Page 18 of A Duke for Stealing (The Devil’s Masquerade #4)

“Oh, I am so very glad you like it!” Mrs. Tate exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Now that you have seen this one, would you be willing to look at the other pieces I have pulled for you?”

Rose could not say no to Mrs. Tate’s eager look, and she knew then that the woman had already picked out the best for her. It would be rude, Rose decided to take her frustration with Everett out on someone who so clearly loved her work.

“Yes, Mrs. Tate, that shall be fine,” Rose said kindly, adjusting her attitude. “I am sure whatever you have picked out is lovely.”

As she followed Mrs. Tate behind the dressing curtain, Rose cursed her husband. For being so frustrating, and for seeming to always get whatever he wanted, even from her.

“Is there anything else you would like to go over, Your Grace?” Mrs. Mulberry asked.

Everett took one last look at the duties she was to attend to while he and Rose were away, and shook his head.

“No, I believe that is everything, Mrs. Mulberry. We will leave for the London house the day after next and return some time after next week’s end,” he replied. “Have you sent a small number of staff to have it cleaned and ready for us?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Mulberry replied. “Your brother was very practical in the same way. Not wanting a house staffed when empty. Our people are used to traveling ahead and such.”

Everett nodded, feeling strange that his estranged brother and he shared such a unique sensibility, even if they did have money to burn.

He wondered, fleetingly, what other sort of traits he and his late older brother had shared.

He shook his head, not wanting to encourage such sentimental thoughts, and returned his focus to the housekeeper.

“Then that is everything,” he replied.

“Very good, Your Grace,” Mrs. Mulberry replied with a curtsey.

“How are you getting along with her, by the way?” He asked as she was about to turn to leave.

He hadn’t wanted to ask. Hadn’t wanted to think about her at all. Not after the way he lost himself last night. Yet while he could hold back his curiosity for his brother, he could not hold so back for her.

Mrs. Mulberry turned back to him with a raised brow.

“Your Grace?” She asked.

“Rose- I mean, the new Duchess of Stapleton. How do you find her?” Everett asked.

Mrs. Mulberry looked surprised to be asked such a question.

“You may tell the truth, Mrs. Mulberry,” Everett urged. “I should need to know if she is not up to the tasks required of her.”

It was not that he was angry with Rose, but he was certainly annoyed with her.

The longer they lived together, the more his mind and body gravitated toward her presence.

It had him looking lost in important meetings; it had his thoughts constantly running to her.

Imagining her in the most delicate of positions.

Yet every time he’d tried to seduce her, she always seemed to find a way to get away from him.

Save, of course, for last night. However, he was not certain at all if the seduction was his doing or hers. They’d both seemed to have been trapped in a thrall that neither solely created, but rather, they’d formed together.

As if that loss of control was not enough, he then, of all things, this morning, found himself sending word to the Modiste to order Rose a dress.

Not just a dress, but an entire wardrobe with strict instructions on using only the finest fabrics.

He was not a man to send trinkets to women.

They shared pleasure and flesh with women, not romance.

Yet here he was, placing an order for not one, but several pieces of finery he envisioned his wife looking beautiful in.

Not ravishing. Beautiful. Elegant. He felt like he was turning into the man he used to mock.

“In truth, Your Grace, when I first met the new Duchess, I assumed she would be a little green,” Mrs. Mulberry said, pulling him from his thoughts, “But she has taken her responsibilities with enthusiasm and grace. And as for the children…”

“What about the children?” Everett asked quickly. “Are they not listening? Breaking things? Stealing?”

He wanted proof. Something, anything to point out that the woman was not perfect.

“Not at all! In fact, their disposition has improved quite drastically since she came along,” Mrs. Mulberry stated. Then, in a warmer tone, added, “You should be proud, Your Grace. You chose your bride well.”

To the Devil with it all. Of course, that is her answer.

Everett looked away as he kneaded his right fist with his left hand. No proof of imperfection from the strict Mrs. Mulberry, then. A woman whom he was sure would have at least one complaint.

“And where is my bride now?” He asked after a while. “Do you know if she has retired for the evening?”

“I do not believe so, Your Grace. I am certain she told me not two hours ago that she was going to read a bedtime story to the children, then go to her library.”

“Very well,” Everett sighed. “Thank you, Mrs. Mulberry. You may go now. Have a pleasant evening.”

“You as well, Your Grace,” Mrs. Mulberry replied.

He waited until he heard his office door shut before rising from his chair.

He turned toward the drink cart, where the barely touched bottle of whiskey sat, and stood before it.

He hadn’t had a drink since he’d shared one with Rose.

The image flashed in his mind. Particularly the part where she’d kissed his forehead.

It had felt so… intimate. Yet far more innocent than anything he’d ever experienced with another woman.

With a muttering of curses, he left the bottle on the bar cart untouched and left his office. He didn’t want whiskey anyway. He wanted Rose.

As Mrs. Mulberry had predicted, he found her in her new library, lounging in a white nightgown and robe atop a settee near the fireplace with a book in her hands.

She’d let her hair down from its usual updo, and it fell in long, dark ringlets over her breasts and nearly reached her navel.

His palms itched to reach out and touch it.

To discover if it felt as silken and soft as it looked.

His eyes then focused on her face. No frown or lines, just a soft look of concentration as she stared at the book in her hands. He wanted her to look at him like that, he realized as he studied her, and the thought alarmed him.

When she continued to not recognize his appearance, however, he grew frustrated and cleared his throat. He knew she’d heard him come in. And for whatever reason, she was pretending she didn’t.

After a long moment of growing frustration, Rose finally looked up at him with apparent disinterest as he walked closer to her, and he almost stopped and turned right back around.

He then stopped himself, remembering he was a man, for God’s sake.

He was not a man who ran from women! He was a man whom women ran toward.

Except, of course, for this particular woman.

“I heard you were visiting with the girls,” he stated in way of greeting, stopping just a few paces before her. His tone came out gruff, and he did not care to correct it.

“I was,” she answered stiffly, not looking up from her book. He waited for her to say more, but was greeted with the soft sounds of the crackling fire.

“And how are they?” He prodded.

Rose slowly turned her page before answering, “Fine.”

Everett raised a curious brow. This was not the attitude he’d predicted from her, especially after the thought he’d put into her dress specifications.

He’d made sure that it was in her favored color, that it was elegant.

That it was something that would garner praise and admiration. He’d expected thanks, not disdain.

“And how did you and your friends get on at the modiste?” He ventured. “Did she have some new garments for you to bring home today?”

Rose finally looked at him, but there was certainly no gratitude in her eyes. In fact, nothing but contempt glared back at him.

“Fine,” she answered again. “And yes.”

Everett let out a frustrated sigh and reached forward, plucking the book out of her hands.

“Pardon me!” She shouted, sitting up. “Give that back!”

“Not until you tell me what is wrong with you,” he replied, pulling the book back as she reached for it.

“Nothing!” She insisted. “Now give me back my book!”

“You lie,” he replied, his tone matching the ice in hers. “Under most circumstances, you greet me with at least a modicum of civility, even when I jest with you. Now you are being most avoidant, so I ask again, what is wrong?”

Lust coursed through Everett’s body as Rose stood up and her robe parted.

The cast of the fire against the white linen of her nightgown accented the supple curves that lay beneath it, even the darkened small circles of her areolas.

His palms instantly itched yet again to touch her as he had the night before.

His mouth watered as he was reminded of the taste of her kiss.

Her flesh. The smell of her scent still lingered in his nostrils.

“It is the dress.”

Everett forced his eyes away from her breasts, and he did his best to ignore the sudden stiffening beneath his trousers.

“What?”

“The dress,” Rose repeated, her voice stiff with annoyance.

Everett blinked, trying his best to concentrate through the haze of need surrounding him.

“What is wrong with the dress?” He asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, hoping that it would help.

It did not.

“You chose it!”

Everett dropped his hand and looked at her again.

“So?” He choked out.

God’s teeth, man. Get a hold of yourself!

“So I did not want a new dress,” Rose insisted.

Everett’s brows rose up as he rubbed the growing tension at the back of his neck.

“Rose,” he sighed, suddenly exhausted by his pent-up feelings, “You are a duchess now, you must dress according to your-”

“Yes, yes, I must dress according to my new station,” she hastily cut him off, looking more perturbed than ever, “I have heard it all day. From my friends. From the modiste. If my Mother were there, she would have surely reminded me as well.”

“Rose,” he sighed, “I am trying to understand what has you so upset. Is it that I could not go with you to purchase the dress? I would have if I had the time.”

Rose’s brows flew up as she crossed her arms under her breasts, and Everett had to fight himself from dropping his gaze back down to the enticing bit of cleavage that now swelled atop her nightgown.

“You would have?” She asked.

“You sound surprised,” he replied. “Why?”

Her bitter laugh made his arousal fade for a moment.

“What is so shocking about that?” He demanded.

“Oh, I do not know. Perhaps because this is not a real marriage?”

Everett glared at her, surprised at how betrayed he felt at the question.

“This is a real marriage, Rose. You are my real wife. And I would like to do nice things for you from time to time,” he replied.

“Since when?” She demanded.

Everett groaned. He might have been frustrated with her before, but he didn’t want to fight with her. Not when his body was begging him for the complete opposite.

“What is wrong with the dress?” He asked. “Is it the wrong color?”

Rose’s brows tensed, but her stiff shoulders dropped a little.

“No.”

“Is it the design?”

Her shoulders dropped a little more. As did her head.

“No,” she repeated, softer this time. Then she muttered. “It is actually quite lovely.”

“Then why do you not want it?”

“Because I do not wish to be looked at!”

The words rushed from Rose’s lips with an air of exhaustion and fear, and suddenly Everett had no problem fixating on her eyes.

He realized then that his wife truly did have an issue with being among their society.

Unlike him, she’d been the subject of ridicule, not just for her wallflower ways, but for her mother’s behavior as well.

Betty had been the subject of gossip more than once at the gentleman’s club, and what had been said was none too kind.

It was then that Everett realized something.

Rose had leaned into her duties of duchess and surrogate mother not because she thought it was expected of her, but because she preferred such responsibilities to going out to wine and dine with society’s elite.

As getting married was his own personal hell, that was what going out for Rose was like.

Suddenly understanding his mistake, Everett closed the space between them and wound an arm around her waist, and brought his other hand to her cheek.

Relief flooded through him when she did not try to push him away, but instead leaned into his touch.

“Do not wear it if you do not wish to,” he stated. “I only wanted to gift you a gown you deserved. One that did not make you uncomfortable or cause you to itch. I apologize if it was too forward, but I wanted you to have something worthy of the work you have accomplished here.”

Rose’s shoulders slumped further, as if his praise had somehow made her feel worse.

“There’s something you must know, Rose,” he went on.

She slowly raised her blue eyes to his green ones, the tension in her brow easing a little.

“What is that?” She asked.

“You will stand out no matter what you wear. Not because of rumors, but because of your beauty,” he replied, caressing his thumb on the buttery soft skin of her cheek.

Even just that small touch had Everett’s body singing with joy.

God, she felt like heaven.

Appreciation filled her eyes, then she sank further into his embrace, resting her forehead on his shoulder. Pleasure rushed through him at the closer contact. She truly had no idea what she was doing to him.

“You are just saying that because you pity me,” she said.

“No,” he said, lifting both hands to her cheeks so he could raise her head to look at him. “I say it because it is true.”