Page 24

Lydia blinked, as she too had been caught up in his touch. She shook her head as she protested, “But there is too much to be done! I have to go to the kitchens. I have a meeting in town with the modiste for my masquerade dress. Oh, and the…”

“Youhave an entire staff of servants at your disposal,” he interrupted in a quiet but firm tone. “And you are the Duchess of Frampton. You should not be traveling to meet with anyone in the first place, it is they that should be coming to you.”

“My study has an adjacent room that has a spare desk. Have Mrs. Bonair set you up in there and she will make sure every person you are supposed to speak with today will find you.”

“I…thank you,” Lydia replied, caught off guard by his generosity.

Ezra felt uncomfortable with it as well and merely grunted in response.

“When I return I shall assess your foot again,” he said in warning, drawing his eyes down to the bruised appendage. “I will know if you follow my word or not, Lydia.”

“And if I do not?” Lydia asked tauntingly.

Ezra’s eyes flashed to hers again, lust barreling through him at her insolence.

“Then you will be punished.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bonair, those curtains will be lovely for the Barbiers’ quarters; they do love the Fleur-de-Lis pattern. Have the servants change the rest of the tapestries and linens to match and have yellow roses and bluebells in vases.”

“A beautiful suggestion, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bonair replied with enthusiasm. “If that is all then, Your Grace. I believe we have finished.”

“I believe we have,” Lydia agreed, smiling back at the housekeeper, “Thank you for your dedication as always, Mrs. Bonair. You may go. I shall ring for Laura when I am ready to be taken to my quarters.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Mrs. Bonair replied, curtsying, “And might I say, I most enjoy our work together. It is all quite exciting!”

“As do I, Mrs. Bonair,” Lydia beamed, beyond happy that she and the housekeeper worked so well together.

Mrs. Bonair smiled back, offered her another curtsy, and left.

Satisfied with the day’s work, Lydia sighed, leaned back in the massive chair and thought about her time in Frampton thus far. In the last six weeks, she had learned much about her new staff. Ezra, as she had expected, was a strict master. Yet, despite that, Lydia found that every person in his employ was deeply dedicated to him and their work. Mrs. Bonair had once told her that anyone not doing their part was swiftly terminated.

During her time in Frampton, she had only seen one servant dismissed, and when it was done, even the fellow servants seemed relieved to see the man leave. Following the servant’s dismissal, Mrs. Bonair had explained that their work was important and there was only room on staff for those with pure dedication.

Lydia came to realize that the staff did not fear Ezra. At least, not the sort of distress that most would think of. There were no crying maids running away from him like there had been at her father’s house. However, there was a healthy tinge of wariness hidden somewhere among the deep layers of respect they all seemed to have for their master. Such respect had created a deep loyalty within them that they in turn showed to her when Lydia had taken her place as duchess.

Then there was Ezra himself. Over the last few weeks, she had studied him and had come to know him better. She had learnedto read his emotions (even though he put very little into his voice or facial expressions)and had learned to discern when he was in a teasing mood, or when he purely wanted to know about business and give commands that were to be obeyed, and when he did not wish to speak at all. During the times he was silent, Lydia wondered if he was fully present, for even though his body was beside hers, his mind seemed far, far away.

During those quiet moments, Lydia had begun to feel the urge to reach for him and comfort him, though she was unsure what she was consoling him about. Even when it was all she thought about she never found the nerve to try.

However, he was neither quiet nor teasing following the event with her ankle this morning. He had made it clear that he expected to be obeyed. At first, Lydia had nearly asked Mrs. Bonair to help her into the drawing room, just to rile up Ezra. She was not afraid of the punishment he had mentioned, and in fact, was quite curious about what it would entail. Nonetheless, Lydia found herself obeying Ezra’s orders, and he made his satisfaction known when he returned to the room a few moments later.

“Ah, right where you are supposed to be,” he mused, leaning his black suit-cladded muscular body against the doorframe.

Lydia smirked at him, dismissing the now familiar tingle she felt every time they talked.

“I hated the ice,” she retorted in a snide fashion. “The cold was harsh and made my foot go numb.”

“That is the entire point of the process,” he purred, leaning against the doorway. “When you receive a bruise it forces the muscles to swell and heat. Ice forces the muscles to cool and shrink back into place.”

Ezra’s calm, edifying responses were something that Lydia had come to enjoy. Though she had seen him become utterly ruthless with others a time or two since their marriage, he had not been so with her. Instead, he took the time to explain things to her and never in a way that made her feel dimwitted afterward.

“I suppose it was just discomfort then,” she sighed dramatically.

“Did you move today?” Ezra asked, getting directly to the point.

Lydia ignored the clench of her lower belly as his voice dropped to a deep, slightly condescending tone, and used her good foot to slide the chair away from the desk.

“See for yourself,” she offered with a flourish toward her foot.