Chapter 3
“This might just be some of the best tea—”
“Fire!” A boy ran into the teashop shouting, interrupting Damien’s not-so-ambivalent eavesdropping on the conversation being had by the only other two patrons in the shop.
He couldn’t help himself from listening in on the discussion, for the sound of the voice matched the beauty before him, and that beauty was unparalleled.
And he would know. He had seen many a beauty.
If Benedict were around, he’d have made a bet with his old friend as to how quickly he could charm her.
Alas, Benedict was likely with his wife Amelia, not distracting himself with the curiosity of a gold rush in a small seaside town where Damien, Duke of Devonby, had serendipitously stumbled upon a brunette in a purple frock who was most certainly a captivating creature.
And if he didn’t know better, she had the same frame and movements of the woman he saw down by the sea yesterday.
But he couldn’t be sure, considering he only caught a glimpse of her before she hid behind a rock.
That didn’t stop him at the time from giving her a little show though.
He chuckled at the thought of shaking the water from his body before being brought to the present by the young boy’s urgent announcement.
“There’s a fire at Mr. Duke’s jewelry shop.”
Damien flew out of his chair, marching toward the boy. “Show me where that is. Go quickly!” He’d have to find out more about the captivating creature another time.
Once outside, Damien could see the smoke heavy in the air.
This was not good. Church bells were ringing now, and the main street was filling with people.
Bucket lines were being formed from various sources.
The well. One of the nearby creeks. And all the townspeople were passing buckets, from the strongest sailors of the bunch, to the scrawniest kids.
If they had been here, his partners Alexander and Tristan would absolutely have taken charge, but they had left for the day with plans to return with a much larger team to manage the gold rush.
Damien could see the fire burning higher when his eyes snapped over to the woman in the purple frock, her eyes wide at the scene before them.
A loud crack came from the fire, causing her to step back where she stumbled upon a cart.
It took her a few moments to find her bearings in all the clutter.
Her eyes landed on something large in the cart and she ran her hand along it in thought.
Then looked up and around as if for help.
Their eyes met and it was as if they both had the same idea at the same time. He ran over to her.
“Help me with this sail.” Damien pulled the large canvas from the cart.
“We can douse it and smother the flames.”
“That’s right.”
“Don’t look so shocked.”
“I’m not—”
“Let’s go, Damien.” She knew him? How was that possible?
Surely he would remember being introduced to her.
Surely. And she dared to just refer to him by his Christian name?
The audacity. But…he liked it. Or at the very least, he didn’t not like it.
Too often men—and women—were pandering to him.
Vying for his attention, his good graces, his favor.
But not this woman. She was not acting as half of the women did by pawing him “accidentally,” nor was she acting stiffly and innocently—whether genuine or not—as the other half did.
No, she was almost acting…disdainfully. Very odd.
But the reflection was pushed from his mind as she gathered the canvas in her hands, tugging it as though she were the one about to lead them back to the fire rather than him.
Together they ran back to the tea shop where the shopkeeper had barrels of water waiting to be boiled for the day’s tea.
They soaked the canva and lugged it back to the fire.
Calling for ladders on either side of the building, a few of the sailors caught on to what they were doing.
Not without a small fight and a rather large pout, Damien watched the men wrench the canvas from her hands.
Climbing up, they threw the sail atop the fire while the bucket lines continued their steady pace until the fire was out.
Thank God, because a fire in a small town could be devastating.
His first order of business would be to purchase a manual fire engine so the townspeople could pump water at any future fire.
He made a mental note not to forget to tell Tristan and Alexander about that.
And in his mind he could see the two of them bickering over how that would be done—though it would be done.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucy sit on the ground holding her hand.
Upon having the canvas yanked out of her grasp, her wrist must have turned painfully.
Something within him begged him to go to her.
Before he would have called it lust, but in this moment it was different. It was protective.
Dashing over to her, he knelt down beside her and took her hand in his. “Are you alright?” He didn’t even know her name. What a disadvantage!
“Yes,” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “I’m perfectly fine.” But when she tried to stand she accidentally put weight on her injured hand and fell back.
“You’re hurt. Let me help you.”
“I’m—”
He scooped her up into his arms thinking he would walk to the nearest shop and take a look at her injury.
That was the original intention behind sweeping her off of her feet.
But now…as he stared into her ocean-meets-sky blue eyes, his feet betrayed him.
They didn’t move. Wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move.
And she stared right back.
That made the whole damn thing of walking a whole lot of impossible.
Damn his feet. But his hands. Oh, those were another story.
They were happily wrapped around a soft and supple body.
One he ached to see more of. One he ached to know.
How very odd to have such depth of feeling, the likes of which he always assumed he would tamp down.
Instead, his fingers tightened their grip around her hips, and her lips parted to make a small o.
If that didn’t make his dick stiffen.
Damn all the parts of his body that were going rogue, including his resolve. She was a beautiful woman. There was no doubt about that. And intelligent. Determined. Built with courage. But something about her and those eyes looking deep into his soul…it unnerved him.
“I—”
He needed to say something. Anything. But that’s as far as he got.