out into the hall, but Kathryn was equally as distracted as she realized something about Michael that had been different from the Regency Romance characters she so loved. He wasn’t lean and narrow-waisted as they usually were.
He was solid muscle and much more so than he had been in the painting.
No, he was more like GI Joe with bulging biceps and rock hard thighs, totally flat belly from the looks but not thin at the waist, probably able to bench press a woman. Michael looked like a big muscular soldier—like 62
Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch
an Army Ranger—who had probably lugged, toted, slogged, fought hand-to-hand, and maybe even carried a wounded comrade or two on his back. His was the body of a workhorse who had done other equally manly activities every day for the last five years.
When she reached the foot of the stairs, Kathryn slowed her pace, ready to face the man into whose life she had somehow fallen. Should she tell him about the portrait? There were consequences and rewards on both sides of that argument. If she did tell him, then maybe he would believe her and offer her assistance in getting home or maybe he would think the opposite, that she was a stalker come to find herself an eligible rich widower. The possibility that showing him the picture would lend credibility to her story was very tempting.
She took a calming breath and pushed open the study door, fully expecting him to be standing like a statue with his hands behind his back.
Instead, he was lounging casually in the chair by the hearth, a book open on his lap. He stood immediately upon seeing her.
“M’dear Miss Ragland, you have joined me. I was beginning to wonder if you had forsaken our entertainments?” he inflected the words playfully and she wondered if he had been suggesting an illicit hidden meaning.
“I’m so sorry. I noticed you had a visitor so I took my time. Was that wrong?”
He bowed over her hand, released her, and motioned to the chair adjacent to the fire arranged opposite his. “No, you were quite right. That business was unexpected and I appreciate your forbearance.” She noted the brittleness in his voice. He seemed like he was trying really hard to sound nonchalant and she was very good at recognizing dissembling.
“Was there a problem, something wrong? You seem stressed out a little,” she prodded him.
“Stressed out? No let me guess, anxious, worried, concerned.
American slang you told me earlier, correct?”
“Very good, Captain, you are a fast study.”
“Fast is not a compliment.”
“Oh? Where I come from it means quick-witted. What does it mean to you?”
“Of loose morals,” he said blandly.
“Oh. Not a compliment. Very well, Captain, then you are quick witted. There?”
“Unwieldy but much more appropriate.”
The unexpected laugh lit her face and sent golden rays of light dancing from her honeyed hair and earthy eyes. She was really truly 63
Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch
exquisitely gorgeous. Not in a portrait artist, perfect chit of the ton way, but in a dazzling, goddess, Valkyrie-like unusual natural way. He really could not believe how susceptible he had become to her beguiling face in such a short time.
“So, can I be nosy and ask about the visitor?”
“Nosy, you , Miss Ragland?” his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Michael hoped to vex her, somehow distract her into not asking why Jules had called. He didn’t know what to tell her yet as he was not one to lie but he just wasn’t ready to share any of his suspicions. He certainly did not know her well enough to suppose how she would respond to
‘someone tried to kill you in your room with poison laced tea’. Yet, she still managed to surprise.
“I-I need to know who he is. I’ve…seen…him before.”
All of Michael’s senses focused on her words. She had been in the inn, on the street, in Michael’s own house with him and nowhere else, or so she had said. None of those were places where
He was solid muscle and much more so than he had been in the painting.
No, he was more like GI Joe with bulging biceps and rock hard thighs, totally flat belly from the looks but not thin at the waist, probably able to bench press a woman. Michael looked like a big muscular soldier—like 62
Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch
an Army Ranger—who had probably lugged, toted, slogged, fought hand-to-hand, and maybe even carried a wounded comrade or two on his back. His was the body of a workhorse who had done other equally manly activities every day for the last five years.
When she reached the foot of the stairs, Kathryn slowed her pace, ready to face the man into whose life she had somehow fallen. Should she tell him about the portrait? There were consequences and rewards on both sides of that argument. If she did tell him, then maybe he would believe her and offer her assistance in getting home or maybe he would think the opposite, that she was a stalker come to find herself an eligible rich widower. The possibility that showing him the picture would lend credibility to her story was very tempting.
She took a calming breath and pushed open the study door, fully expecting him to be standing like a statue with his hands behind his back.
Instead, he was lounging casually in the chair by the hearth, a book open on his lap. He stood immediately upon seeing her.
“M’dear Miss Ragland, you have joined me. I was beginning to wonder if you had forsaken our entertainments?” he inflected the words playfully and she wondered if he had been suggesting an illicit hidden meaning.
“I’m so sorry. I noticed you had a visitor so I took my time. Was that wrong?”
He bowed over her hand, released her, and motioned to the chair adjacent to the fire arranged opposite his. “No, you were quite right. That business was unexpected and I appreciate your forbearance.” She noted the brittleness in his voice. He seemed like he was trying really hard to sound nonchalant and she was very good at recognizing dissembling.
“Was there a problem, something wrong? You seem stressed out a little,” she prodded him.
“Stressed out? No let me guess, anxious, worried, concerned.
American slang you told me earlier, correct?”
“Very good, Captain, you are a fast study.”
“Fast is not a compliment.”
“Oh? Where I come from it means quick-witted. What does it mean to you?”
“Of loose morals,” he said blandly.
“Oh. Not a compliment. Very well, Captain, then you are quick witted. There?”
“Unwieldy but much more appropriate.”
The unexpected laugh lit her face and sent golden rays of light dancing from her honeyed hair and earthy eyes. She was really truly 63
Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch
exquisitely gorgeous. Not in a portrait artist, perfect chit of the ton way, but in a dazzling, goddess, Valkyrie-like unusual natural way. He really could not believe how susceptible he had become to her beguiling face in such a short time.
“So, can I be nosy and ask about the visitor?”
“Nosy, you , Miss Ragland?” his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Michael hoped to vex her, somehow distract her into not asking why Jules had called. He didn’t know what to tell her yet as he was not one to lie but he just wasn’t ready to share any of his suspicions. He certainly did not know her well enough to suppose how she would respond to
‘someone tried to kill you in your room with poison laced tea’. Yet, she still managed to surprise.
“I-I need to know who he is. I’ve…seen…him before.”
All of Michael’s senses focused on her words. She had been in the inn, on the street, in Michael’s own house with him and nowhere else, or so she had said. None of those were places where
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