Page 88 of Stolen By the Rakish Duke

“It appears so,” she agreed. “Though I must say, the ton misses your scandalous exploits, Your Grace. You’ve deprived us of our favorite source of entertainment.”

“I’m certain someone else will fill the void,” Leo replied dryly. “The ton never lacks for scandal.”

“True enough.” Lady Jersey turned her attention to Beatrice. “And how are you finding ducal life, my dear? Is it everything you anticipated?”

“Better,” Beatrice answered honestly. “Still, I admit that I had few expectations when we wed.”

“The best marriages often begin that way,” the Countess observed, unexpectedly supportive. “My own husband was practically a stranger when we married. Now, I can’t imagine life without the old curmudgeon.”

The conversation shifted to more general matters, and Beatrice found herself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of polite chitchat. Leo remained at her side, his hand warm on the small of her back, his occasional glances checking her comfort in a way that made her heart swell.

“The Duchess of Stagmore!” Lady Pennington’s voice cut through the ambient chatter. The elderly dowager beckoned imperiously from her seat near the fireplace. “Come, my dear. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Not intentionally, Lady Pennington,” Beatrice assured her, approaching with Leo at her side. “The Season has been rather quiet for us.”

“Newlyweds,” Lady Pennington said with a knowing smirk. “One hardly expects to see you before the honeymoon glow has faded.” Her shrewd gaze shifted to Leo. “Though in your case, Your Grace, the glow seems to have intensified rather than diminished.”

Leo inclined his head, neither confirming nor denying the observation. “You’re looking well, Lady Pennington. The new color in your drawing room must agree with you.”

“Changing the subject won’t save you,” she replied, tapping his arm with her fan. “I want details. How does London’s most notorious bachelor become the most devoted husband overnight? The ton is positively aflutter with theories.”

“Perhaps the right woman simply appeared at the right moment,” Leo suggested, his hand finding Beatrice’s.

Lady Pennington snorted inelegantly. “Pretty words, but I’ve known you since you were in short-coats, Stagmore. Your transformation requires more explanation than romantic platitudes.”

“And yet it’s the only explanation you’ll receive,” Leo countered smoothly. “Some things are best kept between a husband and wife, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lady Pennington studied them both, her expression shifting from skepticism to something softer. “Well, I must say, the betting books at White’s have never seen such activity. Half the ton made wagers on how quickly you’d return to your rakish ways.”

“And the other half?” Beatrice couldn’t resist asking.

“On when you’d present them with an heir, my dear.” Lady Pennington laughed at Beatrice’s blush. “Society is nothing if not predictable in its curiosities.”

A footman approached with a tray of champagne. Beatrice accepted a glass gratefully, eager for a distraction from Lady Pennington’s increasingly personal inquiries.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking a sip.

The champagne was excellent—crisp and light, with just the right amount of sweetness. She took another sip, letting the bubbles dance on her tongue.

“I hear Lord Westbury has caused quite the scandal,” Lady Pennington continued, turning her attention back to Leo. “Something about sudden financial difficulties? Most unexpected for a man of his means.”

Leo’s posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. “Indeed? I hadn’t heard.”

“Oh yes. Creditors calling, properties being sold. Very mysterious, especially given his previous success.” Lady Pennington leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Some say he’s fled the country altogether, though no one seems to know why. You were acquainted, were you not?”

“Only slightly,” Leo replied, his tone carefully neutral. “London Society makes for many casual acquaintances.”

Beatrice caught sight of Isabella making her way toward them, having apparently concluded her verbal sparring match with Lord Westham. Her twin looked flushed with victory, her eyes bright with the thrill of intellectual combat.

“Bea!” Isabella called, ignoring protocol to embrace her sister warmly. “You finally emerged from your love nest. I was beginning to think Leo had imprisoned you.”

Oh, damnation.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Isabella,” Beatrice warned, though she couldn’t suppress a smile at her sister’s frankness.

“Lady Isabella,” Leo greeted, amusement evident in his tone. “Still terrorizing eligible bachelors, I see.”