Page 27 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

She watched as his eyes widened, before he let out a low laugh that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Ah, at least we already act like a couple in our tenth year of marriage.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at him. Still, she could not quite suppress the small smile tugging at her lips.

Beatrice hesitated at the threshold of Leo’s study, listening to the soft scrape of his polished shoes against the marble floor as he moved toward the desk.

“A cognac, I think,” he announced, glancing back at her. “I believe we have matters to discuss that require fortification.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the folds of her silk skirts, tugging at the fabric as if the motion could quell the unease in her stomach.

She followed him, stepping carefully, and made a point of closing the door behind her. It was a small gesture, practically insignificant, but in her mind, it spoke volumes. A tacit acknowledgment of their shared predicament, a concession that she was beginning to understand the subtle give-and-take of their arrangement.

The room smelled of beeswax and tobacco, the leather-bound volumes lining the shelves forming a masculine sanctuary that she had never been invited into before. And yet, here she was, welcome—or at least tolerated—and she recognized the significance of that as she lingered near the hearth.

Leo poured amber liquid into two crystal glasses, and as he handed one to her, their fingers brushed briefly.

Beatrice felt an unexpected jolt of awareness, a quick pulse in her chest, and she deliberately delayed raising the glass to her lips, cradling it between her fingers as if drawing some measure of composure from its weight.

“Lord Westbury’s interest in Philip cannot be coincidental,” she said, forcing calm authority into her voice. “His questions felt meticulous, as though he’d thought them over before.”

Leo’s gaze met hers, steady and attentive. “Indeed,” he said, and there was something in the casual tilt of his head that made her momentarily aware of his proximity. “The question becomes, what connection exists between a respected peer of the realm and my wayward cousin?”

She drew in a measured breath, forcing herself to straighten her back and speak as a duchess, not as a woman whose pulse had betrayed her attention to every shift in his expression.

“I think I have the answer to that question,” she said, allowing only a hint of reluctance to color her words.

Leo sank into the leather armchair, adopting an air of patient receptivity rather than the interrogation she feared he might employ.

Good.If I am to speak the truth, I must be given space.

“Philip has been involved with a young woman for months,” she revealed, keeping her gaze level and her voice measured. “A commoner named Anna Finley.”

Leo’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass, but he gave no other indication of surprise. She noted it, nonetheless, filing the reaction away.

“A commoner? And this explains his disappearance?” he asked, his voice as calm as a placid lake, though she could sense the undercurrent of displeasure.

“She works at an establishment calledthe Gilded Lion,” Beatrice said, aware that a faint blush colored her cheeks despite her best efforts. “I believe it is a gaming hell.”

As she spoke, she watched him piece the puzzle together, the cold clarity in his eyes confirming what she already suspected: he was calculating, arranging each fact with merciless precision, and the outcome of his deductions was not likely to be pleasant.

“And you possessed this information throughout our acquaintance? Throughout our marriage negotiations?” His voice was even, but there was an edge to it that made her pulse quicken.

Beatrice steeled herself.

Philip swore me to secrecy,she reminded herself.

“I did not know if I could trust you with Philip’s secret,” she replied. “He swore me to secrecy regarding their attachment.”

Chapter Nine

“Isee,” Leo replied coolly. “And now you choose to share his secret. What has changed, I wonder?”

His wife’s admission stung more than he cared to admit. The realization that she had withheld such significant information while he had been laboring to protect her reputation and his family’s honor ignited a spark of genuine anger that he carefully contained behind a mask of indifference.

“Westbury’s interest,” she answered simply. “It suggests the stakes are higher than mere social impropriety.”

Leo rose from his chair and moved toward the fireplace, positioning himself so that the flames illuminated his features from below. The deliberate movement allowed him a moment to gather his thoughts, to leash the unexpected surge of…