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Duke's
steps slowed as he saw her. A primitive need rose up in him; he became a
stalking male. She was sitting on the sofa and she immediately stood, her gaze
locking with his.
    She was no wild gypsy
today, but she was somehow more entrancing than she had been last night. She
wore a bottle-green riding habit with a matching hat, her hair pinned up and
out of sight. She held black leather gloves and a riding crop, twisting the
former in her hands.
    "I am glad you have
come," he said low, halting in front of her. His gaze swept over her
exquisite features, and yes, she was every bit as strikingly beautiful as he
remembered. It had not been his imagination running wild.
    She curtsied but he
stopped her, lifting her back up. "Please, no formalities, I think that
would be rather ridiculous given the circumstances, don't you?"
    She blinked at him. Her
eyes, he saw, were so pale that they were almost silver. He wondered if she had
even heard him, or if she had even understood. Sometimes she perplexed him,
with her blushes and confusion, as if she were not a lady of experience. Or
perhaps she was as undone with the physical attraction that raced between them
as he himself seemed to be.
    "Thank you, Your
Grace," she said, her voice low and husky.
    He heard footsteps in
the hall and he stiffened, knowing it was the Dowager Duchess. There was no
graceful way out of the situation. He would have to introduce them. The Duke's
jaw tightened.
    Isobel entered the
foyer, looking perturbed, her gaze going from his visitor to himself. The Duke
thought he read disapproval in her eyes, and it disturbed him, just as her
meeting Lady Shelton here did. "Lady Shelton, the Dowager Duchess of
Clayborough," he said formally, his tone giving absolutely no indication
that anything was amiss.
    The two women exchanged
greetings. Isobel said, "Won't you join us for tea, Lady Shelton?
Woodward, please bring us some refreshments."
    The Duke cut her off,
taking Nicole's arm firmly. "I am sorry, Mother, but as I said, we have a
riding date."
    Before Isobel could
insist they stay, and he saw from her expression that she would, he was leading
his guest out of the salon and through the foyer. "It's a beautiful day,
and it would be a shame if we did not take advantage of it," he remarked,
thinking about how he would soon take advantage of what she was offering him.
    "Of—of
course," Nicole stammered, apparently unnerved by such an abrupt exit. She
threw a look over her shoulder. The Duke had not a doubt that his mother was
standing there on the porch, knowing exactly what he had in mind, and shocked
that he would be so blatant about it.
    But then, he was rather
shocked himself. But that would not change his intentions. Not at all.

 
    Nicole tried to look
again over her shoulder, as the Duke led her firmly down the shallow steps and
away from the house. The Dowager Duchess followed them out and was staring at
them in shock and disapproval. Nicole's dismay rose. The Duke's mother was
clearly displeased with her son's interest in her. She must know all about
Nicole's sordid past, just as everyone did.
    But then his words, with
their husky, intimate tone, chased away all thoughts of the Dowager Duchess.
"I had hoped you would come today, Nicole."
    They were at the stables
and he was ordering a groom to bring their mounts. Nicole's eyes were wide,
riveted upon his striking features. He had called her Nicole. Everything was
happening so fast, and it was like a dream come true.
    Last night she had been
unable to sleep, her thoughts swimming with his image, and she had recalled
every word he had said to her at the masque. Nicole had never been interested
in any man before, but now she understood the attraction between the sexes. And
what she was feeling could be nothing other than love.
    "I hope you don't
mind my calling you Nicole."
    "How could I
mind?" she murmured, his tone and look sending tingles racing through her
body.
    "Good, then we
shall dispense with all