Page 44 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke
For a moment, the room was filled only with the gentle crackle of the fire and the quiet intimacy of friendship.
Beatrice allowed herself to linger in it, savoring the warmth, the understanding, and the faint thrill of possibilities yet to unfold.
Chapter Fourteen
“I’ve engaged the services of the Bow Street Runners,” Leo announced, pacing the confines of his study at Stagmore Manor, where he’d returned to only yesterday with Beatrice.
The afternoon light filtered through tall windows, catching the dust motes disturbed by his movement and transforming them into miniature constellations that mapped the trajectory of his agitation.
“Discreetly, of course. If Westbury’s involvement extends as deeply into criminal enterprise as we suspect, politics may prove insufficient.”
Adrian lounged in a leather armchair as he tracked his friend’s movements.
“A prudent measure,” he observed, adjusting his perfectly arranged cravat. “Though can the extensive resources of theRunners penetrate whatever protection Westbury has secured through his illicit ventures? Men of his ilk typically maintain a battalion of officials in their pockets, from parish constables to magistrates.”
“Their silence is well bought,” Leo said, pausing by the fireplace, his hand resting on the mantel. “The investigator reports to me alone. He values coin over rank, which makes him reliable enough.”
“Most thorough,” Adrian observed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, the crystal catching the light in fractured patterns that danced across his elegant fingers. “One might almost suspect apersonalinterest beyond mere family obligation. Such attention to detail seems unusual for a man who has always kept himself well clear of family affairs.”
Leo halted abruptly, his gaze narrowing as he registered the subtle probing beneath his friend’s observation. “What exactly are you implying, Adrian?”
Adrian shrugged, a graceful dismissal that carried its own sharp meaning. “Merely that your dedication to this investigation seems… particularly fervent. I’ve known you for many years, Leo, and I’ve rarely seen you so thoroughly engaged in any enterprise not directly related to your interests.”
“Philip is family,” Leo countered, resuming his restless pacing of the study, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “And family matters demand appropriate attention. You of all people should understand familial obligations.”
“Of course,” Adrian agreed smoothly, the glass pausing halfway to his lips as he fixed him with a gaze too perceptive by half. “Though I wonder if your new Duchess might also factor into this unexpected display. She showed remarkable composure yesterday, did she not? Intelligence, courage, compassion for Miss Finley, despite the circumstances… Qualities one rarely finds in the decorative ornaments of the ton.”
Leo’s jaw tensed, and Adrian’s eyes quickly caught the subtle shift. “The Duchess performed admirably, yes. She has proven herself… capable.”
“Capable,” Adrian echoed, amusement evident in his tone as he sipped on his brandy. “Such lavish praise. I’m certain she would be overcome by such effusive acknowledgment of her contributions. Perhaps she’d swoon into your arms from the sheer force of your approval.”
“What would you have me say?” Leo huffed, irritation flaring in his chest like summer lightning across a darkened landscape. “That I found her presence unexpectedly valuable? That her insights proved more pertinent than anticipated? None of that changes the reality of our marriage.”
“And what reality is that, precisely?” Adrian asked, leaning forward with sudden intensity, all pretense of nonchalance abandoned. “The convenient fiction you’ve constructed to maintain emotional distance, or the increasingly evident truth that you find yourself drawn to your wife?”
The question hung between them, heavy with implications that Leo had thus far refused to acknowledge.
“You overstep,” he said finally, his voice tight.
“Someone must,” Adrian replied, placing his glass on a nearby table with deliberate care, the crystal meeting mahogany with a soft click that punctuated his words. “You’ve spent years constructing barriers, Leo. Cultivating the persona of the detached rake, the lord above common sentiment. Yet I’ve noticed how you stare at her when you think no one is looking. And do not tell me it is mere physical attraction, for I know when you’re lying, old friend.”
“This conversation serves no useful purpose,” Leo declared, turning away to conceal his discomfort at his friend’s observation.
He moved toward the window, where the ordered geometry of the garden provided visual respite from the uncomfortable truths Adrian uttered.
“On the contrary,” Adrian countered, rising from his seat. His reflection appeared beside Leo’s in the glass pane. “It may serve the most useful purpose of all: preventing you from sabotaging a genuine connection with a woman who’s worth it. The question becomes not whether you are developing feelings for your Duchess, but what you intend to do with them.”
Leo said nothing. He stood perfectly still, his hands clenched at his sides, his body taut with restraint.
The garden beyond the window blurred before his eyes, replaced by unbidden images of Beatrice: her quiet dignity, her unexpected resourcefulness during their search for Anna, the vulnerability in her expression when he had vowed to protect her from Westbury’s machinations.
Each memory carried a weight he had not anticipated, a significance that transcended the convenience he had believed their marriage to be.
Adrian sighed. “Very well,” he conceded, moving toward the door. “I shall leave you to your stoic contemplation. Though I would suggest, as your oldest friend, that there are worse fates than discovering one has married a woman of substance rather than merely acquired a convenient accessory.”
He left, and Leo was left to reckon with the truths his friend had quietly laid bare.
The study door clicked shut behind him, and the weight of the conversation settled firmly in the room.