Daisy and the Duke

Daisy and the Duke - Part 2

***

Disconsolate and bereft, Daisy watched the man stride toward the enormous, unwieldy castle that was more regal than prepossessing. He disappeared around the side where the stables adjoined the house.

She had no idea if he would really plead her case, and she wanted badly to simply walk up the tree-lined path and knock on the door. But something held her in check, perhaps his unflattering assessment of her fellow Americans as pushy.

If this man and the duke expected docility and compliance, she would try to be patient. After all, her mission was important, not only for the ones who had sent her, but for Daisy personally.

The Duke's ancestral home sat on a rocky hill overlooking the lake. Beyond and to the left, a second outcropping rose against the sky, beckoning the adventurous to follow. She had time to kill and a fascination for exploration, so Daisy set off toward it. The weather was perfect for touring, and briefly she regretted that she wasn't in England for a simple holiday.

But too much was at stake to goof off now. If her work went well, she would be able to enjoy a few days of legitimate vacation—and settle a few questions of her own—before she returned to the States.

The climb was steeper than it appeared, and Daisy was breathing hard when she reached the crest, her calf muscles protesting the unaccustomed trek. But the view from the top was stunning. Pastoral Britain in all its glory lay spread out at her feet. Gamboling sheep, meandering stone fences, fluffy clouds dotting an azure sky. And green as far as the eye could see...verdant, emerald meadows marked off in neat patchwork squares.

Savoring the warmth of the sun, she kicked off her shoes, feeling like a schoolchild out for the summer. In her tote, she found a thin, old shawl that she kept with her for just such an occasion. Spreading it over the lush grass, she sat down with her arms encircling her knees.

If she half closed her eyes and ignored the few marks of civilization, she could almost imagine that she lived in a different age, a day when warriors strode across the land, stealing women and taking them away to pagan lands.

A shiver worked its way down her spine as she thought of her accomplice. It occurred to her then that she had not even asked his name. But somehow the anonymity of their highly charged encounter added a touch of anticipation to her return to the castle later in the day. Perhaps when she met with the duke, she could probe indirectly for information about the man who must surely have some level of responsibility for the upkeep of the estate.

The longer Daisy sat on the grass, the more her earlier exhaustion overtook her. She smoothed the edges of the shawl to its fullest width and lay back, her hand beneath her cheek. All she needed was to relax and soak up a bit more sun. Then she would be fresh for her meeting with the duke....

***

Ian tracked Daisy's progress up the hill. He knew exactly where she stopped to rest. It was a measure of his intense preoccupation with his lovely uninvited guest that he felt not a single shred of guilt for observing her with a pair of expensive, high-powered binoculars. He watched as she stretched out on the ground and closed her eyes. The sight hit him hard in the chest, stealing his breath and making him yearn. He wanted to be there beside her, over her, in her. But the chances of that happening were as remote as finding a leprechaun's pot of gold.