The Wild One by Danelle Harmon Read Free Book Online

life. Stone staircases spiraled off to her right and left,
presumably leading up to the massive turrets she'd seen from
outside. An ancient tapestry depicting a hunting scene covered an
entire wall. Huge mullioned windows rose from floor to ceiling,
black against the night and reflecting the twinkling flames of a
chandelier suspended above her head and containing what had to be
at least a hundred candles. Such grandeur. Such waste ! She
made a half-turn. Notches in the stone wall held suits of medieval
armor, the slitted visors ominous, the space between each suit hung
with heraldic shields, battle axes, and other primitive weapons of
war.
    To think that Charles had grown up here ...
had touched these same stones and strode beneath these very
windows, had stood, perhaps hundreds of times, in this exact
spot....
    A feeling of awe gripped her, building and
building until everything she'd experienced these past twelve
months — indeed, these past few hours — was swallowed up by the
sudden, giddy relief that she and Charlotte were finally here, safe
at last, in this home that had been Charles's. Here, in this
strange castle, in this strange land, Juliet had found familiarity.
A little bit of Charles. She could almost picture his spirit
looking down on them from somewhere above, smiling and finally at
peace, content that his new family would never again want for
anything. The image alone pulled at her heartstrings, made her eyes
shimmer with unshed tears. Not since his death had Charles felt so
very close....
    Her lower lip was threatening to tremble
again. Catching it between her teeth, Juliet peeled back
Charlotte's blankets and lifted the baby high above her head so
that she could see this magnificent home in which her father had
been born, in which he had lived.
    "Look, Charlotte!" Juliet held the baby
close and pointed it at one of the suits of armor. "I'll bet your
papa played with that thing when he was just a little boy!"
    Charlotte, however, was more fascinated by
the glittering chandelier above her head. Juliet, half-laughing,
half-weeping, touched her nose to her daughter's and swung her
high. Charlotte squealed with delight, kicking both legs now and
punching at the air. Oh, Charles ... are you here? Are you here
with me and your daughter?
    Caught up as she was in a giddy sense of
closeness to her beloved, of relief at finally reaching her
destination, Juliet didn't hear the distant footfalls. The steady,
relentless beat of shoes against stone.
    Suddenly a door opened and she froze, the
laughter dying in her throat, the baby still high over her
head.
    Slowly, she lowered her daughter and held
her protectively close to her breast.
    Thirty feet away he stood, tall and elegant
in a frock of black velvet, a ruby winking from the folds of his
lacy cravat, his breeches molded to long, muscled thighs that
tapered to silk-clad calves and shoes from which diamonds winked in
each polished silver buckle. His eyes were dark and smoldering. His
hair was as black as the night outside. His nose was narrow, his
jaw set, his cheekbones planed, stark, severe. His was a hard face.
An uncompromising face. He looked at Juliet with that ruthless
black stare, looked at her muddy, blood-drenched skirts, and
without batting an eye, gave a bow, coming up with an elegant sweep
of his arm that made the lace at his wrist dance in the resultant
breeze.
    "I am Lucien, Duke of Blackheath. Gareth
tells me you knew Charles." The obsidian gaze flickered briefly to
the baby. " Intimately ."
    Juliet, taken aback, dipped in what curtsy
she could manage with Charlotte in her arms. Then she raised her
chin and, with more courage than she felt, met that chilling black
gaze. "Yes. We were supposed to have married."
    He indicated the door through which he had
come. "Then won't you join me in the library? I am sure we have
much to discuss."
    His voice was smooth, rich, cultured. The
words gave away no emotion, no hint whatsoever of his temper,
thoughts, or