Page 20 of Married to the Ruthless Duke

“More like you’re prepared for me to beat you.”

“Oh, I’m more than ready to beat you.”

ChapterFive

Early the next morning, Alexander set out riding his horse, a handsome Arabian stallion aptly called Spitfire for his fiery nature, to meet up with his bride-to-be at Hyde Park for a stroll.

Much like Helen, the stallion had been a challenging one to break and had wounded a number of men before finally yielding. Nonetheless, every so often, he still threw powerful tantrums.

Alexander gave himself a mental shake as he realized he had been smiling and thinking of the stubborn girl. It was concerning how everything seemed to remind him of her and how she had made a comfortable home in his thoughts and dreams for herself more often these days.

He remembered the dream he had had the night before, and a cold sweat broke out on his back at the vision of her legs tangled with his, with his hands palming the soft curves of her hips that teased him whenever she walked. Her body was unbelievable, and he struggled to keep his hands to himself whenever he saw her.

He groaned as he felt himself throb with lust again this early in the day and broke into a fast trot across Hyde Park in hopes of restoring order to his rebellious mind and body. He found that it worked for the most part because by the time he stopped at the bank of the Serpentine, he was calmer, and his raging lust had settled into a small flame.

“Alex! Your Grace!” a familiar voice called.

He looked up, and just like that, all the work he had done to keep his composure crumbled to dust as he spotted the figure responsible for his trouble.

Helen rode towards him, the very picture of beauty in a navy riding dress that accentuated the cobalt of her eyes and the very feminine curves of her body. Her dark hair was pinned securely under a small blue hat, yet some strands chose to escape, giving her a delicate windswept look.

Her pale skin shone in the soft glare of the sun, with a slight pink hue creeping into her cheeks as she neared, alerting him that he was not alone in his troubles. She too desired him even if she seemed hell-bent on denying it. He wondered briefly if she flushed just as beautifully everywhere.

His pants tightened again, and fearing she would notice, he turned his horse, willing himself to calm down.

When she neared him, he finally noticed she rode astride and shook his head with amusement at her continual attempts to get him to cancel the marriage. Of course, his fiery bride did nothing in half measures. He had wondered how long she would continue her attempts to get him to cancel the marriage.

When she finally stopped, she dismounted ungracefully before he could even help her down, and he caught a glimpse of… breeches?

The little minx was wearing breeches underneath her dress. His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he looked around, wondering if anyone else noticed. It took great effort from him to school his expression.

The tiny woman was making him lose his carefully crafted composure, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted with a sunny smile.

The brilliance of her smile confused him, effectively dousing the anger he had felt and knocking all rational thought out of his mind. Her cobalt-blue eyes lit up with mischief, and her body was literally vibrating with excitement.

“You wear breeches?” he blurted out, chiding himself when the words were out.

“Y-yes, I do,” she stuttered, obviously taken aback by the question. She recovered quickly, though, smiling triumphantly. “They are quite comfortable for riding. Don’t you think so? You men are so lucky.”

She looked so proud of herself that he wanted to laugh, which caused him to choke when she faced him and lifted her skirts to show him.

He averted his eyes, but not before he caught how the tight-fitting pants hugged her figure. His pants tightened again as his hands itched to run over her body.

“Helen!” he scolded her.

“What is it, Alex?”

“Please drop your dress.”

“Why? I’m showing you something,” she said oh so innocently.

“I know, and I’ve seen enough of it,” he begged.

“All right.”

“But you see why I wear it. It is not particularly popular with the ton, but it is perfect for me,” she went on, unaware or rather not caring how she had nearly killed him. “I’m sure you would not approve of such behavior in your future duchess, but I’m telling you now that if you do insist on marrying me, I do not intend to stop.”

---