Page 17 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Yet beneath his satisfaction lurked an unexpected hunger, a desire not merely to elicit a reaction but to claim, topossess.An impulse he had no intention of indulging.

“We shall see about that, darling,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a purr that had made many women blush over the years. Never before had he felt such a curious mix of triumph and restraint in employing it.

Without waiting for her response, he straightened and strode out of her chamber, closing the door firmly behind him. And only in the darkness of the corridor did he acknowledge the unsettling truth.

For the first time in memory, he was not entirely certain if he had emerged victorious.

Chapter Six

“I’m beginning to think you’re having a passionate affair with that tankard,” Adrian remarked, his voice cutting through the ambient clamor ofthe Fox and Hound. “You’ve been contemplating its depths with such intensity that I half expect it to blush under your attention.”

The tavern’s evening congregation had settled into its customary patterns, with farmers occupying the benches nearest the hearth and village tradesmen gathering around tables where dice occasionally tumbled across scarred wood. Meanwhile, at the edges, those with pretensions to gentility maintained a careful distance from both.

The air was heavy with pipe smoke and the stench of ale, comforts that had once provided Leo with a welcome sanctuary from ducal obligations.

Tonight, however, the familiar pleasures felt oddly hollow.

“I’m considering the timber contracts for the eastern estate,” Leo replied, the lie forming with practiced ease. “The steward believes we might command a better price if we delay until spring.”

“Timber contracts.” Adrian’s tone dripped with theatrical disbelief. “How marvelously convenient that such riveting matters would occupy your thoughts at this exact moment.”

He leaned forward and planted his elbows firmly on the table’s scarred surface.

“You know, I’ve been observing a curious phenomenon these past weeks. The mighty Duke of Stagmore, a man who once declared he would sooner shackle himself to Newgate’s walls than to matrimony, now sits in a country tavern, discussing lumber with the enthusiasm of a man awaiting execution.”

Leo shot him a warning look, but Adrian, a marquess used to such mischief and immune to such deterrents after decades of friendship, merely grinned.

“Did you read old Claverton’s latest pamphlet on agricultural innovations? Quite revolutionary, his thoughts on crop rotation.” Adrian adopted a tone of exaggerated scholarly interest. “Perhaps we might discuss the optimal depth for turnip planting next? Or the finer points of manure distribution?”

“Your mockery grows tedious,” Leo muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a reluctant twitch of amusement.

“Not half as tedious as your avoidance of any topic remotely connected to your marriage,” Adrian countered. “Parliament is abuzz with speculation, you know. Lord Melbourne himself inquired about your sudden transformation from sworn bachelor to devoted husband.”

“Melbourne should attend to matters of state rather than the personal business of others.”

“Oh, but you’ve provided such delicious fodder for speculation! The notorious Duke of Stagmore, long thought impervious to anything but claret and mischief, suddenly undone by a proper lady of the ton?” Adrian’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “It’s positively Byronic. Several ladies of my acquaintance have taken to sighing dramatically whenever your name arises in conversation.”

Leo’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. “Society’s romantic fantasies are no concern of mine.”

“Perhaps not, but they’ve proven remarkably beneficial to your new Duchess, have they not? The narrative of love at first sight has transformed what might have been a devastating scandal into a romantic triumph.” Adrian paused, studying him with sudden perspicacity. “Though I note you’ve done precious little to nurture this fiction.”

“The Duchess and I will make a public appearance in due time. As our arrangement requires,” Leo replied, the words emerging more stiffly than intended.

“Arrangement,” Adrian echoed, rolling the word around his tongue as though sampling a questionable vintage. “How delightfully clinical. And how is this ‘arrangement’ progressing? I gather from your increasingly irascible temper that marital bliss remains elusive.”

Leo’s fingers tightened around his tankard. “The Duchess conducts herself with impeccable propriety.”

“High praise, indeed,” Adrian remarked drily. “One might almost mistake it for a description of a particularly efficient housekeeper rather than a bride of two weeks.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to reply, but their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Miss Sarah Miller, the innkeeper’s niece, bearing fresh tankards. She placed them on the table with practiced efficiency, her smile warming considerably as she turned toward Leo.

“Good evening, Your Grace, Lord Tillfield,” she greeted, her curtsy slightly deeper than required. “I trust you find the ale to your satisfaction? We’ve just tapped a new barrel from the Burton brewery. A special order Uncle Thomas arranged with your preferences in mind.”

“Thank you, Miss Miller. It’s excellent,” Leo replied with automatic courtesy, noting the way her fingers lingered near his as she removed the empty tankard.

“We’ve missed your regular visits these past weeks,” she continued, a hint of invitation warming her tone. “The evenings grow colder, and good company becomes all the more precious.”

Two months earlier, such an overture would have been met with calculated interest. The rules of such encounters were well-established, in Leo’s experience. Brief, mutually satisfying arrangements conducted with discretion and terminated without complications.