Malia Martin by The Duke's Return Page A

with Trudy through the town, leading his borrowed gelding because Trudy had looked as if she would rather stick burningbamboo shoots under her fingernails than ride behind him. They garnered many stares from those they passed, and poor Trudy looked as red as a beet by the time they reached a long stretch of open road.
    They walked quietly along, since Trudy almost swallowed her tongue every time he tried to talk to her. She pointed when they came to a gravel road leading off to the right. Two large stone pillars, gray and dingy with age, framed the lane. Trevor swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He stood staring at the small road, unable to move for a paralyzing instant.
    He tilted his head back, staring at the leaden sky. “Have you ever thought, Trudy, that God must be quite a funny fellow?”
    The girl moved beside him, her shoes scraping over the dirt, but she said nothing.
    Trevor laughed with no merriment. “Oh, yes, quite a sense of humor, I’d say.” He sighed, then, and started forward, down the winding lane lined with large trees. He saw the towers first, looking like a castle of old, then slowly becoming the most horrendous structure he had ever seen. It was a huge stone mansion, the main part reminiscent of a seventeenth-century castle, with numerous wings shooting every which way, each using different building materials and styles.
    Trevor could only stare, as he and Trudy trudged around the carriage circle in front of Rawlston and stopped at the massive steps tothe front door. They stood there silently for a while.
    Finally he realized that a groom had not come running. In fact, nobody had seemed to notice his arrival. Trevor dismounted and dropped Rusty’s reins. The easygoing gelding showed no inclination to move from the spot of grass he had found growing up through the gravel, so Trevor took a deep breath, mounted the stairs, and banged the brass knocker against the large wooden door.
    He waited for what seemed years, then moved to knock again, but the door creaked open.
    “Finally,” Sara said, standing before him, hands on hips, a beautiful smile gracing her mouth. He had never seen her clean. He had believed her hair to be the hue of old dishwater, but actually it was a golden kaleidoscope of color. Every shade of blonde streaked her thick tresses that coiled in a knot at the crown of her head. Curls framed her face, their ends teasing the tops of her slender shoulders. She wore a simple dress, tied just beneath her breasts, made of some light fabric that made her look like a maiden set for romping about a maypole. All she needed was a wreath of flowers in her hair.
    Trevor scowled. “I am not happy.”
    “Too bad.” She peered around him, frowned and whispered harshly, “What are you doing with Trudy, your grace?”
    “Well,” Trevor tapped his finger against his chin. “I thought perhaps a virgin sacrifice—but then she would have to remain a virgin, and what is the fun in that?”
    The stories of his Paris life must have been greatly exaggerated, for the Duchess believed him completely. Her eyes rounded, and her jaw went slack.
    Trevor put his finger under the Duchess’s chin and pushed her mouth gently closed. “Her employer at the inn was abusing her, Sara. I told her she could have a place in Rawlston’s kitchens.”
    Sara swallowed, and Trevor felt the movement against his fingers. He looked from her face to where his hand still touched her chin, and wanted suddenly to stroke his fingers down her slim throat. Could her skin possibly be as smooth as it looked? He indulged for a moment, sliding the pad of his thumb against her chin. Ah, yes, smooth as a baby’s bottom.
    Sara wrenched away from him, her eyes dark and wary.
    “I hope that I have not overstepped my bounds,” Trevor said, dropping his hand to his side. “By promising Trudy a place here, I mean.”
    Sara shook her head quickly. “Of course not,” she said. “You are the Duke, sir, you can do anything you wish.