Page 6 of The Duke Steals a Bride (Stolen by the Duke #5)

Chapter Six

“C atch, Bea!” cried Isabella, holding the red ball high in her hands, gazing at her sister. “Come on!”

Christine adjusted her parasol over her shoulder as she watched the two little girls, who were running around the grounds of the estate.

The sun was shining brightly. It was a beautiful morning at Ironstone Castle. The imposing house cast long shadows across the grass.

She smiled at the children, even though they weren’t taking any notice of her, as always. It was as if she didn’t even exist for them most of the time.

Patience, Christine. Have patience. Not even a week has passed since you arrived here.

With a heavy sigh, Beatrice turned at her sister’s entreaty, holding out her hands to catch the ball with a longsuffering look on her face.

Already Christine had discerned that Beatrice, the younger of the twins by five minutes, was a quieter character than her boisterous sister. Beatrice preferred to amble in a solitary way, picking flowers or studying insects on leaves. Most of the time, she had her head buried in a book, which was her constant companion.

Isabella, in contrast, had the energy of five children, running constantly, jumping over rocks and exploring holes. She had taken off her shoes and stockings, running barefoot, her dark hair streaming in the wind, even though Miss Mayhew, the governess, had scolded her soundly. Isabella had simply laughed in the shocked governess’s face and kept doing exactly as she pleased.

Christine settled beneath a large oak tree as the children started playing catch together.

Miss Mayhew, after a moment of hesitation, joined her there, a pained look on her face. There was an awkward silence. The governess was so prim and proper. Christine found it hard speaking with her.

“How long have you been at Ironstone, Miss Mayhew?” she asked eventually, when the silence became strained.

Miss Mayhew sighed. “Only three months, Your Grace,” she replied, pursing her lips. She paused, absently picking some dandelions. “I must admit, they have been the longest three months of my life. The young ladies are…challenging.” She looked horrified by what she had just said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “I mean, they are spirited and clever children—most exceptional—but often, they do not enjoy their lessons…”

“It is quite all right, Miss Mayhew,” said Christine kindly. “You may speak freely with me about the girls. It is the only way I will get a true picture of them.”

The governess bit her lip. She looked torn, but also a bit relieved. Christine’s smile widened. If she could befriend the governess, make an ally of her, then it might help her settle more at Ironstone. Everyone else in the great house was so busy and rushed and didn’t have time to talk with her at all. She felt like a small fish in a very large pond.

Her mind rested on the unsettling incident between her and the duke the other night, when he had almost kissed her in the hallway. At least, she thought that was what he was about to do. But after days of him ignoring her again, she was beginning to doubt it ever happened, now. And she certainly doubted the intent. Perhaps she had imagined that entirely.

She turned back to the governess, pushing the disturbing thoughts about the duke aside.

“Do you know if the children had many governesses before you, Miss Mayhew?” she asked, really wanting to know.

The governess sighed again. “Yes, Your Grace. Apparently, they never had a governess who lasted longer than six months,” she replied, her eyes troubled. “But then, I suppose it has been hard for the poor lambs, growing up without ever knowing their dear departed mother or having a mother’s love and affection to temper their high spirits.”

“How did the late duchess pass from this world?” Christine tried to keep her voice light, but she was burning with curiosity. “Do you know?”

“She died in childbed,” replied the governess. “Apparently, it was not long after she had delivered the young ladies.” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The housekeeper told me that the duchess was ailing for her entire pregnancy, growing weaker by the day. They were all amazed she had the strength to deliver her babes at all.”

“How sad,” said Christine, gazing back at the girls, who were still playing catch. “What was her illness?”

“No one knows,” said Miss Mayhew, shaking her head. “Apparently, the duchess was glowing with health when she first arrived at Ironstone. As strong as an ox. And when she suddenly started weakening after finding out she was with child, the physicians could not discover what ailed her at all. It was an utter mystery.”

“I suppose the duke must have been mad with grief,” said Christine, in a pensive tone, picturing that terrible day when he lost his wife. “It must have been dreadful to lose her and realize he must raise the twins without her.”

“I suppose so,” sighed Miss Mayhew.

Christine hesitated, her heart pounding hard. “Do you know if it was a love match between them?”

The governess shrugged. “No one has ever told me. It was a long time ago, Your Grace. Seven years ago.”

Christine nodded, feeling her cheeks glowing. She really shouldn’t be fishing for information about the duke and his relationship with his late wife from the governess. It was gossip, pure and simple, and beneath her station.

But how else was she ever to discover these important details about him and his life? It wasn’t as if he was going to tell her himself. They were strangers, and he wanted them to remain strangers.

His cold voice rang suddenly in her mind, as clear as a bell.

This is a marriage of convenience. Nothing more and nothing less.

“Help!” It was Isabella’s high-pitched voice. “Can you get the ball out of the tree for us, Your Grace?”

Christine jumped to her feet, rushing toward the children. They were both standing beneath a tall tree, gazing up at a branch where the ball was firmly lodged. It was quite high.

“I am frightened I will fall if I climb it,” cried Isabella, biting her lip, her big blue eyes shining with tears. “But it is my favorite ball in the world!”

Christine took a deep breath. “I will get the ball for you. Do not worry, Isabella.”

The girl gave her a lopsided smile. Beatrice, who was standing next to her sister, said nothing.

Christine took a deep breath, before hitching the skirt of her gown higher, and grabbing the trunk of the tree, awkwardly finding strong branches to hold her weight. It had been a long time since she had climbed a tree. She had probably not been much older than the twins.

“Oh, do be careful, Your Grace!” cried Miss Mayhew, who had walked to the tree, gazing up at her with boggled eyes. The governess wrung her hands together in an agitated way. “Perhaps you should not risk such an endeavor! I can fetch a gardener or a groom…”

“Never mind,” called Christine, trying to catch her breath.

She had started puffing. The governess was right, of course, but Isabella had asked her specifically to do this, and she didn’t want to let the little girl down. Perhaps it would show Isabella that she was trustworthy.

“I can do it,” she mumbled to herself.

She gritted her teeth, finding another branch, testing it carefully to see if it would hold her.

She tried not to look down. She was getting very high, now. Her head was starting to spin. She was close to the branch where the ball was wedged now.

She reached out, trying to dislodge it. But the ball stubbornly refused to budge. It was as if it had been deliberately wedged there, jammed as tightly as a cork within the top of a bottle.

“I almost have it,” she cried, feeling sweat dripping down the back of her neck. “Almost…”

“What are you doing up there?”

Christine jumped, staring down. Her heart dropped.

It was the duke, standing there gazing up at her, with his hands on his hips. He was dressed in just a white shirt, dark breeches and long black boots. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms.

He was scowling. He didn’t look pleased at all.

He turned to the girls, who shrunk back a little.

“Why are neither of you up there retrieving that ball?” he barked. “You both climb trees higher than that with ease. Why is the duchess doing it?”

Christine froze. Isabella looked shamefaced for a moment, then raised her chin, her expression turning brazen. Beatrice blinked rapidly.

“Bella asked her to fetch the ball,” declared Beatrice, shrugging slightly. “She told me she wanted to play a trick on her.”

Christine’s heart dropped further. She should have known that Isabella was more than capable of climbing this tree to fetch her ball. The girl was as adventurous as a swashbuckling pirate.

She knew she should feel angry at the girl, but all she felt was hurt. She had sincerely thought that perhaps Isabella was starting to trust her when she had asked her to fetch the ball. She hadn’t questioned the request. Instead, she had rushed to climb this tree with little thought as to whether she could manage it or not, just so the girl would be impressed with her.

And now, she was stuck on this high branch, and the damnable ball refused to budge.

Suddenly, she looked down. The world started to spin in a most sickening way. Her ears filled with a swooshing noise, like listening to the inside of a shell. Her left foot started to slip. The next moment, she was scrambling to maintain her balance.

“Oh!” she cried, squeezing her eyes closed, as she started to sway violently, and then fall. “Oh!”

There was a rush of wind around her. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was going to land badly. She was probably going to break a leg or an arm. She braced herself for impact.

But instead of landing upon the hard ground with a painful thud, she felt strong arms enveloping her, catching her soundly.

Christine gasped with surprise, slowly opening her eyes, completely dazed.

The duke was staring down at her, a thunderous expression on his face.

Christine gaped up at him, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Fear still coiled tight in her chest, the lingering remnants of shock making her limbs weak—but beneath it, something far more potent burned through her veins. Her entire body felt alight, every nerve attuned to the hard press of his body against hers.

The heat of him seeped into her, intoxicating and inescapable. She was acutely aware of the strength in his arms, the way his grip around her waist was both possessive and steadying, as if he would never let her go.

This—this was unlike anything she had ever known.

She should pull away, should protest, but instead, she found herself caught, trapped between the rapid thrum of her own pulse and the undeniable, dangerous allure of his nearness.

“Well done, Papa!” It was Beatrice, clapping her hands excitedly. “What a good catch you are!”

“Indeed,” said the duke, in a sour voice. He stared at Christine, his brows knotted together. “Are you quite well? Are you able to stand and walk?”

“I think so,” she replied, in a tremulous voice. “I hope so.”

Carefully, he placed her on her feet. She stumbled slightly, before correcting herself.

She gazed back at him. The absence of his strong arms around her felt like a loss. A great loss.

“Thank you,” she stammered, heat rushing into her face.

“You need to be more careful,” he growled. “Know your limits. It is not your place to climb trees.”

Christine’s face fell. He was right, of course. She had acted impulsively, trying to impress the girls. Yet some part of her hated how he chastised her, even though he was right.

“Oh, Your Grace,” cried Miss Mayhew, rushing to her side. “Can I assist you? How shocking! You could have been killed!”

“Indeed,” agreed the duke, turning to his eldest daughter, and giving her a venomous look. “I think Lady Isabella will not be having dessert for the rest of the week. And no more outside play for the rest of the week, either.”

Isabella’s face dropped. She looked crestfallen. “I am sorry, Papa! I meant no harm! It was just a little trick!”

“Your little trick could have had disastrous consequences, my girl,” rapped her father, taking her hand firmly. “Come along, the both of you. Your play is over.”

Christine tried not to look at him as they all walked back to the house in silence.

The feel of his arms around her, strong and warm and safe, refused to fade. Her body was still afire from it. It was like he had branded her.

And Heavens, a part of her wished to be branded again.