Chapter 11 #2
Late the next afternoon, with her damp braid slung over her shoulder, dressed in dry clothes after a swim in the stream, and balancing a dinner tray on her right arm, Nes arrived at the duke’s office door.
Smoothing the pleats on the bosom of her new yellow and blue dress, she took a moment to fix a few that had been tugged flat by the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Then she tapped on the wood softly, little more than a scratch, the way she’d heard the servants do many times.
She waited, as quiet as a mouse.
He opened the door. The servant angle was a success.
Their eyes met, and they glared daggers at one another.
She could basically hear the clash of steel on steel.
His pupils were huge, jaw ticking. And her face .
. . She hoped she looked angry, but to be perfectly honest, she was distracted by the duke’s chest, dusted in a smattering of dark hair, it stared at her from between the open V of his tunic.
One of his shirt laces had clearly gone for a swim in a pot of ink; now tipped black, it left a blotchy stain over his heart.
He was far more underdressed—undressed—than she’d seen him before.
The hard lines of his pecs beckoned her to follow where they disappeared beneath the fine linen.
“What are you doing . . .?”
“Here?” she finished his question for him, unsure she could answer without the added qualifier. Her eyes flicked up to his face. Nesrina refused to tilt her head up and instead peered at him through her heavy lashes. “I’ve brought you dinner.”
“Don’t you have something better to do? Anything other than distract me from my project?” He gestured vaguely at the desk across the room.
“Mmm . . .” She pretended to think and released one hand from the tray to raise a finger to her chin, tapping in an exaggerated fashion. “I could think of better things to do. I would have better things to do, but you sent away my plaything.”
He moved toward her, letting loose a low growl.
Her heart raced, but she couldn’t stop herself from carrying on. “Now I have nothing . . .” She raised a hand to her mouth and coughed. “Sorry, no one better to do.” Nes punctuated the saucy comment with a dramatic shrug.
In an instant, he stepped toward her, and she yelped, pressing herself against the wall. She thought for certain he was going to pin her there, either with his much larger body or perhaps with his air magic.
He did not.
Instead, the duke huffed, “He’s not a good man,” and yanked his office door closed while reaching for the lunch in her hands.
Dishware clattered as Nesrina tried to release the silvered tray to him.
But his own much larger hand had grasped over top of hers, holding her there, sandwiched between the cool metal and throbbing heat of his palm.
He didn’t move, just looked down at her through hooded lids. For a solid thirty seconds he stared in silence, gaze unreadable.
Nes wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or curse at her. Perhaps he doesn’t know either, the errant thought fluttered through her mind, causing a pulse between her legs.
“Kalalitani,” he finally grumbled as he used his other hand to take the tray from her and removed the one that had held her firm.
She stood, back still pressed against the wall, chest rising and falling in time with her shallow breaths.
What does that mean? She wanted to call after him, but he was already gone. She’d figure it out.
She sat beneath the willow, reading a novel atop a plush blanket and pile of pillows. A shadow fell over her, and the rustle of branches told her she was no longer alone. Someone joined her in the embrace of the tree.
Her gaze shifted from the page to a pair of military-issue boots. Her soldier had returned, and butterflies danced low in her stomach.
She trailed up the tops of his knee-height boots, over muscled thighs, straining against deep green trousers, the never-ending rows of buttons running up his double-breasted jacket .
. . a suspiciously chiseled face that definitely did not belong to her golden-haired guard, but did belong to one impossibly tall and brooding duke.
Akkas reached out and grasped her hands before tugging her to her feet.
With too much strength in his pull, she crashed into him, and his long arms wrapped comfortably around her back before sliding up to grasp her by the shoulders.
He stepped away, not letting go, and bent forward, locking eyes with her as he leaned in.
Then his lips were on hers, soft and needy as he wove his long fingers through her hair.
She sighed herself awake, and it wasn’t exactly an exasperated exhale, though she’d be loath to admit it. When her mind kicked in, Nesrina decided she was confused, surprised, and annoyed.
That bloody man. Can’t I get a moment’s peace?
A little voice reminded her, quite rudely, that these new thoughts were likely her own fault for spending so much time intent on pestering him.
She spent the early morning in her room, eating breakfast, and reading alone by the open doors to her balcony.
Mid-morning, Nes wandered to the kitchens, debating how next to bother the duke.
She wasn’t done, she only needed a method that wouldn’t involve seeing him face to face.
That clearly wasn’t wise. He wasn’t precisely her employer, but even dreaming of a connection between herself, a tutor, and Lord Kahoth, a bloody duke, was exceptionally daft.
She wasn’t daft. She knew the aristocracy had a different moral code than commoners, and she wouldn’t be bowled over by their glamorous lives.
At the base of the main stairwell, she turned toward the front of the house and padded up the column-lined foyer. Upon a table in the entry hall, she saw it: the day’s correspondence, a fat stack of letters with a familiar elegant packet on top.
Oh my gods, is it that time of year already?
With its pine green script on an envelope of gold, she’d recognize the Symposium of Prodigious Minds tickets anywhere. Her throat stuck as she swallowed back memories of attending the three-day event with Papa so many times in her life.
Nesrina desperately wanted to go again after having to skip the previous year’s symposium.
She’d been in mourning and used that as an excuse.
The truth was, Papa’s passing meant finances were tight.
She’d been offered his old position with the Rashoolis, though at a far reduced rate of pay, due to her inexperience.
Now, she could technically afford her own entry, but it would have been an exorbitant expense, one she couldn’t justify.
Nes picked up the invitation and studied the writing. It was addressed to His Grace, Lord Akkas Kahoth, Duke of Stormhill and Guest.
Something akin to hope bloomed in her chest as she traced that final word, considering the minute possibility she might be able to convince the cantankerous duke to drag her along as his plus-one.
Yes, she was still perturbed with him for sending away her guard, but she could set aside her waning anger ahead of schedule if it meant weaseling her way into the symposium in a few short weeks.
When Nesrina swallowed again, something different went down, smoother than she would have anticipated—her pride.