Her Beastly Duke (Damsel in Distress #5)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

B riar’s hand flew to her chest, and she could feel her heart thudding with such force that she thought it would explode. She was rooted to the spot, even though she wanted nothing more than to retreat and flee. The room, warm just a moment ago, now felt cold, as if spring had vanished and they were in the dead of winter.

Instead of approaching her, the duke lowered himself onto a sofa and merely stared at her as if she were a specimen. An odd silence fell between them as they regarded each other, and amidst the fear, curiosity shimmered through her. Through the haze of her initial fright and shock, she realized the duke was not at all what she expected.

Even though he lounged on the sofa, she could tell he was much taller. His arm rested casually on the back as he appraised her. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms, and his white shirt, shockingly without a cravat, was parted enough to expose the strong column of his throat and Adam’s apple. His hair was wild and windswept, as if he had been riding on a stormy night.

His eyes wandered the full length of her body, lingering on her décolletage for much longer than what would be considered proper. The intensity of his gaze was frightening. Even more bewildering, Briar found herself strangely, startlingly conscious of the duke’s sensual appeal.

“Do you want me to ask you again?”

The harshness of his tone stole the protest from her throat, and her dry tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. He was clearly not accustomed to asking the same question twice.

“I… I…” She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again.

Words failed her. Briar hated that her hands shook. She did not want to appear weak and frightened. She hadn’t thought this far ahead, unwilling to dwell on the consequences of being caught. She should have had an alternative plan, but there was none. Now, she had to face the humiliating truth of being discovered. If the duke decided to call in the law, it would lead to an unrecoverable scandal of enormous proportions. She could already envision the scandal sheets and a spasm of fear gripped her.

She just needed time to think as her mind frantically searched for avenues of escape. But the duke sat up straighter just then, the lantern casting a glow. It was then that she noticed the thick scar running along the right side of his face, from his hairline to his hard chin, which marred his handsome features. The scar spoke of a horrendous experience. She jerked her gaze to his eyes and quickly glanced away from the bold, intent scrutiny. Despite his scar, he displayed such arrogance.

It was clear that this particular wing was forbidden because it was the beast’s lair. Like a bear, he had retired to his secluded and hidden place before she disturbed him.

“It is most curious that you are not answering my question.”

“You gave me a dreadful fright, Your Grace,” Briar heard the tremor in her voice, and she hated it.

A grunt of irritation left him, and he stood up from the sofa, taking a few steps closer. He towered over her; his broad chest and solid frame did nothing to calm her racing heart.

“I frightened you? Presumably, that is why you are staring so and not speaking.”

“Ye… yes.”

“I frightened you in my own house?”

His tone was soft mockery, and the smile that played across his lips was more of a grimace. It disappeared as quickly as it had materialized, replaced with pursed lips and an icy glare.

Briar felt a rising sense of panic. He was a strong man, and she was alone in his library. Uninvited. Duncan had no notion of where to find her. She was exposed, and her mind was scrambling. She must run away, but surely, he would be faster. Briar had no doubt he would catch her, so she had to think of another way. She couldn’t fall apart. Unflappable and courageous was what she needed to be in the face of this debacle. Briar took a step forward and rested the painting against the wall.

“You are wearing my patience thin. Who are you, and why are you stealing my painting? You do not look like a common thief, yet evidently, you are.”

He had already categorized her and made an assumption about her character and integrity. And in doing so, he presented her with an ideal opportunity. From her experience of being confined to Walcot Hall, anyone in seclusion must suffer some degree of boredom and crave stimulation. She had to find a way to play on that and create a moment to escape. The two most stimulating things she knew were dancing and fencing. Briar glanced around the room for a weapon, then her eyes fell upon them. She did not hesitate. Briar raised her chin, removed her gloves, and threw them down in a challenge.

“You have wounded me, my lord.”

“I have wounded you,” he slowly repeated.

“I am not a common thief without dignity. I was merely righting a wrong. This is our field of honor. Right here, right now.”

Inside, she was crying at her bold gambit, but perhaps she would fascinate him enough to make him indulgent and less frightening.

Briar quickly moved toward the rapiers as the duke watched her every move, yet she did not waver under the intensity of his stare. She deftly removed one rapier from the sheath and threw it to the duke, who caught it with ease. Taking the other for herself, she squared her shoulders.

The duke arched a brow. “What manner of madness is this?”

There it was— that hint of curiosity and amazement in his tone. It was that which she needed to leverage. The duke gazed at her as if she were a rare specimen to be studied carefully, trying to understand her.

Despite the scar, the duke was unquestionably handsome, with his sensual mouth, prominent cheekbones, and thick, wild brown hair that curled softly at his nape. Briar almost shook her head to clear such thoughts. She was about to fight; she could not be distracted. Holding her blade pointed toward the floor but outstretched, she made her intentions clear. The challenge had been issued.

“I propose a challenge, Your Grace.”

She saw something flicker in his eyes but wasn’t sure if it was admiration or amusement.

“A challenge?” he mockingly drawled. “I’m listening.”

“We shall duel.” Briar swallowed tightly. “If you best me, I must answer your question and tell you whatever you want to know,” she confidently announced.

The duke chuckled. “If I beat you. Fencing is one of my passions, my lady. I will beat you.”

“Such arrogance when you do not know my skill,” Briar said through gritted teeth. “I am good.”

He lifted a brow. “And I am even better.”

A slow smile touched his mouth, and Briar hated to admit there was a strange but very becoming warmth unfurling somewhere low in her stomach.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Do not dismiss me so quickly, Your Grace. I am a most excellent opponent.”

The duke cocked his head to the side and shook it. “Bold, I must say. Excellent? That is yet to be determined.”

She raised a brow and gave him a steely stare. “So, you agree?”

“Agree to what exactly?”

There was something provocative in his tone. Briar clenched her jaw and silently counted to five. “To a duel.”

“Why do we need to duel?”

Her belly tightened. “Will you allow me to leave with the painting without any answers provided? I will repay the amount you paid for it, Your Grace. It will not be theft.”

“Allow an intruder in my private sanctuary to simply leave? Have you lost your senses?”

Her chest squeezed with anxiety. She hoped his fascination would push him to agree to this madness. Though she was amazed at her own audacity, it was too late to retreat. While many rumors described the duke as a beast, just as many suggested, he was honorable. Perhaps she could bargain with him and leave unscathed. This was her best plan—her only plan. “Then accept my challenge. If I win, you will allow me to leave without question.”

A pained look entered his eyes. “I am not fond of duels.”

The duke raised his hand and ran it over the scar. Her heart tugged, and she ached for him. She quickly composed herself, not wanting him to think she pitied him. Duncan always said she wore her emotions on her sleeve, but not tonight. Not for the duke.

Briar shifted her stance. “I will not maim you.”

The duke chuckled. “How magnanimous of you. I wasn’t concerned you would harm me. It’s just that I have no appetite for duels. I learned long ago it is a foolish endeavor.”

“Oh.” Briar deflated, but she was not ready to give up.

“However, I am... considerably intrigued by you, and something tells me I would not be able to pry the information from you unless I employ wicked means.”

Her heart jerked. What wicked means does he refer to? The gleam in his gaze made a flush go through her body, and she did not want to find out. Briar quickly took two steps forward and engaged the duke with a flash of steel, which he easily parried.

The clash of the rapiers echoed, and light reflected on the steel. The duke stepped backandwas quite agile for a tall, broad man. Interesting. Briar waited, and then she understood he would not attack her, so she jumped forward, attacking in a flurry of movement that was so swift that the duke took a few steps backward as Briar pressed her advance.

“Bravo. I can see why you are so confident. Your skill is superior.” She heard the admiration in his voice.

Briar narrowed her eyes and appraised him. “I admit you are incredible as well. Your Grace.”

She did not wait for his reply. Briar attacked, and the duke parried with deftness. He flicked the rapier with such skill that she almost lost her own. She quickly retreated. She did not want to acknowledge his skill, but he was already anticipating and countering her move. Drat!

“What is it they say? Even the devil himself must have his due,” the duke said as he eyed her warily.

“You liken me to the devil?” Briar swiftly moved forward, slashed, and stabbed.

This time, the duke stood his ground and performed a feint, luring Briar to attack left. Then, the duke slipped under her flank in a counter-riposte.

He was so close that she could see his eyes, an icy blue reminiscent of a harsh, bitter winter, yet strikingly beautiful in their cold intensity.

They burned with suppressed emotions, and a shiver ran down her spine. She quickly put some distance between them. The duke’s maneuver was so flawlessly executed thatshe helplessly felt awe. He was an excellent fighter with a wide range of skills, but Briar was not about to give up. There was too much hanging in the balance.

Briar was already breathing a bit raggedly, but the duke appeared composed. She lunged forward, the duke parried, and a few moves later, his rapier was pointed at her neck. Oh, no !

“Do you concede?” The duke asked in a mocking drawl.

Briar would never concede. She did not want to admit defeat. Defeat meant she would never be able to flee, and she was now closer to her chance to escape because their positions had shifted, with her now being between him and the door. “I do not concede.”

His eyes widened, and she quickly switched the rapier to her left hand, stepped back, lunged, and knocked the rapier from the duke’s hand. Her heart was racing, and her skin tingled with excitement. It was a cheeky move, and it worked because the duke was not expecting it. He thought she would hand him her rapier and bow to his exceptional skills.

Her triumph was short-lived. He darted forward, snaked his arm around her waist and hauled her against him. Briar was so shocked the rapier dropped from her nerveless fingers. The duke exuded masculinity and strength, and it would only be a matter of time before he overpowered her and perhaps bore her to the ground.

Was this what he meant by wicked means?

Briar trembled, and her heart hammered when she remembered the last time she was alone with a purported gentleman who wanted to have his way with her. The memory caused her entire body to shiver and her palms to sweat. Briar recalled Lord Fredrick's fetid breath when he whispered that he would have her as his wife so they could steal a kiss. She felt the sheen of perspiration beading on her forehead. “Release me!”

The duke complied immediately and stepped back, a frown touching his face. “Tell me your name.”

Briar dazedly shook her head. There was only one thing left to do. A quick glance at his feet revealed they were bare, and he was unlikely to pursue her with bare feet. Briar whirled around, ran for the door, yanked it open, and charged down the hallway.

“Bloody hell!” The duke swore behind her.

Briar heard the threat in his voice, and it said … wait until I catch up with you . He was scampering inside, and she dearly hoped he would not find his boots anytime soon. She darted along, thinking she just needed a bit more time to make her way outdoors, and then she would be free. Her hands grew clammy, and she could hear her breaths go in and out.

Briar could only think of her escape. Her pace accelerated as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. Her stocking feet slapped against the wooden floor as she propelled toward the stairs. Briar slowed her speed and hovered for a moment because she did not want to break her neck, tumbling down a flight of stairs. She quickly rallied and carefully bounded down the stairs until she made it to the landing. Exhilarated, she lunged forward, picked up pace as she ran through the hallway, yanked open the front door, and rushed into the darkness.