Page 13 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Thirteen

“W hat is that infernal racket?” Edwin glared at the footman standing outside the drawing room.

He kept glaring at the servant as he waited for the reply. He had been walking down the hallway on his way to his study to work for the day, before abruptly stopping at the drawing room’s closed door, hearing a ruckus within.

“It sounds like a herd of small elephants,” continued Edwin irritably, rubbing his neck. “Well, man, spit it out!”

“Her Grace is holding a tea party for the village church ladies,” blurted the footman, visibly gulping. “The tea party has just started, Your Grace.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Edwin, rolling his eyes with displeasure. He had never been fond of prim strangers invading his hallowed space.

Mrs. Bell had mentioned it to him a day or so ago, but he’d forgotten about it entirely.

He was just about to keep walking—to stay as far away as possible from the commotion within—when the sound of the first notes of one of his favorite concertos by Mendelssohn drifted through the closed door.

Someone was playing the pianoforte—and they were doing it well.

He stiffened. By God, it sounded like Isabella’s playing!

He turned, putting his hand on the doorknob, when he stopped himself. He wanted to witness what was happening in that room from an invisible vantage point. If he marched into the room everything would stop—all the village ladies would rise and curtsey and make a fuss around him, and whoever was playing the pianoforte would cease, as well. He would upset the applecart entirely.

It can’t possibly be Isabella. She is supposed to be in the nursery doing her lessons now.

Abruptly, he turned, entering the small adjacent room, which was vacant, walking towards the adjoining door. He took a deep breath, opening it quietly and slowly, and gazed through the crack.

His heart did a sudden flip.

There were about fifteen ladies seated in the drawing room, sipping tea, their eyes riveted upon the pianoforte.

Edwin’s eyes flickered around the room momentarily, taking in the elaborate, colorful bouquets of roses and hyacinths, artfully arranged, and the several plates of various small cakes, petit fours, and eclairs lying on the table, as well as rounds of cucumber sandwiches.

It was a spread fit for a small army. His stomach growled ominously just looking at it.

The duchess has outdone herself.

But it wasn’t the food or the decorations that had made his heart flip so abruptly. It was seeing Isabella seated at the pianoforte, dressed in a pretty pink gown with matching ribbons in her dark hair, her hands on the keys.

Christine, looking radiant in a cream morning gown overlaid with lace, was standing beside her, turning the music sheets, a look of pride on her face as she watched his daughter play.

What on earth is going on here?

Then he noticed Beatrice, who was seated near her sister, beaming at her, while she absently stroked a golden puppy who was sitting in her lap. His youngest daughter wasn’t wearing pink like her sister—instead, Beatrice was dressed in a frilly blue-colored gown with matching ribbons.

He stiffened, his heart thumping hard.

That is unusual. The girls are always dressed in matching outfits.

The song ended. Everyone clapped warmly. Beatrice jumped to her feet, dislodging the puppy, rushing to her sister.

“Well done, Bella!” she cried, her cheeks pink, clapping wildly. “Brava!”

Isabella turned pink as well. “Thank you.” She grinned at her sister. “And you did well with the flowers, Bea!”

“Yes, she did,” agreed Christine, smiling widely, her blue green eyes glowing warmly. “You did a superlative job with the flowers, Beatrice. I really could not have done it without you. You are going to become a very accomplished young lady indeed. You both are.”

Beatrice blushed fiercely. “Do you really think so?”

“I do,” said Christine, reaching out to stroke one of the little girl’s dark ringlets. She paused. “I think you both deserve a break. I saved a special plate of Cook’s divine eclairs for you and your sister. It is my way of saying thank you for all your help with this tea party.”

Edwin watched in increasing astonishment as his daughters gazed up at Christine adoringly, before rushing away to where the food was, to stuff themselves with custard eclairs.

Christine took a deep breath, walking toward the ladies, smiling and chatting, looking every inch the polished hostess.

A very beautiful one.

His heart thudded painfully. She was beautiful, possessed of a unique loveliness, which was making it impossible for him to think clearly. It seemed the more he tried to stay away from her, to avoid her entirely, the stronger the vision of her impacted him when he saw her again. He felt as stunned as if he had been whacked over the head with a cricket bat.

Abruptly, he closed the door, his heart thudding harder, trying to push aside the vision of her in that cream lace dress, which looked like it had melted onto her.

Instead, he focused on what he had just witnessed in that drawing room—his daughters flouncing around without seemingly a care in the world, when they were supposed to be doing their lessons. And they were supposed to be confined entirely to the nursery as punishment for the mean trick they had played on their governess, as well.

His face darkened. He wasn’t going to confront the duchess about it now—not in front of her guests. He wouldn’t humiliate her in such a way.

He’d deal with her later. How dare she flout his orders in such a brazen way?

The girls looked so happy and proud of themselves. And they actually looked agreeable towards their stepmother for a change.

He pushed the intrusive thought aside, focusing on his anger. Christine had to realize that his word was law, especially in regard to the girls.

She wasn’t going to get away with this.

* * *

Christine jumped as the parlor door burst open, causing her to prick her hand with the embroidery needle.

She tossed the patch aside, turning to the intruder, frowning in displeasure. She felt a bit tired and drained after the tea party, and just wanted to have a few moments of solitary rest before changing for dinner.

She gasped, hastily standing up.

The duke strode into the room. And he didn’t look pleased at all.

“Why were my daughters in attendance at your tea party today?” he demanded, without preamble, stopping only inches from her. “Did you truly think I would not discover they were there?”

Christine flushed. “Frankly, I was hoping you’d discover that for yourself,” she said tartly, her heart hammering hard. “I have barely seen you over the last few days. There was no opportunity to inform you that I enlisted their help for the tea party. That is all.”

He gritted his teeth. “I believe I made it very clear that they should be confined to the nursery until I see fit to lift the injunction. And today, you saw fit to have them swan around the drawing room as if they did not have a care in the world!”

“I did it for a good reason,” she replied. “They both helped with the party. Beatrice did the flower arrangements, and Isabella entertained the guests. It was supposed to show them they are capable and valuable—and that they do not need to resort to tricks to get attention!”

His eyes narrowed.

“And it worked,” she continued. “They both rose to the occasion beautifully. The ladies in attendance congratulated me on how helpful and courteous they both were, and how accomplished they are both becoming.”

“That is not the point,” he hissed, taking a step closer to her. “You deliberately flouted my instructions! They are being punished for a reason?—”

“They know they did wrong,” she interjected hotly. “They are very sorry for what they did to the governess. I have not disobeyed your instructions in any other way—they are applying themselves very well to their lessons, and there has not been any further signs of misbehavior. Ask Miss Mayhew yourself. She will tell you.”

A hush fell, tight and expectant. Christine’s chest was rising and falling dramatically. She noticed that he was breathless, as well. His eyes flickered over her face.

“I have noticed that they have settled in the nursery,” he growled. A pause. “And… I will concede, they behaved well at the tea party.” He frowned. “They helped you with the arrangements willingly?”

Christine nodded slowly. “They did.”

His frown deepened. “Why were they dressed differently today?”

Christine stifled her surprise at the question. “They wanted to wear different gowns,” she stated. “They are different people, Your Grace. Has anyone ever asked them if they like wearing identical attire all the time?”

“I suppose not,” he replied stiffly, scratching his chin. “It is simply convention. Twins are dressed in the same outfits.”

“Why?” she challenged, with a derisive laugh. “Can things not be done in a different way? The girls want to be their own unique selves and to be valued for them. Perhaps a part of that is dressing the way they want.”

He blinked twice in an almost comical way. Even though she was still shaking with anger and hurt—as well as desire, which she had learnt was an instinctive, automatic response to being so close to him now—Christine had to stifle a laugh.

“I will admit that, perhaps, helping you today was good for them,” he said grudgingly, looking as if the words were being dragged from his mouth. His eyes flashed. “But you must check with me first before doing such a thing again.”

She nodded, swallowing hard. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Of course. I will do so in the future.” She hesitated. “There is another matter. The girls are eager to know if Sooty and her kittens will return to the nursery any time soon.”

“Not if I can help it,” he growled, his frown deepening. “They must learn their lesson first.” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “However, I am not an absolute brute. The pets will be returned at some stage. But it will be my decision entirely as to when that will happen. Do you understand?”

“Quite,” she murmured, taking a step back. As always, his domination was both infuriating and arousing. A strange combination that she couldn’t hope to fathom. “As you wish.”

“Exactly,” he snarled, his dark eyes flashing dangerously again. “It is always exactly as I wish it. You will learn that lesson eventually.”

A sudden, taut silence.

He stepped closer, his gaze narrowing, suspicion flickering behind his eyes.

“You’ve become… quiet all of a sudden,” he remarked, his voice low, the challenge clear. “What’s this obedience all about, little mouse?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, “Isn’t that what you want?” she asked, tilting her head. “For me to be obedient?”

He took a step forward, closing the distance, his breath warm against her ear. His hand came to rest on the wall beside her—she hadn’t even realized he had backed her up into it—effectively trapping her.

“You think you can play that game with me?” he murmured, his lips brushing her skin. “You’re being far too compliant. And that only makes me suspicious.”

She swallowed, her chest rising and falling with a sudden, heightened awareness of him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said softly, her voice tinged with something close to challenge. “Isn’t this exactly what you want? A wife who knows her place?”

His jaw tightened, and he leaned in closer, his mouth a mere breath from hers.

“I want many things from you, wife,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “Many… unspeakable, unholy things. Things that will make you forget your very name.”

She froze, her breath catching in her throat as his words wrapped around her like a physical touch. Her heart pounded in her chest, and the heat in her veins spread quickly, igniting every nerve.

“I—” She tried to speak, but her voice faltered, betraying her.

The way his gaze held her captive, dark and intense, made it impossible to think straight. She should’ve protested, should’ve said something to regain control, but the truth was… she didn’t want to.

“Yes, little mouse?” he murmured, leaning in so close that she could feel the heat of his breath against her skin.

And then?—

“Papa!” Isabella suddenly burst into the parlor, her voice high-pitched and insistent. “Beatrice won’t let me borrow her book!”

The girl’s small feet tapped furiously against the floor as she marched toward her father, the book she had grabbed from Beatrice’s room clutched tightly in her hands. Her face was pinched with frustration.

“Isabella,” he said, his voice low but sharp, “What have I told you about interrupting without an apology? A lady should never barge into a room with such an outburst.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to respond.

Isabella opened her mouth to argue, her chest heaving with frustration, but Edwin raised his hand, silencing her. “No, no more complaints unless you can offer an apology first.”

Isabella’s face twisted with a mix of confusion and irritation, but she managed to mumble a reluctant, “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

Edwin gave a small nod, his gaze softening just slightly. “There. Now, what is it?”

Isabella, still clutching the book, stomped her foot. “Beatrice won’t let me have the book, Papa! And she’s taking forever with it!”

Edwin sighed again, shaking his head. “Isabella, you cannot demand something from your sister just because you wish it. If she has not finished with it, then you must wait your turn. Now, go and play or find something else to do.”

“But it’s not fair!” Isabella protested.

Christine gently placed a hand on Isabella’s shoulder, speaking in a calm, soothing voice. “Isabella, dear, I understand you want to read the book now. But Beatrice has worked hard to finish it, and she deserves to enjoy it for as long as she wishes.”

Isabella looked up at Christine, her lower lip trembling slightly as she considered her words.

Christine knelt down beside her, her tone warm but gentle. “You’re growing into a young lady now, and patience is something we all must learn. If you wait, I’m sure your sister will let you borrow it when she’s done.”

Isabella hesitated, glancing from her father to Christine, clearly torn between her frustration and the logic of Christine’s words. Finally, she let out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Fine,” she muttered, though she still looked displeased.

“That’s my good girl,” Christine said with a soft smile, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Now, would you return the book to your sister, please?”

Isabella nodded, if a little defeated, “All right,” she said, and left the room, leaving Christine and Edwin alone again.

Christine turned to Edwin, the crease in his brows softening a bit.

He nodded at her, though he looked like he was still contemplating the way she’d handled Isabella’s outburst.

“I must go now,” he said, stepping back. His eyes flickered toward Christine again. “I am dining out this evening. We will continue our discussion another time.”

And, without another word, he marched out of the room, without a backward glance.

Christine’s back slumped against the closest wall. Her knees had turned weak, and she couldn’t climb the stairs to her chambers yet. Desperately, she waited for her heart to resume its normal rhythm.

The duke was full of contradictions. Most arousing contradictions.

She already knew that .