Page 13 of Duke of Pride (Sinful Dukes #4)

CHAPTER 13

Pic Nic

I t’s been a couple of days, and it was the most fun Victoria had for a while. She loved that the house was filled with people, the halls bustling with babble and laughter. She had prepared so many games and fun activities, and she was elated to see every guest participate with enthusiasm. From charades to bowling, from card games to improvised plays, she had thought of entertainment for all her guests, and they were so amused that their smiles never left their faces.

Dorothy was beside herself with joy, and Victoria was empowered by her smile. Having Annabelle here was making the Dowager Duchess’s heart burst with joy. The fact that the usually silent and empty house was filled with laughter and merriment was healing old wounds. And all was worth it to see Dorothy alive and happy.

“Everything is ready for the picnic.” Dorothy was early in the morning room, going over the details.

“I just checked the pantry, and we need nothing else for now.” Victoria flopped down on an armchair.

“You are doing an amazing job. But you need to rest too.”

“I am having so much fun that I feel no tiredness.”

“It is so fun!” Dorothy gushed, and then her eyes strayed to the end of the hallway. “Do you think he will join us today?”

Because there was, of course, someone who was not enjoying himself. When it came to a certain host, he was the very picture of misery. Nothing was to his liking, and he criticized every activity for being too loud, too improper, too indecorous.

Stephen had been glum these past days, to say the least.

He never expressed those sentiments loudly except to Dorothy and Victoria, though his deep scowl, which resembled a man smelling something foul, said it all. He participated in only one activity—archery. And Victoria regretted having included it in the program.

She tried—and failed—to forget the way Stephen had looked during the archery contest. When provoked to show his sportsmanship, he deliberately removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, revealing strong, veiny forearms. Then his stance. Effortlessly powerful.

She was still embarrassed by her sharp intake of breath when his movements pulled his shirt taut across his shoulders, the way his jaw had tightened just before release. It was indecent, really, how a man could make precision look so sinful.

“It is a pity,” Dorothy said, startling her out of her daydream. “I wish he would enjoy himself too.”

When Victoria saw the sad look on her face, she knew that Stephen had to come to the picnic no matter what. So, she made her way to his sanctuary—his study. That is where he was cooped up most of the day, rarely seen at any other time other than meals.

“Your Grace.” She knocked on the door.

“I am busy,” he growled.

Not today .

Victoria squared her shoulders. “I am coming in.”

“Miss Victoria, I?—”

She opened the door and went inside. He was sitting on the sofa by the window, buried in paperwork, Euclid at his feet. He had thrown his coat on a chair, and he had once more rolled up his sleeves.

Victoria was momentarily stunned by how casual and domesticated he looked.

The dog was at least happy to see her, and he got up to meet her halfway. She bent to pet him.

“I told you I am busy,” Stephen barked.

“And I told you that we are having a picnic today.”

“I am aware. You have developed the bad habit of informing me of the daily activities. I thought you were smart enough to get the hint that I am not interested every time I ignore your bulletins.”

“Your guests are waiting.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. Of all the activities she had organized, irritating him remained the best one.

“They’ve survived my absence for three days. I’m sure they’ll manage an afternoon.”

“Ah, so you have been keeping count.” She smirked. “How very attentive of you.”

He finally looked up from his papers and pinned her with a cold look.

As Victoria was lost in the deep blue of his eyes, she realized with dread that there was a deeper reason she was insistent. She wanted him to join.

“Is there a point to this interruption, or do you simply enjoy the sound of your own voice?” He went back to his usual infuriating self.

“The point,” she said, stepping closer to him, “is that it’s rude for a host to abandon his guests. Even you must know that.”

“You were the one who told me that I was being rude the last time I came.”

“You were glowering at the guests.”

“Lies. I remember I smiled.”

“To Annabelle!”

“So?”

“She is your sister! Your very pregnant sister.”

He set his papers aside with deliberate slowness, watching her with that vexingly unreadable expression.

“Your Grace.” She softened her voice. “Your mother misses you.”

“She has her guests.”

“You are her son.”

Stephen let out a long breath.

Victoria hid her smile. He might wish to come across as hard and emotionless, but he was truly trying when it came to his family.

“If I agree to this picnic,” he said, his voice low and measured, “will you cease your relentless campaign to drag me into every foolishness under the sun?”

Victoria tilted her head, considering. Euclid nudged her hand for more petting.

“For today.”

She caught it. Almost a smile. Almost .

He got up, unfolding his strong body and rolling down his sleeves. Victoria involuntarily mourned to see those arms covered, but she decided to focus on Euclid.

“Let’s go,” Stephen grunted.

She looked up. He was offering her his arm. She took it. The gesture was proper, expected, but the heat of him through the fabric, the way his muscles tensed under her fingers, sent a traitorous thrill through her.

“Try to smile,” she whispered as they stepped out into the gardens. “The fresh air won’t kill you.”

“One can never be sure,” he said dryly.

But she caught it. The faint shadow of a smirk. A smile, even.

They walked on the soft grass to the paved path to the lake. Through the canopy, the sun cast playful shadows on his profile.

“Your mood seems improved, Your Grace.”

“I am merely devising a plan. You were right to remind me that I have made a promise to secure you a husband.”

Victoria’s heart sank for a moment. Was she still just a nuisance he wanted to get rid of? Was he even thinking of the ‘incident,’ the ‘episode,’ or the ‘affair?’ Was he haunted like she was by the carriage ‘ruin?’

She looked up at him, and he returned the gaze. Indecipherable, dark despite the warm sun. She saw him absentmindedly put his fingers in the little pocket of his waistcoat and look away.

“Efficiency is key,” he continued. “Let’s assess your potential suitors.”

“I didn’t bring my ledger.”

“We can do preliminary research,” he half-joked. “So, Reginald is?—”

“Nope.”

“Miss Victoria,” he protested. “Surely, you must?—”

“Nope.”

Stephen scowled.

“Don’t scowl just because I rejected your top choice.”

“He wasn’t?—”

“Please. He is practically you if all you talked about was the breed of your horses.”

“They are majestic animals.”

“He should be marrying one of them, then.”

“Miss Victoria!” Stephen pretended to be shocked.

“What? Someone should tell the man that if it’s marriage he is after, he should just stand in a corner looking good. But, for the love of God, he needs to keep his mouth shut.”

Stephen shook his head in fake reprimand. “Fine. Theodore then.”

“Please. Theodore knows four dead languages and zero living ones.”

“Marital bliss at its finest. Arguments in ancient Sumerian tend to be resolved rather quickly.”

Victoria laughed with her whole body. She would never admit it, but she missed him the past few days. Yes, it was fun and great, but there was something missing.

“The list keeps getting smaller,” Stephen noted.

“It is not the size that is the problem here. It’s the quality.”

Stephen side-eyed her. “How about Edward?”

“Who?” Victoria raised an eyebrow.

“Edward Hardwick.”

“Again. Who?”

Stephen chuckled. “I know. The man has the personality of a wallpaper, but?—”

“There can’t be any redeeming quality after that comment, Your Grace.”

“Imagine that?—”

“Hard to imagine being married to a wallpaper,” Victoria interrupted again.

“You won’t have to suffer his opinions at dinner.”

“ Suffer is the correct word to use regarding being married to Edward.”

“I am afraid that we are running out of suitable prospects.”

“What about the Duke of Blackwell?”

Stephen stopped abruptly. Victoria, still holding onto his arm, almost tripped. He pinned her with that sharp look of his that should have been intimidating.

“I said suitable prospects.”

Victoria blinked up at him with exaggerated innocence. “Oh? And what makes the Duke of Blackwell unsuitable, Your Grace? His excellent taste in waistcoats? His ability to discuss topics beyond horseflesh and crop rotation?”

The muscle in Stephen’s jaw twitched violently. “I do not approve of him.”

“How dramatic. I’m merely saying that your vigorous disapproval might hint at hidden virtues.”

Stephen’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, to where her pulse fluttered at her throat. When he spoke, his voice was a dark caress.

“Tell me, do you truly find him attractive?”

She did not. Victoria barely found the Duke of Blackwell interesting. But coaxing a reaction out of Stephen was too delicious a game to skip. Now, under his scrutiny, she had nothing to say.

The silence stretched between them like a bowstring. She simply followed him as he led the way to the picnic.

They finally reached the perfectly sublime spot she and Dorothy had prepared with such care. And their efforts seemed to have paid off, for the scenery was out of a fairytale.

The guests were sitting on luscious cushions by the wooden platform at the edge of the water. Their laughter skipped across the lake's mirror-like surface, pastel skirts skittering and linen shirts rustling. Low tables sat between them, laden with fruit, refreshments, and colorful china.

Victoria looked up at Stephen, and he seemed taken by the scenery, too. That was praise more than words could ever convey.

“See? Not that bad,” Victoria said, squeezing his arm.

“Adequate.”

Victoria laughed as Dorothy came toward them with the brightest smile on her face.

“Stephen! I am so glad you joined us.”

Stephen leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. And accept her embrace without recoiling.

“I was led to believe that attendance was compulsory,” he said, smirking. “Plus, Euclid needed a walk.”

Victoria scoffed and followed Dorothy to her spot. She watched as Stephen sat in the farthest spot that wasn’t quite in the lake but close enough to the edge. He looked so uncomfortable in the serene environment. Soon, Annabelle and Frederick joined him, and he managed to relax. Still no smile, but Victoria knew well to choose her battles wisely when it came to Stephen.

“Your Grace,” a saccharine voice cut through the air.

It was Adelaide, Lady Weatherby’s daughter—the thrice times dowager made it a point to have one child with each husband—and the youngest of the brood. She was the epitome of a proper lady—willowy, golden-haired, and possessed of the kind of calculated charm that was expected from a lady.

“It is good to see you joining us.”

Victoria clenched the fork she used to spear strawberries. There was no mistaking her tone or the sensual way she moved. She boldly sat on the cushion next to Stephen, and a strawberry paid for it. She arranged her skirts with practiced elegance, the pale blue silk whispering across the cushions.

“Your estate is breathtaking in summer, Your Grace. The gardens are exquisite.”

“Thank you, though my mother takes care of the estate if you want to properly congratulate someone.”

Victoria smiled at the way Adelaide was taken aback.

Stephen’s demeanor was hard to get used to, but Adelaide seemed determined. She let out a delicate, tinkling laugh.

“Still, Your Grace.” She leaned closer, a strategic maneuver perfected by all the ladies of the ton. “I believe that a house always reflects the character of its owner.”

“An interesting observation. Though I find houses, like people, are best appreciated at a proper distance.”

Victoria coughed to mask her chuckle.

Adelaide went pale. It took a lot to keep up with Stephen’s brutal speech. Yes, he was rich and capable, he was devastatingly tall and handsome, but to break through to him, it would take more than batting eyelashes and random touching.

Adelaide recovered, and true to her goal, she leaned even closer and was ready to say something when Stephen got up and turned to his sister.

“Annabelle, let’s go see your favorite swans.”

Adelaide was taken aback by the swift way he got up. This was artfully done if Victoria were ever to admit that she had been watching the whole scene intently. He simply avoided the lady’s advances by accompanying his pregnant sister.

Annabelle was blindsided by this, but her love for swans was too strong, so she gave him her hand, and they left together. But not before he threw a heated glance at Victoria.

A suspicious warmth bloomed in Victoria’s chest as Adelaide finally retreated, her charms meeting the immovable wall of Stephen’s indifference.

She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. But it did make her feel better that all he gave to such an eligible lady was glacial politeness. Because Victoria knew very well that Stephen, under that icy exterior, hid fire. She had felt it. He had shown her. Perhaps only her.