Page 32

LIbrARY NIGHTGOWNS

To say that Victoria was livid would be an understatement. The rest of the day, she was simmering in a mix of irritation, annoyance, and righteous wrath.

Rules? He strode in here and dictated rules as if he were…

The master of the house, actually .

Regardless. He had no right to snuff all the joy out of this house.

Victoria still remembered how Dorothy had been when she first moved in. Closed off, never smiling, depressed, and given up on life, on herself. She looked older than she was—she had given up on her appearance and all will to live. Slowly, they found joy together, and Victoria was proud of how far her friend had come. And now to have her son deprive her of the simple joys…

But since there was nothing to be done—for now—regarding the Duke of Colborne, she thought it might prove productive to aim her anger at the main cause of this insufferable change in her daily life.

To that purpose, she took out her notebook to list ways she could get back at Lord Prevost without any suspicions coming back to her.

So far, she wrote,

- Train a pigeon to poop on his hat

- Replace his favorite snuff with pepper

- Somehow obtain a goose, set the goose loose on his property, and let nature take its course.

“I wonder,” Dorothy said from her place in the cozy drawing room, “what could have the poor notebook done to have you look at it with such menace.”

“It’s not the notebook; it’s the person I am imagining teaching a lesson or two.”

“Spare poor Stephen.” Dorothy smiled.

“He is next in line,” Victoria said dryly. “But His Grace would be oblivious in the countryside if our esteemed neighbor didn’t intervene.”

“To be honest, I am grateful that Stephen is back.” Dorothy looked apologetically at her. “I just wish that it was for the right reasons, not because some bitter old man wrote these preposterous things.”

“You see? So where do we find a goose?”

Dorothy fell back in her chair, laughing, and her good mood was contagious.

“Well then, if it’s satisfaction you seek, I suggest something a little more immediate.” Dorothy handed her a still-warm pastry. “Apple tarts. Fresh from the kitchen.”

Victoria took a bite, moaning appreciatively. Apple sweets of any kind were her weakness, and the Dowager Duchess knew that well.

“You are a woman of infinite wisdom.”

“I strive to be.”

As Victoria indulged in the pastry, Dorothy studied her with that ease that had been flowing between them since the first time they met.

“You know that I don’t agree with Stephen that your presence here is a problem, right?”

Victoria almost choked at the mention of the man she decided was her arch-nemesis. But she chose to focus on the fact that Dorothy was trying to make her feel better.

“I’d hope so, given the times I have pretended not to notice that you cheat in cards,” Victoria commented.

“I might have to revise my feelings.” Dorothy pretended to be wounded.

“Dorothy, you and Annabelle have always been supporting, accepting. I would allow you a thousand cheats in whist.”

They chuckled.

“In all seriousness,” Victoria continued softly, “I owe you so much. Your friendship and your support when I needed it the most. When my brother and I clashed…”

She still remembered that heated argument, the words they exchanged with Maxwell. If Dorothy hadn’t been there to offer the solution of becoming her companion to get away, her relationship with her brother might have become irreparable.

“You do see the pattern of you clashing with men, though, don’t you, Victoria?”

They both burst into more laughter.

“But I do mean it. When I lived with my cousins, I felt that I was on top of the world. I was a host of the most interesting gatherings, no one saw me just as a marriage prospect and Maxwell travelling meant I was mostly the master of my affairs.”

“But then your cousins decided to move to the country. That must have been a blow.”

“I am not cut out to live in the countryside, Dorothy.”

“You are a city girl, through and through.”

Another burst of laughter.

Between the sweetness of the pastry and their even sweeter way of dealing with adversities, Victoria felt the bitter taste of Stephen’s words lose their edge. It didn’t matter what others thought, only those who mattered to her.

Doesn’t he?

She ignored the senseless notion and enjoyed the rest of the day with Dorothy. They walked in the garden, where Dorothy regaled her with stories of past scandals so outrageous that Victoria laughed until her stomach ached, nearly tumbling into the rosebushes more than once.

By the time the afternoon sun turned golden, they were curled up in the drawing room, reading and drinking tea, their conversation punctuated by occasional exasperated remarks about whatever nonsense the novel’s hero was up to.

It was the kind of day Victoria cherished—light, easy, filled with laughter and warmth. And the best part? Other than a brief appearance at lunch, Stephen stayed in his study most of the day.

As she reached for another biscuit, Dorothy set her book down with a quiet sigh and studied Victoria over the rim of her teacup.

“My dear,” she began, her tone careful but affectionate. “I do hope you won’t let Stephen’s behavior sour things between you.”

Victoria arched an eyebrow, chewing her biscuit slowly.

Too late.

Dorothy, ever perceptive, must have read the thought in her expression because she gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head.

“Yes, he was dreadfully rude. But you must understand. He has been raised to guard his family name above all else. That kind of expectation… it’s difficult to shake, even when one wishes to.”

Victoria took a sip of tea, considering that.

Did His Grace wish to?

He certainly hadn’t seemed particularly troubled by his arrogance last night. But then her gaze flicked to Dorothy, to the way her smile dimmed just slightly at the edges, as if she had learned to make peace with things she wished were different.

Victoria had long suspected that Stephen’s rigid ways did not bring his mother much happiness. But Dorothy, being Dorothy, merely waved a hand and dismissed the thought before it could settle.

“It’s in his nature to be protective,” she said lightly, picking up her book again. “Even if that protection sometimes feels a bit too much.”

Victoria frowned at that, but Dorothy had already returned her attention to the page before her, effectively ending the conversation.

She could not ask her friend to rebel against her own child, she understood as much. Especially when Dorothy thought she had lost him and now he was back. So Victoria kept the rest of the evening as light as she could.

“Thank you for today,” she said when it was time for Dorothy to retire.

Instead of answering, Dorothy pulled her in her embrace. Victoria closed her eyes in delight and returned the hug.

“Have a good night.”

Victoria tried to make that last wish a reality and finally sleep. She went through her routine, hoping that the familiarity would bring slumber. Alas, even exhausted as she was because she didn’t sleep the night before, her body refused to relax.

The day had been perfectly pleasant, all things considered. Dorothy had made sure of that. But now, alone in the silence of the night, her mind wandered back to him . To his sharp words, his infuriating presence, the way he had looked at her like she was a problem to be solved, or worse, an inconvenience to be removed.

How dare he?

And yet she swallowed all his insults about her all day.

She was used to the ton looking down on her family even before her brother inherited his title after a tragic turn of events. She cared about that. She Wouldn’t lose her precious sleep for two days in a row because of the most irritating man in existence.

But to sit back and watch him judge Dorothy? Take the few joys she had left, when he left her in her solitude?

“Blast it!”

With an exasperated groan, she threw off her blankets and slipped out of bed. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well do something more productive than thinking about the Duke of Colborne. So, she got out of her room and made her way to the library.

Reading was her favorite thing in the world, and she was sure that a good book would at least ease her mind and take any dark thoughts away. Unless she found a book titled How To Kill A Duke and Get Away With It: A Beginner’s Guide there. Which she hoped she did.

But her luck was abysmal and horrible. The moment she entered the library, she realized that it was already occupied. In the glowing light from the fireplace, sitting in an armchair, a book on his lap and a glass of brandy absentmindedly in his hand, was him .

“Oh,” was the only thing that came to mind the moment she realized she was not alone.

The golden glow of the fire illuminated his face, casting shadows over his chiseled features. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his shirt was open at the collar, the top few buttons undone.

Wearing cravats should be mandatory at all hours of the day!

Victoria’s eyes flicked to his collarbone once more. He looked comfortable but not at ease. There was a tension in the set of his shoulders, in the way he swirled his drink idly but did not sip it.

The house must have more than twenty-five rooms—she had never bothered to count them—yet somehow it seemed in the after-hours, out of all the rooms, they ended up in the same one. The probability of that happening was small if she were to go by sheer numbers, but here they were.

“I will get a book and leave you to…” Victoria vaguely gestured in his direction. “Whatever this is.”

And then she turned to her favorite section of the library, filled with scientific books. Not so much on her beloved mathematics, but she had decided to study the few there again and again.

While she looked for the book, she realized there was something very wrong—the Duke hadn’t uttered a single word to her.

Could he be plotting to kill her too?

Victoria frowned. A prickling awareness spread across her skin, like a touch she had not felt but somehow knew was there. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder at the man filling the room with his presence to the point that she felt suffocated.

Stephen was watching her. No, that was not exactly accurate. He was observing her. No. Not that either. He was drinking her in, his eyes roaming over her body in a slow, deliberate way that made something inside her coil.

It was then that realization dawned on her.

Oh, good Lord.

She was in her nightgown. Not an indecent one, certainly not sheer or scandalous, but thin enough, soft enough, to remind her precisely how little separated her skin from the cool night air.

The mathematical parameters to their proximity after the sun had set seemed to include meeting while either one indecorously dressed—if at all. The odds of that happening two nights in a row were astronomical.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she straightened her spine, willing herself not to fidget under his scrutiny.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low, rough, and hard.

“I am getting a book,” Victoria spoke slowly, mirroring the condescending way he had talked to her the night before. “I didn’t realize I needed to repeat myself.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes locked onto hers, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

“I meant, what are you doing here?” His voice was intense. “In my house. In my life.”

Victoria inhaled sharply. Of all the arrogant, high-handed, impossible things he could have said, he chose this.

“I am your mother’s companion,” Victoria said in a tone that conveyed that she found the question… well, senseless.

“Why?”

“Because I happen to find her interesting and because she asked me graciously. Qualities that I happen to love in your sister, in case you were wondering why I am friends with her.”

“My sister is married.” He set the crystal tumbler down. “As you should have been.”

“Excuse me?”

It was too late in the night and too absurd to be having this conversation with him. How dare he talk to her like that? Who gave this unbearable, arrogant man the power to dictate what she should have been?

“I said”—he got up—“that you should have been married by now. At your age, even a woman in your… situation should have already secured a husband.”

Victoria weighed the tome she was still holding and mentally calculated how hard she had to hurl it at him for maximum damage. But she was not going to waste a source of valuable knowledge on him.

“Ah, yes,” she scoffed. “How remiss of me to have neglected my duty of attaching myself to the first available man. One kind enough to look past my unfortunate situation.”

“Perhaps that is the exact purpose of all of this,” Stephen said in a glacial tone that made the fire dim a little. “Why you are walking around in your nightgown.”

Victoria’s rage flared.

He can’t be implying…?

This despicable, obnoxious man! Perhaps the tome was not that valuable, after all.

“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Victoria bit out, “but it rather sounds like you are implying that my presence in your house, specifically in your library, in my nightgown, at this precise moment, is some sort of desperate attempt to secure a husband. And seeing that there is no one else around, you seem to be under the impression that you are the intended target.”

His silence was damning. He raised his chin and looked down at her.

“Oh, you cannot be serious.” Victoria’s nostrils flared.

“It is not an unreasonable conclusion.”

Victoria barely held back from baring her teeth at him. Instead, she gathered her wits and lowered her voice to a cold hiss.

“I assure you, Your Grace, if I had any desire to trap a man into marriage, I would at least choose one I liked.”

Stephen’s eyes flickered, something sharp flashing behind them.

She didn’t stop. He had crossed a line, and that worked both ways. And since he dared to imply such a thing about her, he basically just set the standard for the rest of their interactions.

So, Victoria unleashed her sharp tongue.

“I would choose a man who challenges me intellectually,” she continued. “A man with wit, with charm, with a sense of humor. A man who possesses the ability to laugh.”

Stephen’s expression darkened. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, Victoria thought that she had finally succeeded in shattering that infuriating composure of his and she would see the man under the facade.

But no. When he spoke, his voice was low, measured, and controlled.

“I would caution you, Miss Victoria, to remember your place when addressing a duke.”

“Oh, yes. My place, my situation. Somewhere beneath you, isn’t that right?”

“You misjudge me.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Miss Victoria, I am not trying to be cruel.”

“And yet you seem to excel at exactly that.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he exhaled through the nose sharply. “Miss Victoria. I asked you to address me properly.”

“You seem to forget that my brother is a duke, whether you like it or not. I am well aware of how to address one. I am being quite reasonable, given the circumstances.”

“Since you mentioned your brother, what would he think about all of this?”

“That’s irrelevant. He is too far away to be able to do anything about the matter.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Excuse me for not submitting fully to your interrogation. What was the question again?”

“Why are you with my mother?”

“Apparently, for the chance to walk around in my nightgown and catch a fine man like you.” Victoria’s words dripped with venom.

“Miss Victoria!” Stephen barely contained himself.

He seemed ready to snap, his eyes blazing. He was too tall, too broad, and though she was well aware he would never go over the limits of what was proper, his massive body locking up like that made him look less of a gentleman. A side of him she didn’t want to unearth. So, she retreated a little and decided to answer earnestly.

“Because I like her. I consider her a good friend. She is kind, she is brilliant, and she is alone,” Victoria sighed. “Or at least, she was. Before I came.”

Stephen inhaled, and his jaw dropped.

“And now you come along, ready to condemn her into the same loneliness—a loneliness that was partly your fault.”

“My fault?” Stephen frowned, taking a step toward her.

“You left her here all alone and never visited. You knew that she was in here with no one. Annabelle is heavily pregnant—she can’t visit. What did you expect her to do? Wither away? Would you have preferred that?”

Stephen’s jaw tightened, and he momentarily looked away. Her blows were hitting the mark.

“Then the neighbor writes you some nonsense, and here you are to introduce order, ready to rip away the one thing that has made her happy in your absence. And yet you claim you are not cruel.”

Stephen seemed shaken, as if she had physically pushed him back.

Victoria was ready to speak more of her mind when he tilted his head and took another step toward her.

“Such passion,” he murmured.

She felt something dangerous coil around her, dark and seductive. Damn his blue eyes! Damn that deep voice that formed perfectly articulated words to torment her.

No!

She had self-respect and self-control. She was not going to sit and let him call her passionate as if it were a bad thing. She would show him passionate.

So, she laughed. In his face.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “What would a man like you know about passion?”

She regretted it the moment she saw his eyes turn stormy. He moved slowly, stalking closer to her. She took a step back because he towered over her, even though she herself was tall.

“Are you certain I know nothing about passion?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her throat went dry. She went rigid and numb at the same time as he invaded her personal space.

What is going on?

“Quite certain,” she managed, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

His gaze flickered to her lips. Her heart stopped. Stephen leaned in, so close that she could feel the whisper of his breath on her skin. The scent of him, dark and rich, wrapped around her like an invisible snare. Brandy and firewood. And his natural musk, clean yet sharp.

Not fair.

For one tormenting moment, she thought he might actually kiss her, not out of passion, but simply to prove a point. To show her that he could, that he was in control, that he was passionate. Victoria was ready to surrender and scream that she believed him before he—they—did something disastrous.

He didn’t kiss her. Of course, he didn’t. Because the Duke of Colborne was a man of control, of discipline. And for the first time since they met, Victoria was grateful for those otherwise deplorable qualities.

But then she saw his arm rising, his fingers catching the edge of her jaw, a feather-light touch that sent something sharp and hot curling low in her stomach.

Victoria swallowed. Hard. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as if the sting of it might ground her. No one had ever touched her like that. Even she wasn’t sure what that exactly was.

“Look at me!” he ordered.

It came out more like a growl than actual spoken words. His tone set her rebellious nature on fire. But that growl… His voice was laced with something so dark and searing that Victoria swayed just a little as if little-headed. But she, too, was a creature of tenacity, so she met his eyes. Ocean blue against sapphire. Ice and fire.

“When does your brother return, Miss Victoria?”

“In a month.” Victoria was glad she could summon such information under his gaze.

“Well then,” he said lowly, “you are allowed to stay for a month. After that, you will go back to your brother.”

Victoria’s face fell. Going back to Maxwell meant clashing with him again.

Stephen seemed to notice her displeasure. He forced her straying eyes back to him. He frowned but said nothing. He didn’t care enough.

“Is that understood, Miss Victoria?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.”

She saw nothing good in all of this.