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“Your imagination is crossing the line,” he said sharply, but it was more to himself than to the mischievous Nathaniel, who was eyeing him with a knowing glint in his eyes that he certainly did not like.

“Crossing the line?” Nathaniel laughed. “What a boring restriction for lesser men to deal with. Surely a duke can entertain a widow without causing a scandal?”

“I have no desire to entertain anyone,” Victor insisted, though even he could hear the emptiness in his own words. “Especially not a woman who looks at me like I might eat her child at any moment.”

“What a shame,” Nathaniel sighed, casually rearranging the chess pieces. “If you’re not keen on tackling this head-on, maybe a more… subtle approach would work better.”

Victor regarded his friend with suspicion. “What are you plotting now?”

“Plotting? Oh no, not at all,” Nathaniel said, pretending to be offended. “Just an invitation. Lord Griggs is hosting his annual pheasant hunt next week. I’m going, and I thought you might want to join me.”

“And why would I do that?” Victor arched a questioning eyebrow.

“Fresh air. Some sport. Good old-fashioned male bonding,” Nathaniel replied innocently.

Victor narrowed his eyes. “And what does the Dowager Countess of Cuthbert have to do with any of this?”

“I believe the ladies will be off playing cards and enjoying Pall-Mall while the gentlemen are out hunting,” Nathaniel explained, a hint of satisfaction barely hidden in his tone. “She might just be one of them. Lord Griggs certainly knows how to cast a wide net with his invitations.”

The thought of seeing the Dowager Countess again sent an unwelcome thrill through Victor, despite his determination to pretend otherwise. And so he tried to convince himself that it was just mere curiosity—a chance to see how she navigated the social scene, to find out if she became so fiercely protective of her son only around him or if she was that way with the whole ton.

Despite himself, his curiosity stirred.

Damn it.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally replied, working hard to sound indifferent.

Nathaniel’s knowing smile made him uneasy. “Perfect. I’ll let Griggs know to expect us both. Argus could use the exercise, after all.”

CHAPTER5

“Tristan, sweetheart, you really can’t keep wandering onto the Duke’s property,” Emma said, her voice calm and gentle, even though her words carried a firm undertone. “It’s just not right, and it could be dangerous.”

Morning sunlight poured into the breakfast room, casting playful patterns on the crisp white tablecloth and the delicate porcelain set before them.

The remnants of their breakfast—some toast crusts on Tristan’s plate and a half-full teapot that was quickly losing its warmth—quietly spoke to a conversation that had started off pleasantly but was now veering into a familiar argument that Emma had hoped to sidestep.

She’d spent all night tossing and turning in bed, debating how to bring this up to her son. But she also knew that she couldn’t just let him keep running wild like this. She had to put a stop to it—she could not brave another adventure into the brutish Duke’s property.

Tristan glanced up from his plate, his expression a mix of defiance and vulnerability that tugged at her heartstrings.

When had her little boy started to show such a determined set to his jaw? And that thoughtful crease between his eyebrows?

These subtle changes seemed to happen daily, serving as reminders that his childhood was slipping away faster than she could bear.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong, Mama,” he protested, his voice ringing with a familiar blend of reason and indignation. “I was just playing with Argus! The Duke wouldn’t even know I was there if you hadn’t come looking for me!”

Emma carefully set down her teacup, trying to hide the slight tremor in her fingers. She had to be strong now—firm. But how could she help him grasp the complexities of the situation without shutting him down?

The Duke of Westmere wasn’t just a neighbor—his name alone made the local gentry whisper in hushed tones. Getting tangled up with him any further would no doubt leave a greater smear on her reputation than the one already there—not to mention what kind of problem it could cause for Tristan himself.

Emma didn’t want to see her son tangled up in such scandals, so she had to nip this in the bud now.

“It’s just not appropriate, Tristan,” she insisted, her voice taking on that tone she reserved for serious matters, hoping to get through to him. “The Duke’s estate is private, just like his dog. We can’t just help ourselves to either whenever we feel like it.”

Frustration was written all over her son’s face, his cheeks turning red as he pushed his plate away.

“There aren’t any children my age for miles!” he complained, his words spilling out faster and faster. “All I do is study with Master Finch from morning till afternoon. Latin, math, history, and”—he waved his hand dismissively—“all sorts of things that keep me stuck inside when I just want to be outside! But Argus likes me! Why can’t I play with him?”