Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After, #1)

by Tessa Dare

It started to rain. Fat, heavy drops of summer rain—the kind that always struck her as vaguely lewd and debauched. Little potbellied drunkards, those summer raindrops, chortling on their way to earth and crashing open with glee.

“Adolescence,” he said, “is awkward. Attending a past lover’s wedding is awkward. Making love on horseback is awkward.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those women with radical ideas.” “No,” she returned. “I’m one of those women with nothing. There are a great many of us.”

“Oh, I’d notice you, Miss Goodnight. I’d notice you. There’s no castle big enough to keep a man like me from being aware, every moment, of a woman like you. You don’t have to speak a word. I can hear the rustle of your petticoats. I can smell the scent of your skin. I can feel your heat.”

“I’m not Lord Archer,” he went on in that low, seductive rumble. “I’ve never read your father’s soppy stories, and you’re not some little girl to me. I’ve run my hands all over your body. And these hands have an excellent memory.”

There was exactly one reason his blood was pounding, and it had nothing to do with “please.” It had to do with “yes” and ”God, yes” and “just like that, but harder.”

Any self-respecting rake had two kinds of women in his life: those he took to bed at night and those who made him a pancake in the morning. If he suddenly wanted both from the same woman, it was a warning flag. One big and red enough for even a blind man to see. Get out now. The threat is coming from inside the castle.

“It’s true. Every time you wake up, you let fly the most marvelous string of curses. It’s never the same twice, do you know that? It’s so intriguing. You’re like a rooster that crows blasphemy.”

“Just because she ran away, it doesn’t mean a woman can’t love you. Ransom, I . . . I know there’s more to you than this.” “There’s a great deal to me.” He rocked his pelvis against hers, and the hard ridge of his erection stroked her core. “You could have it all. Just as long and hard and deep as you need it.”

“You’re making too much of this. They’re meant to keep you up here. In your room. Away from me. Every night, you’ve been stealing downstairs in the dark, waking me up before dawn. I couldn’t understand what it was you were missing up here, but I tried everything. Blankets, brazier, writing desk.”

If he wanted any chance of keeping her, Ransom would have to come up with some surprises.

“Of course you don’t deserve her. No man deserves a woman like that. He mortgages his very soul to win her and spends his life paying off the debt.”

“Izzy, my heart . . .” He tenderly stroked her hair where it fanned across the pillow. “In the morning, will you make me a pancake?”

She went on with her tale. “ ‘Tell me,’ Ulric says, as he slips from three fingers to two. ‘Before you send me to my death, tell me who you are.’ At last, the Shadow Knight lifts the visor of his helmet, revealing an all-too-familiar face, and says”—she lowered her voice, giving it an ominous cast—“ ‘Ulric. I am your brother.’

“So what do I do? What do I need to say?” He cleared his throat. “Anon I pledge mine fealty thither . . .” They put the hood back over his head. “Prithee,” he protested, “if thou wouldst waiteth a goddamned second—”

“I can’t judge how beauty looks anymore,” he said. “But I know the sound of it. It sounds like a flowing river of wild, sweet honey. Beauty smells like rosemary, and it tastes of nectar. Beauty sneezes like a flea.”

One of the knights drew his saber—a saber that didn’t look sharp enough to cut sponge cake—and thrust it into the air. “You can’t take him!” “This is a brotherhood,” another cried out. “I knew all this training would be for something.” “We stand as one. We will fight to the death.” Even Magnus began to growl and bark. A shout lifted over all: “Release the ermine!”

“For God’s sake, man. They’re just stories. The rest of us here understand that.” Mr. Havers gestured at Ransom. “Look at him. The man’s not delusional. He’s in love.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Ransom.” “Now, don’t start complaining about girlish treatment. I know you’re too old to be given a purple room with golden stars. But I also know it was a dream of yours, once. I thought you might want to give it to our children instead.”