All About the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 4) by Eva Devon Page B

smell of horseflesh and sweat was coming from her. Who knew when she’d last been able to bathe with ease?
    She had not been amused.
    It was just one more reminder that he was not on a familiar ground with his Alfred. It was a marvelous and slightly jarring experience. He was no longer the one in control. It was, so far, impossible to tell if he appreciated this new sensation.
    While he’d had no intention of staying whilst she bathed, it had been, in fact, she who had shooed him out. After she’d lugged her own water up the narrow stairs.
    He had, at first, insisted he assist her.
    The look she’d given him would have shrunk a lesser man’s balls.
    Apparently, she was taking her job as his servant quite seriously and there was no way a duke would assist a boy in lugging water.
    She had a point.
    It seemed his usually rational brain had gone for a wander. He did hope it would return soon. He had a feeling that with Alfred, he desperately needed it.
    Nicholas strode down the hall at the back of his castle, flowers in hand, hoping that an idea would occur to him. Wine and food had worked just fine the previous evening, but now was the time to advance his wooing of Alfred, not fall back. He needed something marvelous. Something exciting. Something that actually showed he understood her. He wanted to see her eyes light with pleasure and not just of the physical kind.
    He stopped and turned to the double doors to his left.
    A slow smile curved his lips.
    The library. Oh, yes. Why the Devil had he not thought it before?
    Most women wanted jewels or rare chocolates or. . . flowers. Not his Alfred. Oh, no. She’d want rich vellum, stitched with absolute care and bound with the finest leather embossed with gold. . .And it couldn’t be just any book.
    He headed into the library’s huge cavern. It had been built with care by ancestors who knew brawn was not enough to rule. Power was in words and thoughts not just the sword.
    He walked to the far end of the slightly darkened room. No bright light was allowed. His grandfather, his father, and now he, ensured that nothing would damage the precious pages in this hallowed space.
    He scanned the books that were the closest link he had to his parents besides the portraits in the great hall.
    Once, when he had been very small, both of his parents had read to him in this great room. He knew that had been an exception not a rule. Most aristocratic children were rarely brought down from the nursery except for perhaps an hour after tea time. His parents had seemed to view things differently because he could still recall the scent of lavender as he sat on his mother’s lap, her arms around him, her soft hair tickling his cheek as it curled about her face. He couldn’t remember the words but he could recall the soft, comforting hum of her voice as she’d read him stories by the fire.
    Later, after they’d gone, he’d rather imperiously demanded that all his lessons be in the library. And being who he was, his tutors had complied. It was in this room that he’d cut his teeth on Chaucer, Dante, Shakespeare, and later, Voltaire. But he wasn’t looking for one of those great men.
    He was looking for a great woman .
    There on the pages of literary work from the golden age of The Restoration was the book he was looking for.
    Aphra Behn had been a great in her own right and she’d written publicly as a woman. She was saucy, accomplished and as talented as any of her contemporary males.
    Just like Alfred.
    Nicholas slipped the small volume off the shelf and savored the feel of the leather beneath his fingertips. Yes. This was the one. It was a reminder that even in a world ruled by men, a woman could make her mark and be taken seriously. She didn’t have to sit at home and mind the manor.
    Nicholas’ warm feeling faded as he considered this last thought. It was almost certain that was precisely what Alfred had been brought up to do. . . Tend the manor. But he didn’t know for sure.
    Perhaps