Page 24 of Good Duke Gone Hard

“Yes, mother. Thank you.” She attempted to put her brush down without notice, but she caught Jonathan smirking at her. And perhaps when he returned to his chair he had sat back just a tad taller in his chair.

JONATHAN LEANED BACK IN his chair, itching for his imminent loss in the chess game.

“Jonathan,” Lyle remarked, “I’ve won in 10 moves. Or 12, depending. I don’t believe it’s necessary to draw out the play, do you?”

“Hmmm? No.” Of course it was entirely impudent of Jonathan to allow himself to be so distracted, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Margaret’s bottom lip, especially when she kept nabbing it with her teeth.

“Very well. Good game.” Lyle clapped him on the back and muttered, “Of sorts.”

But Jonathan was too busy watching Margaret recover from her dripping paint to notice. God, she was remarkable. Unflappable. And entirely unashamed.

“Do you want me to ride you?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. She hadn’t said what he thought she said. She couldn’t have. Could she?

“Mother suggested you may wish for some exercise. Do you want me to ride with you?” Margaret repeated coyly.

He cleared his throat. It was imperative. “Yes, the exercise will do us good.”

As the two made their way out of the room, he could only maintain propriety for as long as they were within ears’ reach of the parlor, and then he chased her as she flounced down the corridor, laughter trailing behind them.

When they had saddled up at the stables, Margaret took one second to secure his attention and then announced, “To the old fishing hole.”

Having no idea where that was, perforce he galloped after her. And as he did, he imagined breathing in her jasmine scent. She was life itself. The embodiment of fullness and joy. Whoever he was now, he was going to give himself to her.

The wind blew through his mind, clearing his thoughts until the only image left was Margaret’s backside in motion with the galloping horse ahead of him.

“Yah!” He called to encourage the horse to catch up with his riding partner.

He finally matched her stride as they slowed near a riverbank. Margaret flung herself off the horse and Jonathan followed, dropping the reins below the horse’s neck thus commanding the horse to stay.

Margaret had already taken off her shoes and was sitting on the bank as she dipped her toes in the water. Jonathan reached for his temple as a vague memory fought its way to the surface. But he only saw water. It was the same vision as the first one he had while painting with Margaret. Bubbles underwater. Without any context, Jonathan couldn’t decipher the puzzling picture.

Having taken off his shoes, he sat beside Margaret with his feet in the water as well.

He leaned back on his elbows. “What is it about water?”

Margaret whipped her head around to him, and tried to disguise her astonishment. “Water?”

He grinned. “Yes, water.” He pulled her down to rest on his chest. “I used to walk around a pond back in Glaston. It held no significance to me, that I can trace. And since I’ve come to Chatsworth, the large pond has been calling to me every day.”

She murmured a feigned curiosity.

“The ponds. The painting.” He felt her slightly stiffen at the last word. “You saw it?”

“Yes,” she drew out the word.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“What can’t you tell me? Why can’t you tell me?” He pushed himself to sit up, and she curled her knees under her dress.

“I just can’t.”

“You can tell me anything.”

She paused. “I think that may be true.” Stalling, she pushed back a few loose blonde tendrils. “There are some things I just can’t tell you.” Her eyes pleaded with him. He could see the fear in them. How could he deny her this one request that she had of him, to keep a secret? It was only one small request. One small request that tore at his heart, yet he didn’t know why.

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