Page 17 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Seventeen

“O h, it is bigger than I thought it would be!” cried Isabella, almost falling out of the carriage window as she gazed at the fair set up in the local village. “It is almost like being in London!”

Christine laughed. Beatrice joined her sister at the window, staring at the rows of colorful stalls that surrounded the village square. She turned to their father, who was seated across from Christine, his legs crossed, an enigmatic look on his face.

“Thank you so much for taking us to the fair, Papa!” cried Beatrice, her eyes shining with excitement. “I cannot believe it!”

Edwin gave a faint sigh, adjusting his gloves with deliberate care. “It’s only once a year,” he said, his tone measured. “It seemed… appropriate.” A pause, then the faintest tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Why do the villagers celebrate May Day, Papa?” asked Isabella, turning to him, with a serious expression on her face, even though her eyes were glowing with excitement, as well.

“It is to mark the arrival of spring,” he replied. The twins were almost jumping out of their skins with anticipation. “It means the long winter is finally over.”

“There will be dancing around the maypole as well,” said Christine, her cheeks glowing. “That is always fun to watch.”

Edwin gazed at his wife. Their eyes met for a moment, before he hastily slid his away, looking back at his daughters.

He still wasn’t certain if he had done the right thing gathering them all to attend the village May Day fair. But when Mrs. Bell had asked him this morning if the little ladies were going to attend it, he hadn’t been able to think of a single reason to refuse. Their behavior had vastly improved since the incident with the governess’s spectacles. They were diligent at their lessons. And they were treating their stepmother with respect at long last.

Still, he could have simply told the housekeeper that Miss Mayhew, or even Christine, could take them. He didn’t have to do it himself. But something had compelled him.

They are growing up so quickly. There will not be many more opportunities to enjoy their childhood before they become proper young ladies, going to balls and… God forbid, get married.

His eyes slid back to Christine. He didn’t want to think that perhaps it was her entreaty for him to be a living presence in the lives of his children that had persuaded him, as well. He didn’t like to think about her much at all. He would have to be very careful around her today.

The carriage jolted to a stop. They had arrived. The girls squealed, opening the carriage door and spilling out, not even waiting for the footman to assist them, running toward the fair.

Miss Mayhew, who was accompanying them today, had to pick up her skirts to keep up.

“They are beside themselves with excitement,” said Christine, smiling fondly, as they followed them. She turned to him, looking at him intently. “Thank you for doing this for the girls. It is so important.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, feeling a little ashamed.

He had been bending over backwards to avoid her, ever since that night when he had been in danger of losing control completely. The only time they had been alone together was when she challenged him about Rose. He had only just managed to keep control then.

Being around Christine was dangerous. He knew it, deep in his soul, as well as his body, which was already reacting to her proximity in a wild way. The scent of her hair, the glow of her skin, all scraped at his faltering self-control. He could feel the warmth of her presence beside him, each breath she took making his heart pound harder. And yet, he had been unable to resist asking her to attend this fair with them.

He didn’t want to ask himself why.

He hesitated, then raised his arm, offering it to her. Christine stared at it suspiciously, as if he were offering her a loaded pistol. He felt another pang of shame, deep in his soul. “Shall we? The girls are at risk of vanishing entirely if we do not keep up with them.”

She hesitated, then took his arm. They kept walking in silence toward the row of stalls. It was crowded with people, jostling and shouting with joy, clearly enjoying themselves, tossing back mugs of cider and eating pork pies and roasted chestnuts.

He spotted Isabella and Beatrice, who were already heading toward a stall where a Punch and Judy show was playing, the crowd parting before them like the Red sea, with Miss Mayhew trailing in their wake.

Edwin smiled. The villagers knew they were the children of the Duke of Ironstone and so treated them respectfully. He was glad he had included the governess in the outing, though—it had been years since he had attended a village fair, and he had forgotten how crowded and exuberant they were.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the instinctive response of his body to Christine’s hand on his arm, which was intensifying by the second.

Keep it together, Ironstone.

This was a family outing. He had to try not to think about how much he wanted to tear that gown from his wife’s body.

He had to keep control.

* * *

Christine stood back, watching Beatrice as she stood in front of the stall filled with toffee apples, candied fruit, and Turkish delight, as well as many other delectable, sweet treats. It was a cornucopia of sweet delights.

The little girl’s head was tilted to the side as she tried to pick what she wanted.

“Come on, Bea,” cried her sister, who had already picked her treat, a large piece of Turkish delight, tugging at her sleeve. “Let us go and try to win a prize at apple bobbing!”

“In a minute,” replied her sister in an impatient voice, shrugging off Isabella’s hand and turning back to the sweet stall with an intent look upon her face. She took a deep breath. “I believe I shall have a lemon candy, thank you.”

Christine’s smile widened, and she paid for the treat with a shilling coin, passing it to Beatrice. The little girl’s eyes widened with delight as she popped the candy into her mouth.

“Let us proceed to the apple bobbing,” the duke said, turning to Christine, in an impatient voice. “Isabella is about to tear my arm out of its socket if we do not get there soon.”

Christine swallowed, nodding, letting him lead them toward the game, trying not to notice how his green jacket strained against his broad shoulders and the rippling muscles of his arms, nor how his dark eyes flashed like cut diamonds when they turned to her.

You must banish these troubling thoughts and desires. He plainly does not want you to feel this way about him. You are only making yourself wretched.

They reached the game. There was a large wooden barrel, filled with water, and large, red apples, which were bobbing on the surface.

“What is the prize?” the duke drawled to the stall holder.

Isabella and Beatrice were jumping up and down with excitement by his side.

“It is your choice from the shelf, Your Grace,” replied the man, pointing to a high shelf within a stall, upon which were placed various small toys and trinkets. The man grinned. “Good luck!”

“I want the duchess to have the first go,” declared Isabella abruptly, looking up at the duke. “Can she, Papa?”

Christine froze with embarrassment. While she had enjoyed this game as a child, she didn’t particularly feel like plunging her face into a barrel of ice-cold water now. Especially not with the duke watching.

“Oh, that is not necessary, Isabella,” she said quickly, feeling her cheeks flaming. “But thank you for trying to include me.”

“I think it is a fine idea, Isabella,” the duke said, his eyes flickering with amusement. He turned to Christine. “Go on. It will be fun. And it will please the girls.”

“Oh, please, Your Grace, do it,” cried Beatrice, tugging at her sleeve, smiling brightly. “Please!”

Christine gulped, staring at the ring of faces, who were watching her expectantly. What could she do?

She smiled weakly, walking toward the barrel, staring at the apples bobbing on the surface of the water.

Just do it. Get it over and done with.

Without further thought, she plunged her face into the water. It was just as icy as she had imagined. She had to force herself to keep it there, searching for an apple, but to no avail, as they kept slipping away the second she found one and tried to bite down on it.

She reared up, taking a deep gulp of air, before plunging her face into the water again. This time, she managed to bite into one, rearing up triumphantly with it in her mouth.

“Oh, you did it!” squealed Isabella, clapping wildly.

“Well done!” cried Beatrice, joining in the clapping.

Christine shook herself. Droplets of water glistened in the air. She felt like a wet dog—she must look a fright. But she was filled with exhilaration as well.

The duke took a step toward her, his dark eyes filled with amusement—and something else, which she didn’t dare name.

“Well done,” he murmured, his voice low as he reached out and plucked the apple from her lips, his fingers brushing her cheek. “I knew you’d be good at this game… with that mouth of yours.”

Christine parted her lips to ask what he meant, but the words faltered on her tongue. She caught the glint in his eyes—dark, knowing—and swallowed hard instead.

The duke took a slow, deliberate bite of the apple, his gaze never leaving hers as he chewed. The crunch echoed between them, sharp and intimate.

“Sweet,” he murmured, his gaze heavy on hers as he took a bite. “A little tart. Bursting with juice.” He swallowed slowly, his voice dropping lower. “Just how I like them.”

The implication hung in the air—thick and unmistakable—as his eyes lingered on her lips.

Christine flushed, warmth rising up her neck. There was something in his gaze—dark, intent—that made her pulse stutter. He couldn’t possibly be talking just about the apple. And yet… she felt as though he’d just peeled back a layer of her, seen something she hadn’t meant to show.

“What prize will you choose?” said Isabella, tugging at her sleeve.

Christine took a deep breath, abruptly turning away from the duke, her heart thumping hard. She heard him still crunching on the apple before he passed her his handkerchief.

“You may want to wipe your face before you choose your prize,” he said, his eyes still alight with amusement. “You are dripping.”

“Oh, yes,” she stammered, taking the handkerchief and mopping her face. Mortified, she handed the handkerchief back to him, trying not to look at him. “Thank you.”

After letting the girls choose the prize—a small stuffed bear with a woebegone smile and crooked eyes—and the girls had their attempt at the game, coming up short every time, they kept walking, threading their way through the stalls.

The afternoon was growing old, shadows lengthening across the square, and a cold wind started to blow.

“Oh!” Beatrice cried, jumping with alarm, at the sound of a firecracker suddenly exploding into the air. “What is it?”

Before Christine could explain, the little girl grabbed her hand, hanging on tightly, leaning into her. Christine’s heart melted—it was the first time Beatrice had reached for her.

Instinctively, Christine turned and gazed at the duke, who was watching them intently. He had a look on his face that she had never seen before—yet before she could understand what it was, it had vanished.

“It is just fireworks, Bea,” she said, in a gentle voice, hesitantly placing an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Look into the sky!”

They all gasped as they turned their faces to the darkening sky. It was lit up, in the shape of a fire breathing dragon—a fearsome and impressive sight. And now, there were more fireworks, exploding like stars, creating trails through the air, raining down on them in droplets of light.

“It is so beautiful!” squeaked Isabella, her face alight with joy.

They were silent, watching the amazing spectacle. Bea’s hand tightened in her own. She felt the duke’s eyes upon her again. Her heart trembled, but she refused to turn her head to look at him, keeping her eyes firmly on the display above.