Page 72 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“Blackwood assures me they will. They caught several of his accomplices already, including the manager ofthe Gilded Lion.” Leo’s voice hardened. “The evidence they’ve gathered is damning.”

“Good,” Beatrice said with surprising fierceness. “After everything he’s done to Philip and Anna, after threatening them, he deserves whatever punishment comes.”

Leo studied her face, struck again by the quiet strength that lay beneath her gentle exterior. “You continue to surprise me, Duchess.”

“Hm?” She smiled, her eyes warm with affection. “I should hope so. Marriage would grow terribly dull, otherwise.”

“I find that with you,” Leo said, rising to stand before her, “dullness is the least of my concerns.”

That caught her attention.

Beatrice looked up, her blue eyes widening slightly.

Their eyes held, and that now-familiar current passed between them—a silent recognition, an understanding beyond words.

Leo found himself increasingly addicted to these moments of connection, these glimpses of something he had never thought to find in a marriage born of duty and circumstance.

“I have something to show you,” he said suddenly, reaching for her hand. “Something beyond these walls.”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, amusement playing at the corners of her lips. “Another of your great-aunt’s hidden sanctuaries?”

“No,” he replied. “Something entirely my own.”

Her fingers were warm in his as she followed him out of the library. That warmth seemed to spread through him, chasing away the chill he had lived with for so long.

“Should I change?” she asked, glancing down at her simple morning dress.

“No need,” Leo assured her. “Where we’re going, formality is unnecessary.”

They passed Edmonds in the corridor, and Leo nodded to him. “We’ll be back before dinner.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” The butler bowed, his expression betraying nothing of his thoughts about the increasingly frequent walks the Duke and Duchess took together.

Outside, the summer sun warmed their faces as Leo led her toward a narrow path that skirted the formal gardens.

Leo nodded to the gardener as they passed by him, the elderly man’s expression betraying only the slightest flicker of surprise at their joined hands.

The servants had adapted remarkably well to the changing dynamic between master and mistress, though Leo suspected they had noticed the shift in his demeanor long before he had acknowledged it himself.

Now, he guided Beatrice not toward the formal pathways but to a narrow trail that skirted the edge of the manicured lawns.

“I didn’t know this path existed,” Beatrice remarked as they stepped into the cool shade of a wooded area.

“Few do,” Leo admitted. “It doesn’t appear on any of the estate maps.”

“How mysterious.” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Are you taking me somewhere scandalous, Your Grace?”

“Would you like me to?” he teased, enjoying the blush that rose to her cheeks.

The path wound through increasingly dense woodland before suddenly opening into a small, secluded clearing. At its center stood a modest structure—not a formal garden folly or classical temple, but a simple cabin built of weathered stone and timber.

“What is this place?” Beatrice asked, curious.

Leo’s nervousness flared as he led her toward the door. “A refuge of sorts. I began building it while my father was still alive. It’s a place where I could think, escape… breathe.”

“You built it?” Surprise colored her tone. “With your own hands?”

“Is that so difficult to believe?” He smiled, unlocking the door with a key he had pulled from his waistcoat pocket. “I wasn’t always the Duke of Stagmore. I was a son with too many expectations, too little freedom, and this was my one corner of the world where none of that mattered.”