Page 21 of Duke of Myste (Braving the Elements #3)

The puppy looked up at them with soulful eyes, as if understanding the precariousness of its situation.

Jane felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness—both for the helpless creature in her arms and for her right to make decisions in her new home.

“You are right,” she relented. “But we can at least try to find a home for the poor creature, can we not?”

Richard’s expression shifted from curious to wary in a heartbeat. “Pardon?”

“I agree with you, Your Grace,” Jane said, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. “Though I would not advise getting used to it.”

Richard stared at her for a long moment, and she could almost see the calculations behind his eyes.

“Also,” she continued before he could formulate a response, “we need to talk. Now.”

For a split second, she thought he might refuse both demands. Then, to her surprise, he inclined his head in a gesture of reluctant concession.

“Very well,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “My study would provide suitable privacy.”

Jane nodded, following as he led the way through the gardens and into the cool interior of Myste House. The puppy had fallen asleep against her chest, the warmth of its small body seeping through her riding habit.

The study reflected its owner perfectly—meticulously organized, subtly masculine in its dark wood and leather furnishings, with everything arranged for maximum efficiency.

Books lined the walls in neat rows, not a volume out of place.

The massive oak desk that dominated the room bore neat stacks of correspondence and ledgers, each pile designated for a specific purpose.

Jane seated herself in one of the large armchairs facing the desk, arranging her skirts with more care than usual, conscious of the dirt from her ride and the puppy’s matted fur against the pristine leather.

Richard remained standing, his tall figure silhouetted against the window for a moment before he turned to face her. “You wished to speak,” he prompted, his tone neutral.

“Yes.” Jane took a steadying breath, gathering her thoughts. “This constant monitoring of my every move cannot continue, Your Grace. I cannot live with constant scrutiny and disapproval at every turn. You cannot be waiting around every corner to tell me what I have done wrong.”

His expression remained unreadable. “I merely wish to ensure that proper standards are maintained.”

“No,” Jane countered, her voice gaining confidence as she expressed frustrations that had been building for some time. “You wish to control every aspect of my existence. That is not a marriage—it is a prison sentence.”

The puppy stirred in her arms, perhaps sensing her agitation. She stroked its head automatically, finding the motion calming for both of them.

“Surely you exaggerate,” Richard said, though with less conviction than usual. “My expectations are no different than those Society places on any duchess.”

“That is blatantly untrue,” Jane replied evenly. “Many duchesses ride as they please on their own estates. Many receive visitors during their honeymoons. Many keep pets of their choosing. What you expect is not Society’s standard, but your own impossibly rigid definition of propriety.”

Richard moved to his desk, trailing his fingers along the polished wood as if gathering his thoughts.

“Your behavior since our marriage has been consistently provocative,” he stated finally. “Deliberately challenging every convention, every reasonable boundary.”

“Because you have offered nothing but restrictions!” Jane exclaimed, her composure slipping despite her best efforts to maintain it.

“From the moment we exchanged vows, you have done nothing but instruct me on what I cannot do, where I cannot go, how I cannot behave. We cannot build any kind of functional partnership on such a foundation.”

Richard’s jaw tightened, but rather than the outburst she had half-expected, he seemed to consider her words. “What do you propose instead, then, Duchess?” he asked after a moment.

The question caught Jane off guard. She had expected further argument, not this willingness to consider alternatives.

“I propose that we find some common ground,” she replied carefully. “Some middle path that respects both your need for propriety and my need for… for freedom to be myself.”

Richard paced the length of the study, his movements betraying an unusual restlessness.

“You are right about one thing,” he conceded, turning to face her. “We must stop this constant discord between us. We will need to make a public appearance soon; we cannot present this… fractured facade to the ton.”

“Appearances,” Jane murmured, fighting disappointment at his focus on public perception rather than genuine resolution. “Always appearances.”

“Yes, appearances,” Richard agreed, but his tone lacked its usual dismissive quality. “But there is more at stake than public perception. There are real consequences to scandal, especially for women.”

The emphasis he placed on the last words caught her attention.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked, genuine curiosity warring with her frustration. “It cannot simply be about maintaining the Myste name and legacy. Your concern seems… personal.”

Something flickered in Richard’s expression—a vulnerability that he quickly masked.

“Because I have seen what harm scandal can bring,” he muttered. “Especially to women. I now have two ladies under my roof, and if I need to protect them from themselves, so be it.”

Jane studied his face, seeing a glimpse of the man behind the title—a man driven by something more complex than mere adherence to propriety.

“Your sister,” she said softly, understanding flooding her features. “You’re thinking of what happened to Harriet.

Richard did not confirm her guess, but something in his eyes told her that she had struck gold.

“Harriet will join us once you’ve properly settled in.She has already paid dearly for one moment of youthful indiscretion; I would like to spare you a similar fate, Jane.”

Jane felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. What had happened with his sister had clearly left a deep mark on him, shaping his rigid adherence to propriety not merely as a matter of pride but as a form of protection.

“I understand,” she murmured, surprised to realize that she meant it wholeheartedly. “Truly, I do. But you cannot shield me from every potential danger or difficulty. I am not a porcelain figurine to be kept on a shelf.”

“No,” Richard agreed, and for a moment, something almost akin to humor glinted in his eyes. “You are far too… spirited for such treatment.”

Jane found herself smiling despite the seriousness of their discussion. “I will try to antagonize you less,” she offered, “if you will try to be more patient with my… spirited nature, as you so eloquently put it.”

“A fair proposal,” Richard acknowledged with a slight nod. “Though I would add one caveat.”

“Of course you would,” Jane snorted. “What additional restriction do you wish to impose this time, Your Grace?”

“Not a restriction,” Richard corrected, moving to sit behind his desk.

“Rather, a structured approach to our… adjustment period. Lessons of some sort. I will teach you what is expected of a duchess, and in the process, we can both learn where our boundaries lie. What is truly essential, and what might be… negotiable.”

Jane considered the suggestion while absently stroking the puppy’s head.

There was certainly merit in the idea—a formal framework might actually provide more opportunity for finding compromise than their current haphazard clashes.

And if nothing else, it would give them defined periods of interaction where they might come to understand one another better.

“Very well,” she agreed. “Though I reserve the right to question the reasoning behind these so-called expectations, and not just meekly accept them as immutable law.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Richard replied.

“Then we have an agreement.” Jane stood up, adjusting her hold on the still-sleeping puppy. “Lessons in duchessing, with room for discussion and potential compromise.”

Richard rose as well, moving around the desk with that same fluid grace that seemed to characterize his every movement. “Indeed. And in exchange, you will consider my concerns before embarking on potentially controversial activities.”

“I will consider them,” Jane allowed. “Though I make no promises about always yielding to them.”

Richard extended his hand to her, apparently intent on sealing their deal with the formality it deserved. Jane shifted the puppy to her left arm and reached out her right hand.

The moment their hands met—skin to skin, without the barrier of gloves for the first time since their wedding—sent an unexpected jolt of awareness up her arm.

Richard’s hand was warm, his grip firm but not crushing, his skin slightly callused in a way that suggested he did more than merely sign documents and attend Parliament.

Their eyes met over their clasped hands, and something electric passed between them—a single moment of connection that transcended their negotiation.

Do you feel it too?

Jane found herself unable to look away from his hazel eyes, suddenly aware of how close they stood, of the faint scent of sandalwood that emanated from his solid frame, and of the steady strength of his hand.

The puppy chose that moment to wake up, letting out a small yip that broke the strange tension.

Richard released her hand, clearing his throat as he stepped back to restore the proper distance between them.

“I shall have a bath drawn,” he said, his voice carrying a slight roughness that had not been present moments ago. “For your… new companion.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Jane replied, conscious of the lingering warmth where his hand had held hers. “I should go change before luncheon.”

Richard nodded, his composure apparently restored, though a certain awareness remained in his gaze as it followed her movement toward the door. “Our first lesson will be tomorrow morning, after breakfast,” he said. “We will begin with the basics of household management.”

“How thrilling,” Jane drawled, unable to resist the small provocation. “I shall attempt to contain my excitement until then.”

Richard’s lips twitched. “Until then, Duchess.”

Jane left then, closing the door behind her with careful precision. Only when she was halfway to her bedchamber did she realize she was still smiling, the expression as unexpected as the strange current that had passed between them when their hands touched.

Perhaps this marriage of convenience might prove more interesting than I expected . Not easier, and certainly not simpler, but… interesting .

And that, at least, was something she had never dared to hope for when she had agreed to become the Duchess of Myste.