The Duke's Reform by Fenella J Miller Read Free Book Online

not
eaten for more than twenty four hours and her stomach gurgled. Surely there
could not be more food coming? There was enough on that one tray to feed a
dozen people.
          He reappeared
with a second tray upon which was a silver jug and two
silver goblets, plus a second jug of lemonade. 'I thought we could share a loving
cup, sweetheart, but not until you have eaten. Mulled wine on an empty stomach
would make you feel decidedly unwell.'
          'I love mulled
wine; we always have it at Christmas.' Forgetting she was in her nightwear, not
even slippers on her feet, she knelt down and pushed the poker into the centre
of the blaze. 'This will soon heat up. I should like some lemonade to be going
on with. Shall I help myself to food?'
          He waved her
back to her chair, his expression tender. 'This is my surprise, allow me to be your servant tonight.'
          She devoured a
substantial portion of the laden tray before she was replete. 'I feel so much
better now. I'm relieved that you joined me in this midnight feast. Can I have
some wine now?'
          His chuckle made
her feel even more relaxed. He was different, his austerity and coldness gone.
In the intimacy of her bedchamber he had become the man she'd dreamed about.
The sweet smell of spices filled the room as he plunged the poker into the jug.
He filled both goblets then handed one to her, raising the other in salute.
          'To us, my love. May the rest of our lives be spent in
happiness and harmony. '
    'To us.' She swallowed and the delicious
concoction filled her with warmth and a strange excitement. That odd darkness
she'd observed before was apparent in his eyes. Hastily she broke the
connection and drank some more mulled wine, then the
vessel was pried from her fingers.
          'Enough, Isobel,
you're not used to alcohol. Come and sit with me, there are matters I need to
discuss with you.'
          Not waiting for
her to move he scooped her up and, before she could protest, she was resting in
his lap. It was pleasant to be held— she had not felt the protection of
another's arms since the nursery. She closed her eyes and didn't flinch when
his arms encircled her.
          'Would you do
something for me?'
    Sleepily she gazed up at him; his
smile made something most peculiar curl through her nether regions. 'What is it
you want, my lord?'
          'Firstly, when we
are alone, I wish you to use my given name— Alexander. I shall call you
Isobel.' This did not seem unreasonable. She nodded andclosed her eyes again. 'Secondly, sweetheart, allow me to release your hair. Ever
since I saw you waiting in the line at your ball I've dreamt of running my
fingers through it. I insist you must never have it cut short whatever the
prevailing fashions might dictate.'
          She was too
fatigued to protest. She raised her head allowing him access to her braid; if
he wished to see it loose then he must release it himself. His fingers were
deft, seconds later she was enveloped in her hair. He gently propelled her
forwards and began to draw his fingers through her locks from temples to neck.
          Why should such
a simple thing be sending shockwaves up and down her spine? An unusual
restlessness was building in the very core of her being. Something made her
wish to twist in his arms so that she could see his face and when she did so
there was that familiar hardness pressing against her bottom. Instantly her
fear returned and she tried to scramble from his lap.
          'Darling girl,
you must not be scared of me. Whatever you have been told about what takes
place between a man and a woman has obviously frightened you. I promise you I
would never hurt you. It’s my duty to protect and care for you for the rest of
your life.'
          His words were
soothing— his hands were stroking her hair, her face, her shoulders, easing out
the tension and the fear. She couldn't tell him why she was afraid, but he
would not lie to