Reparation: Le Duc

No man would ever control her again, in any situation, ever.

Okay, no man was ever going to control what she did, not ever again.


Okay, no man was going to control her outside the bedroom. Not ever.

The problem with Le Duc was the man just didn't listen. He was Dominique Nadir Amir Afshar de Choiseul, or duc de Choiseul. He didn’t just run a criminal empire older than most countries, he was an actual duke. Not that it mattered. She wasn’t impressed. Duchess explained over and over again that she wasn't getting married. Period. End of discussion. Just as soon as he stopped talking. And looking so edibly delicious.

Maybe just a little taste…

Ex:

“Sir, we’ve arrived.”

Nadir blinked. Damn, he hadn’t even noticed the vehicle had crawled to a stop. Right next to the object of his fascination. Not waiting for the driver to come around to open his door, he slid across the seat to exit closest to the tree. As soon as he was out of the car, he went straight for it, scanning the ground around the base, then the lower branches with no idea what he was looking for. Until he found it. Those were definitely rope burns on those bare, lower branches.

Damn.

“It’s a hanging tree.” Encountering a child was the last thing Nadir had expected, though he hadn’t really been sure what to expect. Not knowing what to say to the little person who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, he said nothing as she continued. “Some say the ghosts of the poor fools hung on that tree haunt it, tied to its roots for eternity.” Wait, this little person couldn’t be more than five maybe. Should she know how to talk like that? “My daddy died on that tree.”

What?

She just stood there, a riot of midnight colored curls falling all around her face and over her shoulders, looking up at him as if what she just said was perfectly normal. In fact, she looked pleased with her tiny fists resting on her hips. With her chin up, her back straight she continued to stare even when he didn't reply. What could he possibly say? Her expression didn’t change as she waited him out. Nor did she stop staring at him directly in the eye as if she was his equal. No, as if she were above him, as regal as a queen in her frilly little dress and bare dirty feet. With skin the color of toasted caramel, the imp had eyes that were almost amethyst with spikes of marine blue.

Those eyes carried wisdom a little girl shouldn’t have. Who was she?

“My mama ain’t gonna marry you.” Giving him a sweeping look from head to foot she shook her head as if she felt sorry for him. Sorry for him. No one felt sorry for him. “You might as well just turn around and go home.”

“Angel Flower! What have I told you about using proper grammar?”

Nadir had no idea where the voice of the grown woman admonishing the little girl was coming from. He couldn’t take his eyes off the fascinating child in front of him who was currently rolling her eyes.

“Pardon me. My mother isn’t going to marry, so I am afraid your trip to my house is a big, fat bust!” To emphasize her point, she raised her little chin even higher while also raising a brow as well as any fifty-year-old man.

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside Nadir’s gut. It started out rusty, like an old pipe suddenly flooded with a rush a water after laying dry for about a decade. Soon peals of pure, unadulterated mirth filled his body, echoing across the courtyard.