Page 83 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“There you are!” Her father’s voice cut through the din. He approached with Christine, Henry and Eleanor trailing behind like ducklings. “We’ve been searching for you.”

“Apologies, Duke.” Leo bowed to him. “We stepped out for air.”

“Did you?” Her father’s expression suggested he knew exactly what kind of ‘air’ they’d been getting. “Well, the children insist on saying goodnight before we leave. They’re to return to our country estate tomorrow.”

Eleanor rushed forward, throwing her arms around Beatrice’s waist. “Must you stay in London? Can’t you come home with us?”

Beatrice knelt to embrace her sister. “I’m afraid we have obligations here, darling. But we’ll visit soon, I promise.”

“When?”

“Very soon.” Beatrice glanced up at Leo, a question in her eyes.

“Within a fortnight,” he confirmed, surprising himself. “If that suits you, Duchess?”

Isabella’s eyebrows rose. “A family visit? How… domestic.”

“Bella,” Beatrice chided, though her lips twitched.

Henry stepped forward with the careful dignity he had been cultivating. “Will you bring the chess set you promised, Your Grace? The one with the carved knights?”

“I will.” Leo found himself genuinely pleased by the boy’s enthusiasm. “And perhaps you’ll give me that rematch you’ve been planning.”

“I’ve been studying the Italian opening,” Henry announced proudly.

“Have you? Excellent. I look forward to seeing it in action.”

Christine intervened smoothly. “That would be lovely. The children will be delighted.” She kissed Beatrice’s cheek. “Take care of yourself, dear.”

Eleanor hugged Beatrice one more time, then—to Leo’s surprise—threw her arms around his waist as well. “You too, Your Grace. Take care of our Bea.”

The simple affection in the gesture hit him unexpectedly hard.

“I will,” he said, resting a hand on her small head. “You have my word.”

After the Ironstones departed, Leo found himself cornered by Lord Haverford and several other gentlemen, all eager to discuss parliamentary matters he had been studiously avoiding. Beatricedrifted toward Lady Jersey’s circle, and Leo felt her absence like a physical ache.

“You’re distracted tonight, Stagmore,” Lord Haverford observed. “Usually, you’re far more engaged in these discussions.”

Leo forced his attention back to him, managing a small smile. “Forgive me. My mind wandered.”

“Toward your Duchess, I noticed.” The older man smiled knowingly. “Can’t say I blame you. A beautiful woman and a good match—rare to find both.”

“Indeed.”

“My own wife had me similarly besotted when we first married.” Lord Haverford’s expression turned nostalgic. “Still does, truth be told, though we’ve been married for thirty years. A good marriage is the foundation of everything else, Stagmore. Remember that.”

The words settled in Leo’s chest. The conversation meandered through crop yields and trade negotiations, but his focus remained fractured. Every few minutes, his gaze would seek Beatrice across the room. Each time, she seemed to sense it, looking up to meet his eyes with a small, private smile that made his pulse quicken.

“For God’s sake, man,” Adrian muttered when he finally pulled Leo from the discussion. “You’re making the rest of us look bad. At least try to pretend you’re not completely besotted.”

“Maybe you should find a woman to be besotted by?”

Adrian blinked. “Wow. I cannot believe you are the same man who once told me sentiment was for fools.”

“In the flesh,” Leo replied, unrepentant.

“What a cad,” Adrian said, but he had a giant smile on his face.