Page 51 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Beatrice rose without thinking, drawn forward by an impulse she didn’t question. She moved slowly, cautiously, having no idea how to approach a naked man. At the bath, she knelt, bringing herself level with him, suddenly aware of how much he had shown her in these few minutes. Certainly, more than in their time together.

“The water must be terribly cold,” she murmured, her hand hovering above the surface, hesitant to touch yet unable to look away.

“That is rather the point,” he replied, though the sardonic edge had left his voice, replaced by something more complex.

Uncertainty.

Uncertainty at this emotional proximity.

Without conscious thought, Beatrice allowed her fingertips to brush the water’s surface. The shock of cold against her skin wasimmediate and intense, forcing an involuntary gasp from her lips.

“How can you bear it?” she asked.

“Practice,” he answered, watching her with careful attention. “The body can be trained to accept nearly any condition, given sufficient motivation.”

“And the mind?” she inquired, raising her gaze to meet his directly. “Can it similarly be trained to accept conditions contrary to its nature?”

The question lingered, heavy with unspoken meaning.

In the small room, far from the rules and expectations that usually shaped their interactions, something new had arisen. It wasn’t physical intimacy, despite his nakedness, but rather a glimpse of the man beneath the careful control.

“The mind is more… complicated,” Leo admitted, the words emerging reluctantly. “Less obedient to discipline, despite one’s best efforts.”

Beatrice considered his words, aware of how rare it was for him to speak so openly.

“Perhaps not everything can be disciplined as we do the body,” she said softly, yet with quiet certainty. “Some parts of us resist control, no matter how hard we try.”

Leo studied her, as if searching for some hidden meaning in her words. The lamplight flickered across his face, leaving half in shadow, half revealed, and enough to intrigue her. Enough to remind her that there was still much she didn’t know.

“You speak with surprising confidence about things you haven’t lived yourself,” he said, his tone more curious than critical. “Did your sheltered upbringing include lessons on the ways of the world?”

She blinked for a moment, recalling how reluctant her father had been to open up to her, Isabella, and even their stepmother. Beatrice herself had seen how much effort Christine had put into knocking down her father’s walls, to soften him, to show him that he could love them freely, openly, and without any fear.

“Observation doesn’t need experience or formal lessons,” Beatrice said, shifting slightly closer to the bath, ignoring the impropriety of it. “A quiet temperament lets you see what others overlook in their eagerness to be noticed.”

A faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. “The benefit of being overlooked,” he murmured. “Society’s blind spots can teach you more than most realize.”

Beatrice chewed on the inside of her cheek, recalling how she despised being overlooked by her father and their servants in contrast to her boisterous twin sister. However, all of that had melted away with her stepmother’s arrival. And yet that tiny little feeling had bled into her adult life when she had begun seeking a match.

“Indeed,” she said at last. “Though I admit, I never expected to put such observations to use on a husband gained through… rather unconventional means.”

“And I never expected to reveal the… less savory parts of my upbringing to a wife acquired under similar circumstances,” he said, the faint self-deprecation softening what might have been a retreat into his usual reserve.

Outside, the storm battered the inn, rain pelting the windowpanes. The noise cocooned their conversation, suspending the world beyond and letting this unexpected intimacy take shape.

“Why continue doing this?” Beatrice asked, curiosity outweighing judgment. “If it began under such… difficult circumstances, why maintain the practice once the compulsion is gone?”

Leo’s gaze drifted away, contemplative. Water traced lines down his chest, the rare vulnerability made visible.

“Extreme cold brings a clarity that nothing else does,” he explained. “All extraneous thoughts vanish. I am simply present—no past regrets, no future worries, only the body and that singular sensation.”

Beatrice felt an unexpected warmth at the trust in his words. “A form of meditation, then,” she said softly. “Though far more severe than most would choose.”

He laughed, the genuine sound transforming his austere features into something approachable. “An accurate description, though I doubt any Orient monk would recognize their practices in mine.”

The laugh settled over her like sunlight through a storm cloud. She realized, with surprise, that she enjoyed his company and relished the sharp intelligence behind his observations as well as the dry humor glimpsed in the cramped room.

“Has the water grown colder or warmer?” she asked, noting the slight tension in his jaw that suggested physical discomfort.