many times to count but now he studied his home, its gardens and buildings anew, appreciating how impressive it all was. And, it was his. Michael’s chest swelled with pride and he couldn’t help but smile.

  But he would dally another day and time to enjoy the sights. For now, he had a mission. His long stride gained him the steps quickly and Michael watched the great doors swing wide, spilling servants out into the Courtyard while their stately leader Hallthorpe stood at attention on the top step. “Welcome home mi’lord.”

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  “Welcome!” “Huzzah!”

  “Good show, mi’lord.” The hearty greetings came from throughout the line of servants that had formed down the steps and extended back into the great hall. His maids curtsied and the footmen bowed and from all around him he felt the genuine warmth of their welcome that was evident in their wide and glowing smiles.

  “Your Grace.” He heard affection in Hallthorpe’s deep baritone.

  “Hallthorpe, I see you have kept the household in order.” He clasped the elder man by the shoulder and gripped his hand firmly.