Page 55 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

And in the storm-lashed inn, she curled against him, letting her heat chase away the chill that had long defined him.

And perhaps he could warm the chill that had been inside her, too.

“Leo, wake up. The storm has passed.”

Leo stirred, blinking against the morning light, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar weight resting against his chest.

Heat pressed against him. Beatrice, curled into his side, her dark curls brushing the pillow, her breath soft and steady against his skin.

For the first time in years, perhaps since childhood, he had slept without the usual vigilance, without the constant watchfulness that had become second nature.

Morning light filtered through the modest curtains, turning the small room into something almost unreal, gilding it in gold. The storm had passed, leaving only the soft patter of water from the eaves.

He remained still for a long moment, absorbing the quiet, the closeness, the rare sense of peace that her presence gave him.

“Mmm,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep as he traced a finger along the delicate curve of her cheek. “Good morning, Beatrice.”

Beatrice’s eyes fluttered open, revealing the clear blue that had become unexpectedly familiar to him. A shy smile played at the corners of her mouth.

His name on her lips stirred something he had long thought buried, a tenderness that his father’s harsh lessons had tried to eradicate.

He had known desire before, yes, but it had always been about conquest and gratification, fleeting and hollow. Never before had he woken up with a sense of contentment so complete, a quiet satisfaction that had nothing to do with possession.

Last night had been different. Every touch, every kiss, had been about her, nothing else, and the memory of it lingered pleasantly, untainted by old habits or obligations.

And now, lying with her warm against him, he realized that she was the first woman he was truly glad to wake beside. Not as a trophy, not as an arrangement, but as the only presence he wanted to greet in the morning.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Better than I have in weeks,” she admitted, her fingers absently tracing patterns across his chest.

The innocent caress sent a current of awareness through his body. God, she could make him hard for her with a single touch.

“Though I fear we’ve lost precious time.”

He frowned slightly, but then quickly softened his features. “Yes,” he agreed, pulling back slightly. “We should leave as soon as possible. The road to Surrey should be clear by now.”

Beatrice nodded, gathering the bed sheet around herself as she sat up. The modesty of the gesture struck Leo as oddly endearing after what had happened the night before.

“I’ll order breakfast while you dress,” he offered, reaching for his discarded clothing. “The sooner we depart, the sooner we may locate Philip and resolve this situation.”

A shadow passed over her features at his words—so briefly that he might have imagined it, had he not been watching her with such careful attention.

“Yes, of course,” she agreed, her tone carefully neutral. “After all, it’s the only reason we’re married, no?”

The phrase struck Leo with unexpected force.

“Beatrice,” he began, uncertain of what he wished to say, yet feeling the need to address the unspoken tension that had arisen. “Last night?—”

“We can discuss it back home,” she interrupted, her composure reasserting itself with remarkable efficiency. “After we’ve resolved this situation, as you said.”

Leo’s chest tightened, but he nodded once. “As you wish,” he replied. “I shall see to the arrangements for our departure.”

By midday, they reached the outskirts of a modest village nestled among Surrey’s rolling hills.

The local inn, a shabby structure bearing the faded sign ofThe Golden Hind, drew Leo’s attention, and he noted the cautious appraisal in the innkeeper’s gaze, the kind reserved for strangers in small communities.

“A room for the night, sir?” the man asked, glancing between Leo and Beatrice.