Page 10 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke
Beatrice nodded, attempting to envision her life within those ancient walls. “I look forward to becoming better acquainted with the estate.”
“And I look forward to becoming better acquainted with my mysterious Duchess,” he replied.
As they approached the long drive leading to the manor, Beatrice turned her face away, unwilling to let him read her expression.
“You will find me disappointingly transparent, I fear. I am neither as mysterious nor as intriguing as you seem to believe, Your Grace.”
Her body tensed as she spoke those words, for they weren’t entirely true. She was keeping secrets from him. But how could she possibly tell him anything? She barely knew him.
“That,” the Duke said evenly, “remains to be seen.”
“Your Grace,” she replied, her cheeks warming, “one might suggest that a gentleman with a rake’s reputation may be tempted to justify his cynicism by expecting the worst of others.”
The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them. He wasn’t entirely wrong about her, but perhaps he was wrong about her intentions. She only wanted to protect Philip’s secret, while heaven knew what the Duke thought of her.
A curious stillness settled over the Duke’s features as his eyes darkened with anger. Beatrice flinched, averting her gaze from the weight of his stare.
Then, with startling swiftness, he leaned in, closing the distance between them. His hand rose to cradle her chin firmly yet gently, guiding her face until her eyes met his.
“Say that again,” he commanded, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper, yet carrying an unmistakable edge of authority.
Beatrice remained silent, suddenly conscious of the warmth of his skin against hers and the scent of sandalwood that seemed to envelop her.
When she offered no response, the Duke released her and settled back into his seat, his expression once more unreadable.
“Back to being a good girl, are we?” he said, his lips quirking up. “Very well, wife. But remember, I know how to push this game further than you.”
Before she could reply, he rapped sharply on the roof of the carriage, signaling the driver to halt. Swiftly, he opened the door and stepped down onto the graveled drive, leaving her alone in the carriage as he walked the rest of the way toward Stagmore Manor.
Toward her new home, and the domain of the enigmatic man who was now her husband.
Chapter Four
“Welcome to Stagmore Manor, Your Grace.”
The words, spoken with warm deference by an elderly butler whose dignified bearing suggested decades of service, greeted Beatrice as she descended from the carriage. The grand entrance of the manor loomed before her, its imposing facade of pale limestone glowing amber in the final rays of sunset.
A small contingent of servants had assembled on the steps to welcome their new mistress, their expressions a careful blend of curiosity and respect.
Beatrice squared her shoulders, determined to present a composed exterior despite the emotions churning within her.
The Duke’s abrupt departure from the carriage had left her both bewildered and indignant, her thoughts oscillating betweenregret for her sharp words and maybe a slight resentment at his high-handed response.
“Thank you,” she replied, summoning the poise instilled through years of strict upbringing. “I hope I find you well, Mr…?”
“Edmonds, Your Grace. And indeed, I am quite well, thank you for inquiring.” The butler’s weathered face softened momentarily at her courtesy. “If you’d follow me, I shall show you to your chambers. The staff have prepared everything for your arrival.”
As Beatrice followed Edmonds through the grand entrance hall, she felt the weight of countless eyes upon her. Not merely those of the assembled servants, but the penetrating gazes of ancestral portraits lining the walls, generations of Ashwells regarding the newest addition to the family with skepticism.
The impression was not entirely fanciful; the Duke’s ancestors observed her now through pigment and canvas, just as living eyes would scrutinize her in London drawing rooms once the Season resumed.
“His Grace has instructed that you are to have the Duchess’s suite in the east wing,” Edmonds informed her as they ascended a sweeping staircase of polished marble. “It has been freshly appointed for your arrival.”
“Most considerate,” Beatrice replied calmly. But inwardly, she snorted in derision. A considerate man did not abandon his bride in a carriage on their wedding day, regardless ofprovocation. “Might I inquire if you have any inkling as to the Duke’s whereabouts?”
She supposed his butler should be aware of where the Duke had gone, what with the way he had alighted from the carriage earlier.
How annoying, she thought to herself, even as she presented a pleasant expression to the elderly man before her.