Chapter 17

It was easier this way, Lacey decided, when she took to her room soon after completing her chores. The death of the calf had made it clear that this was no life for her. How could a woman survive on a ranch, if she found herself distraught over the death of a calf? And there was no reason to become accustomed to this life. Once Grady's business was completed in England, he'd whisk her away to Boston. Boston was a real city.

As long as she did what was expected of her, Slade Dalton couldn't complain. Lacey was sure Tait would be relieved if he no longer had to give her riding lessons. There would be no need in Boston for those skills. She would travel by carriage.

If she spent all of her free time in her room, she'd have minimum contact with Slade. After making a dolt of herself, cuddling into his chest and drenching his shirt with tears, she didn't think she'd be able to look him in the eye again.

After slipping out of her dress and bathing, Lacey pulled on one of her satin chemises. She opened the window a crack and let the refreshing air seep into the room. She combed her fingers through her hair to dry it. The air felt wonderfully cooling against her still damp skin.

She could hear Oliver snuffling at the window from outside. She put her fingers through the crack and managed to stroke both his cold wet nose and wiry fur. The big dog sneezed at having his nose tickled and then shuffled off.

It was really quite annoying; Oliver had become more Slade Dalton's dog than her own. The wolfhound had taken such a liking to him that he followed Slade everywhere. Well, not exactly everywhere. Oliver, being the phlegmatic dog that he was, followed Slade as long as he was within yards of the house.

Lacey sat atop the bed and ran a brush through her hair, contemplating whether she should send her father another missive or not. She had written him quite a few. Each one more falsely optimistic than the last. It truly didn't matter what she wrote because he never replied to any of them. She could imagine an untouched stack of letters on his desk, or more likely in the waste basket.

Jasper's strange notion that her father would welcome her back was sadly laughable. Thankfully, she no longer had a wish to return to England. Even on her worst days, Lacey was grateful for Grady. Grateful to be out of the clutches of the depraved Arthur Widstaff.

She was stretching herself luxuriously atop the lilac-colored spread when someone knocked at her door.

"Duchess?"

She would ignore him. Maybe, he'd go away. He probably missed having the opportunity to reprimand her, to count all the ways she was lacking for farm life.

Lacey envisioned him standing outside the door. Tall and imposing, with that dangerous scar of his. She doubted he would take silence as an answer. Yet, she sat perfectly still, hoping to hear his receding footsteps.

In the deep of night, he seemed a totally different man. With his frenetic pacing and nightmares that made him shout aloud, he was vulnerable. Some nights he found solace in her room. He'd stretch out on her settee, his legs dangling off the side, and fall fast asleep. And every time she fought the urge to tuck herself in beside him.

It had occurred to her that the settee was somehow more comfortable for him to sleep on than his own bed. She should have suggested he move it into his room. But she didn't. Lacey hated to admit it, but she liked him there for her own selfish reasons. Knowing he was close gave her a feeling of security she could not remember ever having experienced before.

He knocked again, hard. The man outside her door was not the gentle soul, the man seeking comfort from his insomnia. This was the hardened rancher.

"Lacey, open the damned door."

She slipped off the bed and moved toward the chair that normally held her robe. Only remembering too late that she'd washed it today, and it was sitting nicely folded in the laundry basket.

The door flew open, and he stepped inside. Having to knock a mere two times had obviously tried his patience.

"There's another calf that needs looking af—" he started to say and then quickly shut the door.

Unfortunately, he didn't exit before he shut the door, as a gentleman would have.

There was nothing left to do. She stood facing him, clad only in her sheer shift. One of her underthings, he'd found so objectionable. He smiled.

"Mr. Dalton," she acknowledged him with an aplomb she did not feel.

The look in his eyes was hungry—wolfish. This was definitely not the look of a man who found what she was wearing objectionable. Her insides turned to jelly.

"Turn around," Slade ordered, "I need to talk to you, and I can't possibly concentrate with you dressed like that."

Lacey, swiveling on her heels, put her back to him. She was so close to the wall, the coolness it emitted made her nipples pucker.

She heard him heave a sigh. "That didn't do me a damn bit of good." She could hear him rummaging around in the wardrobe. "Why, in God's name, don't you wear a proper shimmy? You'd be less a distraction naked."

It was too much. Lacey couldn't resist. Swiveling her head to take a quick peek, she made certain his back was to her and then pushed her silk chemise off her shoulders so that it fell in a puddle at her feet. She turned back around to face him, quaking a bit now at her boldness.

Holding her hands at her thighs and slightly away from her body, she asked, "Is this better, then?"

After the initial shock, his lips tipped into a surly smile. His eyes traveled the length of her with such slow thoroughness she felt heat wherever they focused. She'd pushed him too far.

"Darlin', I told you, I don't take well to teasing," he said, when his eyes met hers.

"And I don't take well to orders."

"Come here," he growled.

A warning shiver snaked up her spine. "Another order?" she asked, but her courage had dwindled to nothing.

She was attempting to stoop gracefully and retrieve her garment when he moved toward her, his boot heels sounding overloud in the small room. Snatching the chemise from her hand, he tossed it to the bed. Before she could move to the side, he had her pressed beneath him against the wall.

Lacey never thought a person could feel this naked. His chaps pressed against her thighs, his cool metal buckle against her stomach. His leather vest chafed her nipples.

She told herself there was nothing to worry about. The man hadn't demonstrated much talent at lovemaking, considering the chaste kisses he'd given her.

His mouth slanted over hers. It was just as she'd suspected it would be. He simply grazed his dry lips across hers. The worst of it was, Lacey was disappointed.

Slade held her away from him. His lashes lowered as he looked down. "No curled toes, I see."

Actually, her toes were resting on the tips of his boots. She was scrunching them over the tough leather in embarrassment. It was quite obvious, her feet were the last place he was looking. Her nipples grew taut beneath his fierce gaze. He lifted his eyes to peer at her, and it was clear he'd seen her reaction to him.

With desperation, her mind leapt to the one thing that could save her. "I daresay, Grady did not have this degree of closeness in mind when he sent me on ahead to meet his family." She offered him an amused smile and hoped he didn't notice how her lips were quivering.

Expecting Slade's predictable response to his brother's name, she dropped her hands from his well-muscled arms, which she was annoyed to find, she had been clutching. Lacey took the tiniest step away since the wall was nearly at her back. His eyes were pale blue slits as he studied her face.

"Nice try," he said. He tossed his hat onto the bed.

One thing she'd come to learn—when a cowboy removed his hat, he meant business. Scooping an arm around her waist, he toppled her forward so she nested between his legs. His tongue rubbed over the seam of her lips, and she gasped. He took advantage, driving his tongue deep into her mouth. It was a carnivorous kiss. Definitely no talent for lovemaking, she thought wryly, as her eyes rolled back in her head. When he pulled away from the kiss, it took her a moment to focus on his face.

He looked more surprised than she felt. "Well, I'll be damned," he drawled.

He took a step back and let his hands travel the curves of her waist, his eyes following every movement. Lacey watched, too. She bit her lip, suppressing a gasp as his hands moved to cup her breasts. He teased her nipples with the rough pads of his thumbs. She lifted her eyes to his face and caught the flutter of his long dark lashes as he groaned.

"Woman," he said in a husky half-whisper. He bent his head, taking one of her nipples between his teeth. His brown head bowed. She couldn't help thinking how vulnerable he looked as he began sucking. Her fingers dived into his silken hair, cupping his head, bringing him closer. Slade's talent for lovemaking was on par with everything else he did. And he did everything well. His expert mouth and hands brought her to the edge of a sensation that made her whole body tremble.

She raised herself on her toes, until the most overwhelming feeling she'd ever experienced, coursed through her body. Slade lifted his head, his mouth clamping over hers, muffling her cries. Suddenly, her limbs couldn't support her. She melted into him, curving herself into the hollow of his chest, and nestling her face against his worn cotton shirt. His heart thudded against her cheek.

"Amazing," he muttered. She nearly giggled at the tickling sensation of his fingers stroking the length of her back. A soft laugh did escape her as he nuzzled her neck.

He swept her up in his arms and tossed her onto the mattress. "My finish is a whole lot better on a bed."

Clearly, he hadn't come to the same delicious completion she had. With shock, it dawned on her what he intended. Moments ago, she'd worried about his talent for kissing and now he meant to demonstrate all of his talents. Mentally, she made a note to herself—in the future do not strip naked in front of Slade Dalton. It has earth-shattering consequences.

With a mixture of panic and anticipation, she watched him unfasten his chaps. She wondered if he'd sensed her reservations because he leaned over and gave her an open mouth kiss that sent her mind spiraling again. He lifted his head and gave her a crooked smile, evidently, pleased by her reaction to him.

She stiffened at the sound of footfalls in the hallway.

"Slade, dear. Tait's having a problem installing the new stove in the cook shed. Can you give him a hand?" There was a sharpness to Dora's normally serene voice. She sounded as though she were down the hall a bit and probably facing Slade's door. Lacey suspected that Dora knew very well where Slade was. She was grateful and disappointed all at the same time for the interruption.

Frantically, Lacey snatched at the corner of the coverlet and yanked it around her, spilling the pillows on the floor. His lips lifted in a wry smile as he watched her awkwardly wrap the quilt around herself.

Lacey heard Dora leave. She couldn't help thinking she'd never heard Dora step so loudly before.

"We'll pick this up later."

In response, she shook her head slightly, a half-hearted no.

Slade reached for her, but she pulled away. His fingers caught and tangled in her hair. "Oh yes, sweet thing, we most definitely will," he assured her, his eyes determined.

She was thoroughly annoyed with herself and the effect he'd had on her.

He put his knuckles under her chin and lifted her face so that she was forced to stare into his eyes. "You know I want you, Duchess."

"This was a mistake. You know as well as I do that it can't happen again." The look in his eyes hovered between fury and hurt. "Please. I want you to leave me alone."

"You've got it, darling." With sharp, frustrated jerks, he rebuckled his chaps. "I'll give you a little advice, though. Next time you decide to play with fire, you better know how to handle it." He grabbed his hat and slammed it down on his head. "I came in to tell you. There's an orphan calf that needs some looking after in the barn. Thought you might find it in your heart to see to him." He said it as though he doubted whether she even had a heart.

He exited through the sewing room, having to turn his broad shoulders just to squeeze his big frame through the opening.