Page 61 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Leo shot him a warning look, which Adrian cheerfully ignored.

“Philip needs to stay here briefly,” he explained. “Just until arrangements can be made to reunite him with Miss Finley.”

Adrian’s expression softened into something more genuine. “Of course. My home is yours, Philip. We’ll have you looking presentable again in no time. We can’t have you reuniting with your beloved looking like you’ve been dragged backward through a hedgerow, can we?”

Philip’s shoulders relaxed visibly at this warm welcome, and Leo felt a surge of gratitude for his friend’s unfailing loyalty.

“Thank you,” Philip said quietly. “For everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Adrian replied with a wink. “Wait until you’ve tasted my chef’s cooking. A positively revolutionary approach to French cuisine. You may reconsider your gratitude.”

After ensuring Philip was comfortably settled and providing Adrian with detailed instructions regarding security measures, Leo escorted Beatrice back to their waiting carriage, where one of Adrian’s drivers was ready to take them home.

“Are you certain there’s no other safer place to hide him?” she asked as they pulled away from the house.

“Philip is as safe as he can be anywhere in London,” Leo assured her. “Adrian’s frivolous manner disguises a remarkably shrewd mind, and his servants are unquestioningly loyal.”

Beatrice nodded, her gaze drifting to the passing streets. “It feels strange, doesn’t it? To have found him after all this time.”

“Yes,” Leo agreed, studying her profile in the fading afternoon light. “Though I’m not entirely certain what comes next.”

She turned to him, a question in her eyes, and he realized his words could be interpreted as addressing more than just their pursuit of Philip.

Mrs. Winters greeted them at the door, unruffled despite their sudden appearance. “Welcome home, Your Graces. I trust your journey was successful?”

“Quite,” Leo replied, handing his hat and gloves to the waiting footman. “Has there been any word from Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes, Your Grace. A messenger arrived not an hour ago with this.” She produced a sealed note from her pocket, presenting it with practiced efficiency.

Leo broke the seal and scanned the neat, precise handwriting. “The constable reports progress,” he announced, satisfaction evident in his tone. “He’s identified several officials in Westbury’s employ and has begun building a case against them.”

Relief washed over Beatrice’s features. “That’s excellent news.”

“Indeed. Westbury’s defenses are beginning to crumble. Soon he’ll be exposed, and when that happens…” Leo trailed off, though his meaning was clear.

Beatrice nodded in understanding. “Then Philip and Anna will finally be safe.”

“Yes.” Leo folded the note and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “Though there’s still much to be done.”

The day’s exertions suddenly seemed to catch up with him, the tension of their mission settling into his muscles like lead weights.

An uncharacteristic weariness swept through him beyond physical exhaustion. It was something deeper, as though the constant vigilance he maintained had begun to take its toll.

He called to a waiting footman, “Prepare a bath. Hot water, not cold.”

The footman’s eyes widened slightly at this deviation from his master’s usual preference, but he bowed without comment. “At once, Your Grace.”

Leo turned to find Beatrice watching him with an unreadable expression. Something passed between them—a memory, perhaps, of their conversation in the inn room, of revelations shared and boundaries crossed.

Without fully considering his actions, he extended his hand toward her. “Are you coming with me, wife?”

Beatrice’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in surprise. Color rose to her cheeks, that delicious flush he was growing to crave.

For a moment, Leo thought she would refuse him, and with that fear came the realization that he was not going to retreat so nobly should she do so. Not after having a taste of her and feeling her come on his tongue. No, certainly not after that.

But contrary to that fear, his wife stepped forward, placing her hand in his with a certainty that sent a current of awareness through his body, only to pool in his loins.

“Yes,” she said simply, her voice soft but clear in the quiet hallway. “I think I will.”