Daisy and the Duke by Elizabeth Cole

Chapter 10

Daisy didn’t see the dukefor several days following the ill-fated picnic, though she thought about him far more often. She wished there was a reason to run into him somehow, and she imagined making some clever remark that would make him laugh, to bring him out the dark mood she last saw him in. Something that would make him notice her, and forget Bella, who had apparently been invited to Lyondale any afternoon she wished to come—an invitation she’d taken advantage of, for a carriage was sent by the duke every day at noon, and Bella got into it wearing a stunning new outfit each time.

If only Daisy could compete with that. If she had the wardrobe of a lady…

“Enough daydreaming,” she scolded herself. She tried to distract herself by reading the latest issues of The English Farmer and The Register of Cultivation, to which she subscribed in order to stay aware of trends in agriculture that she could use at the Grange. But now, all she could do was mark pages that she wanted to show to Tristan.

“Ugh!” Daisy put the journals aside. Why must everything make her think of him?

Fortunately, ordinary tasks still had to be done to keep the Grange running. So Daisy helped Elaine with the washing. She mended clothes while Elaine worked in the garden (Elaine was an attentive gardener who never let a fruit go overripe or a root unharvested). Then there was the marketing, when Daisy went into the village to buy what they couldn’t make at the Grange.

The journey to Lyonton and back normally didn’t take very long, but on this day, she found herself hurrying along the path almost an hour later than usual. And because the days were growing shorter, the light was already turning golden—beautiful for the moment, but heralding a swift nightfall.

She wished she had accepted the offer of a ride from one of the nearby farmers. But Daisy had been suffering a bout of pride, and she could just hear her stepmother’s disappointed tone: Oh, Daisy. You’re the daughter of a gentleman. You mustn’t ride in the back of a hay cart as if you were a ragamuffin.

The bags were heavy, and Daisy had to stop often to rest. But then she stopped for another reason entirely. The Duke of Lyon stood in front of her, leaning idly against the broad trunk of a tree. He looked perfectly at ease, his body relaxed in the late sun.

“Your grace!” Daisy said in surprise.

“Daisy.” Tristan was holding a bunch of wildflowers, which he offered to her. “I’ve been waiting.”

“For how long?” she asked, taking the flowers after she placed her bags on the ground. Tristan immediately picked them up to carry them to a safer place than the road.

“Does it matter? I’ve come here practically every day, hoping you’ll pass by. But you’re as elusive as a ghost.”

“Lady Rutherford has kept me busy,” Daisy said.

“So busy you can’t respond to a letter?” he asked, drawing her farther away from the road, where they could have a more private conversation, and not be overseen by anyone.

“Oh, not that busy! I can still write in the evenings when I have a moment. I don’t know what I would do if not for writing to my friends.”

“But not me?”

She paused, reconsidering his words. “Wait, did you send me a letter?”

“More than one,” he said, his brow lifting in surprise. “Are you saying you didn’t receive any of them?”

“No.” Daisy frowned. “My stepmother must be behind it.”

“Does she hate me that much?” Tristan stopped walking, having reached a little clearing where Stormer waited patiently, just as Tristan had waited patiently for Daisy at the roadside.

“She doesn’t hate you at all, your grace. She can’t wait for the day that Bella will be your duchess.”

“Bella?” he echoed, his jaw going slack. “She thinks I fancy Bella?”

“Well, you do send for her to come to Lyondale every day, your grace.”

“So she can read out loud to Jack!” Tristan ran his hand through his hair. “Which is exactly what I told you, in the letters you never received…”

Daisy had a sudden, uncomfortable realization. “I hope you didn’t write anything in those letters that would be, um, awkward.”

“Such as how much I want to see you?” Tristan asked, his gaze turning intense. “Such as how many times I wished I could take back what I did at the pond? Such as how I wish that this…nonsense about titles and income could be burned to the foundation?”

“That would be awkward, yes,” Daisy murmured. “A duke ought to hold up traditions.”

“Hang traditions.”

He moved closer. “Daisy, I know I shouldn’t keep you here, but—”

She dropped the flowers to put her arms around him, feeling as bold as she ever had in her life. “You’re not keeping me here. I choose to stay here.”

Without waiting another moment, he kissed her.

“Tristan,” she breathed, then pressed her lips against his neck, relishing the slight scrape of stubble against her skin. She inhaled deeply, smelling soap and sweat and the leather of the saddle and the scent of the outdoor air. Daisy reveled in the sensation his lips provoked, and she let her eyes drift closed, hoping to enjoy this moment of delicious freedom to the full.

She opened her mouth, and the move elicited a low sound from him, something both very satisfied and very primal. Tristan held her closer, his mouth exploring places on her body that no one had ever touched before. He pulled aside the edge of her neckline with his teeth, and Daisy gasped both at the rawness of the move, and the fact that it sent heat shooting up and down her limbs.

Then Tristan pulled away, murmuring, “Wait here. Half a minute.”

He looked very unhappy to leave her arms, but he did so. He walked over to Stormer in three big strides, and raided the saddlebag for a rolled-up blanket. Returning, he spread it on the ground. Then he shrugged out of his jacket, so that he had only his white shirt, which was voluminous but made of thin cotton. Stepping up to him, Daisy ran her hands over his arms.

“Stay with me a little while,” Tristan whispered. “I can’t tell you how badly I’ve wanted to be with you, really with you alone…”

Daisy kissed him, silencing his words. Whatever he was asking, she’d already committed to being here with him as long as she dared.

A breathless moment later, he was laying her down on the blanket, stretching out alongside, pressing himself to her. Daisy loved it, and wiggled closer to him, burying her head into his chest and shoulder. The books she’d read in secret had failed to mention how just being next to a person could inspire rapture.

“I wish we could stay here forever. To not have to go back home, to work and all the judgment…”

“…all the eyes staring at you. I know how it is.” Tristan brushed a few strands of hair away from her face, his touch light but electrifying.

“But everyone admires you!” she said. “They envy you.”

“They envy the position I hold,” he said. “Not me. I could die tomorrow and they’d just summon the next heir.”

“Don’t say that,” Daisy said, putting her hands on his face. She pulled him in for another soft kiss.

The kiss stretched out into many. Daisy sighed with pleasure when Tristan proceeded to kiss his way down her neck and chest. He tugged lightly at the edge of her dress, using his fingers this time. “Can you loosen this somehow?” he asked, the frustration evident.

“There are buttons at the back. I can’t reach them.”

“Then turn over.” It was part order, part plea.

Daisy rolled onto her stomach, and Tristen straddled her, plucking at the buttons one by one. She felt the heat of his thighs though her gown, and got a little faint. Anyone seeing them in this moment would be scandalized. She was scandalized, but even more than that, she was entranced, excited to discover what she’d feel next.

Tristan pulled the bodice of the gown a few inches away from her body and then bent down, kissing the newly exposed skin of her back.

Daisy let out a soft moan. Who knew how good that could feel? She shivered with pleasure and the growing sense that she needed even more than this. That there was something entirely new that awaited her if only she allowed Tristan to continue.

This is why they tell us men are dangerous, Daisy mused, lost in the lovely feelings Tristan was summoning in her body, his mouth warm and soft on her skin.

Then he moved so his mouth was at her ear. He said, “You have no idea how much I want to take your gown off, Daisy. See you utterly naked.”

“I…I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Before she could say more, he was turning her over again, so she could look at him directly. “I won’t,” he said. “I want to, but I’ll never do anything you don’t want, darling.”

“What if I did say to take off my clothes?” she asked, with the sort of boldness that only comes from twilight. “Or yours? I’ve never seen a real man naked before. Those illustrations from the books were not terribly accurate, I suspect.”

“You’d be scared if you saw me naked.”

His voice was gruff, even angry, and Daisy felt a thrill of something almost like fear—but not quite. “I’d never be scared of you,” she whispered. “Even when you yelled at me, it was only because you were in pain.”

Tristan looked at her a long moment, wonder in his eyes. “You knew that? That it hurt me to hear that sound?”

“Well, wasn’t it obvious? You’d never yell at a person to be cruel.”

“Daisy, I never apologized for yelling.”

She giggled. “I’d say you’re apologizing now. It’s certainly much nicer to be kissing, isn’t it?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” He bent his head to capture her lower lip, sucking it gently, until Daisy was panting with a newly awakened desire.

“Tristan,” she said at last. “Tell me what to do. It’s one thing to read about it, but quite another to actually be with someone…” you love, she almost said. Was that what was happening? Was Daisy falling in love with him? Why else would she want to offer herself to him, not just her body, but her heart too? “I want to please you.”

“Oh, God, she’s going to destroy me,” he groaned to himself. Then he said, in a low tone, “If you want to please me, let me touch you.”

“You are touching me,” she told him, smiling, for he was practically molded to her, his body pressed to hers.

“This will be different.” He reached down and found the bottom of her gown, slipping his hand under the hem, gliding along her leg. He shifted, intending to kneel between her legs. “Spread your knees apart a little. Trust me, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you.”

Hurt her? Daisy wouldn’t describe the dizzying rush of warmth as hurt. It was pure, honey-thick sweetness.

Tristan ran his hand up her inner thigh until he brushed against the curls between her legs. “I’m going to touch you here,” he said. “Tell me if you like it.”

Then his fingers were stroking lightly against her body, that hidden core. And his touch felt divine. Daisy sighed as lovely, shivery sensations began to radiate through her.

“I do like that,” she whispered, gazing at him. “Oh, yes. I do.”

His jaw worked as he watched her respond to his exploration of her body. Daisy accepted each new touch and stroke with a delighted gasp, until she felt his finger slip all the way into her body, and she cried out in pleasure and astonishment.

“Too much?” he asked, withdrawing his finger.

“No! It’s…wonderful. The books suggested it would be.”

“I have a lot of questions about this school, if those books were so easy to find.” He smiled, and slipped his finger into her body once more.

“Mmm, yes.” She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch, learning that there was a sort of rhythm to the feelings in her body, and that her hips wanted to move to meet his hand.

He noticed too, and encouraged her. “Yes, press against me, just like that.”

The push and pull of his hand against her and inside her was building to something that Daisy was desperate to understand. Tristan kept telling her that she was perfect and beautiful and to continue letting her body enjoy his touch.

“More, Daisy. Don’t hold back.”

She pressed harder against his palm each time, her eyes closed as she reacted to the new sensations. She was nearly frantic, and then a beautiful thing happened and she cried out as her whole body briefly felt warm and wonderful. She let out a long breath, and then another. Her cheeks were hot, her chest was hot. She tingled all over.

Tristan was watching her with an expression of pure lust. “You come so beautifully,” he said, his voice rough.

His breathing was uneven, and he looked almost feverish.

“Tris, what’s wrong?” she asked, returning slowly to reality.

“Nothing. Nothing except that I haven’t been with a woman at all since before…and watching you now is killing me.” He tried to laugh it off, but his jaw clenched, and she could tell he was hiding something.

“What do you need? Tell me, Tris, please.”

“I can’t, Daisy.”

“You need the same release, don’t you? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Daisy suddenly understood a dozen different little things that she’d been half told, half warned her whole life. This is why men and women came together and married and spent their lives together; it was this chance to feel and give a sort of mutual pleasure that nothing else in the world quite matched.

Tristan looked decidedly less happy than Daisy thought he should. He said, “You deserve more than a…blanket in the woods.”

“Let me touch you,” she interrupted, thinking that there was far too much chatter and not enough doing. Tristan needed her to act.

Daisy reached for him, and at the falls of his pants, she encountered a heavy, stiff bulge under the fabric. At her mere touch, Tristan groaned with pleasure. He put his hand over hers, directing her in short, breathless tones what to do next.

But then a shout in the distance made Daisy freeze, holding tense and wary as a deer. Had someone seen them together? Would someone storm up, furious at the scene?

Tristan swallowed hard, both of them listening for any other sound to follow.

There was nothing, only some fading hoofbeats farther down the path.

“It’s all right,” Tristan whispered, his words hot breath in her ear. “Just folk passing by along the road.”

Then, before Daisy could do anything more, he moved away from her, farther into the shadow of the nearest tree. “This was a mistake,” he muttered.

Daisy breathed deep, her mind returning to the present moment, which was far less pleasant than the fantasy realm she’d just been lost in. What was she thinking, dallying with Tristan here in the woods? It was madness, and to be caught would be disaster for them both.

Daisy looked anxiously at the deep blue of the evening sky. More time had passed than she’d thought. It would be full night when she returned to the Grange. She stood up, feeling the cold air swirl around her. “It’s getting dark. I have to go home.”

“I’ll take you.” He gestured to Stormer, who was oblivious to everything going on.

“No! It would raise questions.” Such as where they’d been all alone. “I’ll walk. That’s what everyone expects.” She struggled to pull her gown straight again, realizing the buttons were still undone.

“I’ll fix them,” Tristan said, now standing beside her. “Turn around.”

She turned her back to him, and shivered a little as his fingers made quick work of the buttons, holding her gown tightly in place over the stays once again. How were these the same fingers that just wreaked such havoc in her body?

“There,” he said at last. “With your cloak over it, no one will see anything out of place.”

Feeling a little lost, she turned to find her abandoned marketing bags.

“You shouldn’t be hauling goods like a mule,” Tristan said, watching her. “You’re no servant girl.”

“No, but I’m happy to do what needs to be done for the Grange. And anyway, you were the one talking about burning all the traditions to the ground.”

He smiled, but didn’t look very happy. “When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know. Please, I really must get back. I’m sorry to leave like this…”

He took her in his arms and kissed her roughly, then pushed her away. “But you’re right. This was…not smart. Go. Before I change my mind and keep you here all night.”

Daisy felt the sting of his kiss all the way home. She was flushed and excited and nervous, and above all, dizzy with desire for Tristan, who waited for her—her!—to walk by.

The courtyard of the Grange was quiet, even sleepy. Daisy knew that most of the servants would be busy tending to the final tasks of the day, and she hoped that Elaine had managed to get dinner prepared without Daisy’s assistance. She’d make it up to Elaine tomorrow.

When Daisy entered the foyer of the house it was dark, as no servant had yet come around to light any lantern. Sighing, she dropped her bags to the floor at last, and reached for a candle on the table, while simultaneously striking a flintstone against the wall.

“You fool.”

Daisy stopped short at the words, issuing forth from a dark shape in the middle of the hall, framed by the cold, dark stones and low vaulted ceiling.

Lady Rutherford stepped forward, into the meager pool of light offered by the stubby candle Daisy had just lit.

The chatelaine of Rutherford Grange, the baroness herself, had come down to the lower floors, just to lie in wait for Daisy. Her usual fashionable coolness was even more marked down here in the shadowy, flickering light. Her mouth was drawn into a tight, pinched circle, and her eyes glittered with malice.

“You think I am unaware of what you’ve done?”

Oh, Lord, how could she know of Daisy’s secret, unplanned tryst? Aloud, Daisy stuttered, “My…my lady?”

“You are skulking about, insinuating yourself among your betters.” She flung a packet of paper on the floor. Daisy caught only a glimpse of Tristan’s handwriting, the strokes of black ink marked in great, impatient slashes—the writing of a man who was used to sending missives from a battlefield.

“His grace’s letters,” Daisy said faintly. “You did intercept them.”

“They came to me because at least some of the servants here have a modicum of sense, and knew that a duke had no business corresponding with a”—she checked herself—“a young woman with whom he has no cause for…special relations.”

“Did you read them?”

Lady Rutherford nodded, saying, “Thank the Lord that they are little more than invitations to write back. But even so, they are inappropriate.” The baroness knelt and scooped the letters up before Daisy could do anything. She then held one above the candle flame. It caught fire, illuminating the small foyer with a sudden, painful light.

“You are attempting to undermine your sister’s prospects,” the older woman said. “How can you hate Bella so much that you’d destroy her best chance for a marriage?”

“I don’t hate Bella!”

“Then why are you constantly hovering near his grace? The Duke of Lyon may find you diverting, but his destiny and yours are utterly separate. Forcing your attentions upon him makes you look foolish at best, and may even tarnish his own reputation. Do you want Bella to marry a man to whom rumors have attached themselves?”

“Bella is not engaged,” Daisy protested.

“Not yet,” Lady Rutherford admitted. “But the day will come very soon. And until the words are spoken and she is contracted to the duke, I will ensure that you are out of the way.”

“Out of the way?” The phrase was ominous.

“To begin, you are confined to Rutherford Grange. No accepting invitations to Lyondale, or anywhere else without my express permission. No dallying in the woods. No jaunts to the village to do the marketing, or to visit mysterious old crones.”

“But—”

“Don’t you dare speak back to me!” Lady Rutherford glared at her, but then her expression softened. “I’m doing you a favor, Daisy. You may have your head turned by this man. But trust me, men think only of themselves. If by some chance he were to encounter you alone, away from the protection of society, he’d seek only one thing, and if he were to get it, you would be ruined and cast aside.”

A hidden tremor shook Daisy’s body. It was as if her stepmother had been watching…

“Men are the same everywhere,” Lady Rutherford added with a little sneer. “They speak sweetly until they get what they’re after, and then they’re off on the next hunt, without a thought for the broken hearts and shattered reputations they leave behind.”

Daisy stood speechless, unable to even formulate a thought amid the horror her stepmother painted for her. Tristan had been waiting for her in an out-of-the-way place, and he had begun a seduction that she responded to all too eagerly. Only the sudden shock of hearing others nearby had ended the tryst. But if Daisy hadn’t left, would Tristan really have continued the seduction? He certainly spoke of how much he wanted to.

The older woman seemed to come out a reverie, and then said, “Stay here at the Grange, Daisy. That is an order. If you disobey, you will regret it until the end of your days.”