Page 67 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

Beatrice looked up from her novel. Her breath caught at the sight of Leo in the doorway.

Sunlight streamed through the windows behind him, turning his ash-brown hair to burnished gold. He leaned against the doorframe with an ease she had never seen in him before—no tension, no guarded posture. Just a man comfortable in his own home.

Her husband.

The thought still sent a flutter through her chest.

“I’m attempting it.” She marked the page with a ribbon, reluctant to abandon the Gothic novel she had found tucked behind a collection of sermons. “Your collection is remarkable.”

Leo crossed to the chair opposite hers, moving with that fluid grace she had come to recognize. The chair creaked as he settled into it, stretching his long legs before him.

“My grandfather was the true bibliophile. I merely inherited the spoils of his obsession.”

“Then you inherited a treasure.” She set the book aside, giving him her full attention. His eyes tracked the movement, lingering on her hands. “Three Shakespeare first editions this morning alone. And a signed copy of Milton I’m almost afraid to touch.”

It had been two weeks since they had returned with Philip, who had been hidden in one of Adrian’s residences. Still away from Anna, but Leo had thought it was best for their safety that they were kept separate.

The Bow Street Runner’s investigation into Lord Westbury was progressing, but the immediate danger had receded enough that they could now retreat to their estate in lazy days and rather… sleepless nights.

Two weeks had been spent discovering her husband in ways she had never imagined when she had stood in that chapel and accepted his unexpected proposal.

His deep, genuine laughter was now one of her favorite sounds. The way he sought her out throughout the day, finding excuses to be in whatever room she occupied. How his fingers stayed warm now when they touched hers, no longer the marble coldness that had characterized their early encounters.

The ice baths had stopped. She knew without inquiring, and she didn’t want to ask. She decided that she would wait for him to tell her himself. She wanted him to want to.

“I have another treasure to show you.” He slid his hand across the small table between them. “If you can bear to abandon Shakespeare for an hour or two.”

His palm was so warm when she placed hers in it. The calluses on his fingers, earned from riding and other pursuits she was only beginning to learn about, rasped gently against her softer skin. He helped her to her feet, but didn’t release her hand.

“Now, I’m intrigued.” She let him pull her closer, until barely a foot separated them. “Are you seducing me into hunting game?” she asked, mischievous amusement lacing her tone. “Or perhaps you wish to teach me the secret to closing many business deals?”

He chuckled. “Nothing so exciting, I promise.”

His thumb traced lazy circles on her wrist, right where her pulse jumped beneath the skin.

Could he feel it? The way her heart raced whenever he touched her?

From the way his eyes twinkled, she knew he could.

“Though I can’t promise you won’t be scandalized.”

They walked through the corridors, and Beatrice ran her fingers along the ancient paneling, feeling the grain of wood that had stood for over two centuries.

“I love this house. It has such… character.”

“My father hated this wing.” Leo’s voice went flat as he supplied this piece of information. “Said it was a reminder of when the family was merely gentry. He wanted to tear it down, build something more suitable to ducal dignity.”

“I’m glad he didn’t.”

“My great-aunt wouldn’t let him.” A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “She lived here, you see. Claimed squatter’s rights to the whole east wing.”

They stopped before a heavy oak door, its surface dark with age. Iron hinges, probably original to the house, held it in place. Leo withdrew a key from his waistcoat, but his hand hesitated on the lock.

“This room hasn’t been opened since my father died.” His throat worked. “Five years of dust and silence.”

Something in his voice made her chest tighten. She placed her free hand over his on the key, steadying him. “We don’t have to?—”

“I want to.”