Winter was in hell.
One of his own making, granted, but hell nonetheless. For the last three days, he had fastidiously avoided Seraphina Macleod as if she carried the very plague; he had changed the time of his morning rides so that he would not find her in the stables, he took care to not be seated next to her at dinner and he made sure that he never, not ever, found her alone. Especially now that Rothbury knew of his interest in her. Worse still, with the way she had blushed when he had sought her hand under the table like a besotted fool, she was not immune to him, either. And that was the trouble. One-sided attraction, he could have borne, but if it was reciprocated, how was he supposed to do the right thing and leave her alone? Knowing that nothing could ever come of it, knowing that he would ruin them both if he coaxed her into his arms, he had no choice but to quash whatever sentiments were budding in his heart.
So then, what had possessed him to join the ladies for Seraphina's – for try as he might, he could not think of her as Miss Macleod- nightly instruction of the Duchess when he had retired to his bedroom every other night? He was not averse to a little wicked punishment, but this was not even the fun kind. Thanks to his sheer idiocy he would now live the rest of his life with the image of Seraphina Macleod, with her fiery hair, clad in men's breeches seared into his mind. Her shapely, endless legs and her wonderfully pert rump were on display, and they would tempt a saint to sin.
Winter Hastings was many things; a reformed drunkard, charming bastard, a former libertine but a saint he was decidedly not. He swallowed a helpless groan of agony. He understood now why women were not allowed to wear breeches; it was not to protect their modesty, but to protect men like him from throwing their dignity to the wind and getting on their knees to beg a woman for her favor. As it turned out, on the right woman, breeches were a far more erotic sight than lingerie from the most scandalous of French modistes. Unable to take his eye off of her, he contemplated how rude it would be if he just up and left like a coward.
She moved with the feline grace of a panther, restrained power in every movement. She showed the Duchess the way to arch her body to deliver an effective punch with the kind of ease that came with years upon years of practice. Gone was the hesitant woman who felt out of her depth at the dinner table, in front of him now was a woman wholly in her element. Confident, elegant, and utterly focused. And she was all the more beautiful for it. He knew from his years of boxing for sport at both Eton and Cambridge that her form was flawless. Though why should he expect any different from someone who took her instruction from a national champion? He was beginning to fear that he would never be able to rid himself of the ailment brought onto him by this particular woman. Clearly, his self-imposed celibacy had driven him slightly mad. And yet, the thought of slipping into town and finding himself someone to spend the night with remained as unappealing as it had the last two years. It appeared that he craved only one particular redhead who spoke in Gaelic to bad-tempered horses and could plant a facer like a prizefighter.
Given her propensity to lose her English side whenever she was stimulated, would she speak her father's tongue in the throes of passion? What a tragedy that he would never know. That some nameless, faceless man who could give her what she deserved would know her in ways that Winter craved to. The very thought darkened his mood.
Gah! Honor was so dreadfully overrated.
'Plant your feet to the ground like so, your left foot facing eleven. If your form is incorrect you will only hurt yourself.' She demonstrated as the Duchess followed with great enthusiasm and a significant amount of glee. Rothbury ought to be concerned. 'Now, pivot your right foot and follow the rotation through with the rest of your body. Keep your wrist straight, let your arm and back do the work. Your knuckles will deliver the blow. Excellent.'
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A Marriage Most Inconvenient (Inconvenient Matches Book #1)
Romance[The Inconvenient Matches series is comprised entirely of stand alone novels that can be read in any order] Forced into marriage by duty and obligation, The Duke and Duchess of Rothbury parted ways a week after saying their vows under the explicit u...
