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Did he think their last encounter with the Duke had been a play date of some sort? Teatime? Why was her son doing this to her, for God’s sake!

“Argus.”

The deep voice cut through their exchange like a blade, as if her very thoughts had summoned him from whatever dark enclave he liked to roost in day after day.

Heart thundering in her chest and throat, Emma turned slowly, dread stretching out the moment as though she were stuck in quicksand.

The Duke stood at the edge of the garden path, his imposing figure illuminated by the fading light of dusk.

Once again, Emma found herself facing the Beast of Westmere, his scarred face stern, rendering his expression even more inscrutable than before.

She couldn’t deny the fact that he was handsome nor the fact that meeting that icy blue gaze of his turned her blood molten. There was just something about him that kicked her pulse into high gear when she looked at him—something that she most willingly attributed to fear and mistrust because there was no way it could be anything else.

I must be out of my mind,she thought, willing her pulse to stop racing. It was positively ridiculous.

The Duke, thankfully, seemed unaware of the chaos happening inside her. With a single commanding gesture, he summoned the dog to his side.

The dog hesitated, looking between Tristan and his master with what Emma could only describe as canine indecision, before slinking reluctantly toward the Duke. A soft whimper escaped the beast as he trotted over to take his place beside his master, his tail lowering in submission.

“No!” Tristan protested, his disappointment palpable.

Emma wanted to knock him in the middle of his adamant, little head.

“We were practicing! He’s been so good with me, Sir, truly! He’s learned to fetch the stick and bring it back every time now!”

The Duke’s gaze shifted to Tristan, something unreadable flickering in his ice-blue eyes as he studied the boy.

Emma watched that same peculiar transformation she’d witnessed the night before occur—slight but definitely there—as the harsh lines around his mouth softened infinitesimally.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, regarding Tristan with what might have been curiosity, but Emma noted the muted, wistful edges in that look, and so she couldn’t quite pin it down.

Against her better judgment, she found her curiosity stirring, intrigue tugging at her heart.

Stop it. Right this instant.

“Has he, indeed?” The Duke’s tone remained neutral, but it lacked the cutting edge that had characterized their previous encounter. “Argus is not typically so… accommodating with strangers.”

Emma instinctively moved closer to her son, positioning herself partially between him and the Duke.

“Your dog,” she said, the words emerging more tersely than she’d intended, “should be properly restrained if he cannot be controlled. My son might have been harmed.”

Oh, she was well aware that she had no right to say those things to him, but she could not bear the idea of looking the fool in front of this man. Knowing that those icy blue eyes of his probably regarded her as nothing but a brainless hussy made her rather irritable.

The Duke’s eyebrow rose a fraction, the only indication that her words had made any impression at all.

“Argus,” he replied with deliberate slowness, “has shown remarkable restraint, considering the repeated trespasses on my property.” His gaze met hers directly, and she knew she could not argue with that at all. It was true that both her and her son were in the wrong here. “One might suggest that proper restraint applies equally to children who wander where they do not belong.”

“One might suggest,” Emma countered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks despite her determination to remain composed, “that a gentleman would recognize a child’s natural curiosity rather than treat him as an intruder.”

She just could not stand the thought of him looking down on her parenting.

“A gentleman,” the Duke returned, taking a step closer, “might also expect a lady to ensure that her child understands the concept of private property.”

They stood mere feet apart now, the air between them charged with an energy that Emma refused to name.

In the gathering darkness, his eyes seemed to gleam with something beyond mere irritation—a challenge, perhaps, or an invitation to a battle of wills she had neither expected nor prepared for.

Argus broke the tension with a sudden, sharp bark, his attention returning to Tristan as if reminding the adults of his presence. The dog strained against invisible bonds of obedience, clearly desiring to return to the boy who had shown him such attention.