Page 11 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Eleven

“E nter.”

The voice on the other side of the door was crisp and abrupt.

Christine hesitated, then took a deep breath, gathering her courage and opening the duke’s study door.

The letter she was clutching in her left hand was growing slightly crumpled from sweat. She was more nervous than she could admit about approaching him for this purpose.

What was he going to say to her?

You have a right to ask him for help to find your sister, Christine. He is by law your husband, even if the marriage is only one of convenience.

The duke was standing near the fireplace, leaning against the mantelpiece, with a distracted look upon his face.

Her mouth went dry, and her stomach lurched at the mere sight of him. But then, it always did. She had grown used to it—even if it was unbearably distressing.

The duke didn’t want to acknowledge the strong attraction between them. And he still avoided her like the plague most of the time, even though she had been mistress of Ironstone Castle for a month now.

He glanced up at her, his jaw tightening.

“Yes?” His tone was clipped—polite, but carefully impersonal. “What is it?”

Christine took another deep breath. “I apologize for the disturbance,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “But I have just received a letter from my father—and thought I might talk with you about the subject.”

He arched his eyebrows, “And? What is the Earl of Dunhill writing to you about?”

“My father informs me that he has been searching constantly for my sister,” she said, raising her chin, staring at him. “But he has had no success in finding her. It is as if Violet has vanished off the face of the earth, in a puff of smoke.”

The duke looked pained—and tense, as though he had been bracing for exactly this conversation.

“What has this to do with me?” he asked, his voice low and clipped, each word carefully measured. “Your sister is your father’s concern.”

Christine flinched, as if he had struck her. The hurt rose like bile in her throat. The cool detachment in his tone, the sheer unwillingness to even pretend concern for Violet, was a blow she hadn’t anticipated.

She tightened her grip on the letter, nearly crumpling it in her fist.

You sought the duke for a reason. Do not lose sight of it.

“My father has hit a wall with his investigation into my sister’s disappearance,” she continued, forcing control into her voice. “And so, I have come to ask you for help in the matter.”

He gave a short, incredulous laugh — not cruel, but disbelieving. “Me? Why?”

“Because you are the Duke of Ironstone!” Christine glared at him. “You have far more influence and connections than my father. You may be able to use them to discover what happened to Violet…”

“Do you truly wish to find out what happened to her?” The duke looked quizzical, and slightly bemused. “Have you not heard of Aesop’s warning? Be careful what you wish for, lest it come true .”

Christine bristled. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I am telling you that you might not like what you discover,” he said, in a dry voice. “Your sister may be leading a life far beyond what you feel comfortable with.” His eyes roamed over her, in a lazy, insolent way. “Far beyond what you have ever experienced.”

Christine bristled again, her heart thumping hard.

“What are you insinuating?” Her face burned. She was certain her face looked like a beet. “Are you telling me that Violet staged her own disappearance in order to live a life of debauchery, or some other ludicrous thing?”

He shrugged, looking amused. “It is possible, little mouse. Perhaps your sister had a whole other life that you knew nothing about—and perhaps she wanted to live that life to the hilt.”

Christine felt a flash of anger. He was utterly impossible. He had no care for the plight of her sister, and now he was being disdainful toward Violet in the cruelest of ways.

“My sister is a highborn lady,” she retorted hotly. “She did not run away to become a courtesan or a confidence woman, or whatever else you are suggesting!”

He took a step closer to her, staring down at her, with the same look of amusement on his face, but his deep brown eyes were darkening, flashing black.

There was a sudden, taut silence. Christine felt a flutter deep in her belly, delicate at first, then blooming into a slow, molten warmth that stole the breath from her lungs. It was a maddening, aching awareness, the kind that coiled low and left her skin prickling beneath layers of silk and lace.

Why did he affect her so—especially when her blood burned with fury?

It was infuriating, this treacherous longing that stirred in spite of herself, as though her very body had turned traitor.

Suddenly, her temper snapped, like a thin twig.

“I can see that you have no intention of offering your help,” she said, narrowing her eyes, glaring at him. “Even though you could probably achieve in a day what my father can only accomplish within a week.” She drew a deep, ragged breath. “I should not have even wasted your precious time, Your Grace.”

“I think you should focus on adjusting to your new life, rather than clinging to your old one,” he snapped. “You are the Duchess of Ironstone now. You are no longer Lady Christine Andrews. This is beneath you, madam.”

“Oh, I am madam now, instead of little mouse , am I?” She dug her nails into her palms. “You are utterly impossible! You play with me, just as a cat plays with an actual mouse!”

His mouth twisted. “An interesting analogy.”

She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “It is decidedly not beneath me to be concerned about the fate of my older sister,” she continued, trying to ignore the strange fluttering of her heart. “In fact, I would be a callous person indeed if I simply forgot my old life and those I hold dear within it, as you are suggesting!”

They glared at each other. The only sound within the room was the ticking of the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. She felt rather like a tree that had been cut and was about to topple, compelled toward the ground. Except she was compelled to fall toward him.

“You are rather magnificent when you are mad,” he whispered, his eyes flickering over her face. “Indignation becomes you, little mouse.”

She watched, spellbound, as he slowly raised one hand, snaking it around her head, taking her firmly by the hair, pulling her toward him. The outraged side of her wanted to pull away and slap him soundly for such impudence. But the other, stronger part of her, that she did not understand and seemingly could not control, yearned for this.

Her blood leapt wildly. The fluttering of her heart increased to a pounding, the sound of it so strong she was certain he must hear it.

Heavens, he was going to kiss her again. And she wanted him to do it. Desperately.

She was falling toward him, just like a tree, roots loosed from the earth, leaning helplessly toward the sun, hungry for the feel of his lips upon her own again. There was nothing she wanted more?—

A knock sounded on the door.

They sprang apart.

The duke looked disconcerted, smoothing his dark hair with one hand. She saw that it was shaking.

“Enter,” he barked.

A footman walked through the door.

“My apologies for the intrusion, Your Grace,” said the man. “But Mrs. Bell requests your presence in the nursery.”

“Mrs. Bell?” The duke’s voice was husky. “What have the girls done this time?”

The footman looked uncomfortable. “There is a…situation there, involving the young ladies and their governess.” He squirmed. “Mrs. Bell thinks you should intervene.”

Christine’s heart plummeted. The girls were up to their old tricks again. And it had been such a tranquil week.

The duke’s lips thinned.

“Very well.” The duke turned to her, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Come along, Duchess. We both must attend this matter.” He paused. “In fact, you are the one who should be keeping an eye on such things, rather than haranguing me to find your sister.”

Christine bit her lip, keeping the stinging retort at bay. It would only make things worse. And whatever had happened in the nursery needed their attention now.

As they walked out of the study, down the long hallway towards it, she glanced at him. His face was closed and implacable now, as though the moment between them might never have existed.

Again.

* * *

“I told you, I do not know where Miss Mayhew’s spectacles are,” stated Isabella, raising her chin defiantly. “Why do you think I would bother with them, Papa?”

“You should mind your manners, young lady,” growled Edwin, glaring at his eldest daughter. He ran a hand through his hair. “Now, tell me the truth—where are they?”

He turned and glared at Beatrice, who sank back underneath the stare. Miss Mayhew was sitting in a chair, staring myopically around the room, looking utterly confused. Apparently, the governess was as blind as a bat without her spectacles.

Mrs. Bell had told him she had been passing the nursery when she had seen the governess stumbling about, imploring the girls to give them back to her. The housekeeper had tried to get his daughters to tell them where they were, but they had refused, which prompted Mrs. Bell to have Edwin summoned.

He felt a stab of anger. It was another cruel trick—except this time, the target was Miss Mayhew, rather than Christine.

And I thought they were getting better. It has been a few weeks since they pulled any of their silly pranks.

He turned to the governess. “Are you quite certain that you did not misplace them yourself, Miss Mayhew?”

“Quite certain, Your Grace,” stammered the governess, blinking owlishly. Her gaze was unfocused. “I removed them momentarily, laying them on the desk—and when I reached for them, they were gone. They had vanished.”

“We have searched the desk and underneath it, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Bell crisply. “They are not there. Nor are they anywhere in the room, as far as we can tell.”

“I see,” he said, in a tight voice, turning back to his daughters, who were standing side by side, gazing at him solemnly. They both looked like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Where are they?”

They blinked, but didn’t respond.

“I know that one of you or both of you hid those spectacles,” he growled, advancing toward them. “Now, unless you tell me right now where they are and give them back to your governess, you will not leave this room for the rest of the day. I am a patient man—I shall sit here and wait for you to tell me. There will be no luncheon or any other food served until you do.”

There was another taut silence. Another wave of anger swept over him. It was bad enough they kept pulling these foolish pranks, but they were unwilling to take responsibility.

He glanced at Christine, who hadn’t said a word yet. She was white-faced and tight-lipped. A momentary regret swept over him, remembering how close he had been to kissing her again in his study, before they had been interrupted. His loins were still aching at the thought of it.

It was a good thing. Remember your vow to stay away from her—even if it kills you.

He turned back to the twins, his expression hardening, the last thread of his patience fraying.

“I am so disappointed in you two,” he said, his voice low and clipped. “Is this what you want your father to feel about you?”

Beatrice’s bottom lip started to tremble. Even Isabella pouted. Beatrice started crying.

“It was Bella’s idea!” she sobbed. “She told me not to tell where they are!”

“And?” Edwin glared at her. “Where are they?”

“They are with Sooty the cat and her kittens in the corner,” cried Beatrice, wiping her face with the back of her hands. “Bella hid them beneath the mother cat!”

Edwin’s head swiveled around to the basket in the corner, containing one of the castle’s many cats, who had just birthed a litter of multicolored kittens. His daughters had made pets of them.

He strode over to the basket. The mother cat, jet black with large green eyes, hissed at him.

Without further ado, he lifted the cat, spitting and hissing. The kittens, dislodged from their mother’s teats, started crawling in confusion over each other.

And lo and behold, the spectacles were lying there, covered in cat hair, but unbroken. He retrieved them, placing the disgruntled cat back in its basket, turning to his daughters.

There was a tense silence.

“The cat and her kittens are leaving the nursery,” he growled, then addressed Mrs. Bell. “Take them away.”

“No!” The girls started howling.

Christine glared at him. He glared back at her.

What else did she expect him to do?