Page 13 of The Duke Who Stole Me (Stolen by the Duke #4)

Chapter Thirteen

“ M ight I interest you in another bottle of brandy, sir?”

Vincent looked up from his half-filled glass, shaking his head faintly, but the barman caught the movement and nodded, moving over to the next table to repeat the rehearsed words.

He was drinking an unusual amount of liquor, he knew, but only because his current situation called for it.

He had tried, in the past few days, to keep his thoughts in check, and he had failed miserably. The few times he came close was when he had a little bit of amber liquid in his system.

Damn her.

Everything was her fault. She had stared at him once and altered the very course of his life. He had been fine on his own, had never bothered himself with thoughts of marriage or the need for an heir, and yet the moment he kissed her at the Montford ball?—

Christ!

The moment he had a taste of her rosy skin, he knew he’d thrown himself into an abyss.

She had held him captive as she sauntered around the ballroom, smiling sweetly at everyone despite the growing whispers about her reputation, and he’d tried to keep his mind grounded on the task he’d set for himself.

Yet…

He’d felt as though he was in a trance when he’d approached her, dancing with her when he hadn’t danced in years.

The little minx had even followed him into a dimly lit corridor as if she’d discovered the power she had over him.

And then he had lost all control over his body when he pressed his lips against hers. He had almost lost it again in the carriage and at dinner.

Vincent ran his fingers through his hair.

Indeed, he hadn’t thought their marriage through—at least not completely. Yes, he had reacted in the best way possible: charming the gossipmongers who had caught them, effortlessly swaying her uncle to avoid a confrontation. This was what he had been trained for—navigating Society’s expectations with grace, maintaining control, and manipulating situations to his advantage.

Yet, beneath the practiced facade, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there were aspects of this union he hadn’t fully anticipated.

He had merely declared that he would marry her because it felt like the right thing to do. But another part of him had done so because he couldn’t imagine her kissing another gentleman the way she’d kissed him—the way she’d responded to him with her soft moans.

Even after a few days had passed, he could still hear those delicious cries.

Damn her to the gates of hell!

He slammed his free hand on the wooden table, the sharp sound echoing in the stillness of the tavern.

Thankfully, Blackmoor was a far cry from the bustle of London, and the taverns here were rarely crowded, so his outburst disturbed no one but himself.

How had he, a well-trained spy, allowed himself to fall into the trap of a harmless lady? He’d broken nearly every rule he’d set for himself, and she hadn’t even done a thing.

She was an enigma, a force that had subtly but surely unraveled him.

His fingers wrapped around his glass before he raised it to his lips and drained it, hissing at the burn.

He had to do something about his situation, and the only plausible solution was to stay as far away from her as possible.

“Trouble in paradise already?”

Vincent raised his head to find Somerton waltzing toward him with a mocking smile on his lips.

“There is no trouble…or paradise,” he huffed.

But even as he said the words, he knew them to be false. There was, in fact, a paradise, and it was between his wife’s legs—tight, moist, and ready for him.

Somerton’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he pulled out the chair next to Vincent and sat down, facing him.

“So you say. But here you are, on your wedding night, instead of being between the sheets with your bride.” He clicked his lips, shaking his head in mock disgust.

If looks could kill, Vincent’s gaze would have petrified Somerton, who looked like he had no regard for his life as he threw his head back and laughed.

“My marriage to Lady Juliana was to cover our tracks and nothing more,” Vincent hissed.

Somerton leaned forward, searching his face. “Which brings me to question, once more, how that came about. I still cannot wrap my head around how quickly you made that decision, when moments before, you had declared you did not care about her or whom she married.”

Vincent pushed him back, causing his back to collide with the chair. “And I’m telling you once again that it is none of your concern.”

“Does she have something on you?” Somerton asked, deliberately ignoring his words. “Because I can only assume that she threatened you and you had no choice but to comply,” he continued, tapping a finger on his jaw in thought.

Vincent sucked in a breath, cracking his knuckles. He had been searching for a way to take out his anger and frustration for a while now. Perhaps beating Somerton to a pulp would suffice.

As if reading his mind, Somerton raised his arms in surrender. “Peace, old sport. I have concluded that you are indeed right. It is hardly any of my business, and as a way to apologize”—he dropped his arms—“I have a piece of information that might interest you.”

Vincent exhaled and leaned his elbows on the wooden table, his curiosity piqued.

“I completed the search with Montford,” Somerton began. “Nothing of value was taken.”

Relief washed over Vincent. He had to drink to that. “Norfield failed.”

Somerton nodded.

Vincent scoffed. He had beaten himself up over his failure to apprehend Norfield. His mind had been occupied by big brown eyes that bored into his soul and upturned it. He had wished that his failure also meant that Norfield had failed at his own mission.

“Montford is a smart man. I’ll give him that,” Somerton continued. “He said that he kept his most important documents in a safe that Norfield could only dream of accessing.”

Vincent nodded, a smirk tugging at his lips. Montford was indeed smart.

“And how did your search at the gambling hells go?” he asked.

Norfield was still on the run, and despite their little failures, their mission was not over until the earl was in custody and sentenced for his crimes against the Crown and the entire country.

“Now that he knows that the British Intelligence is on his trail, he has truly become a rat.”

Vincent leaned back in his chair, his smirk unwavering as he said, “All I hear is an excuse. A spy saying he cannot apprehend a rat? Truly?”

Somerton bit his lower lip as he narrowed his eyes at him. “A rat that should have been yours to catch, Your Grace.”

The smirk on Vincent’s lips disappeared instantly.

“However, you are correct. It was a poor attempt at an excuse,” Somerton added and laughed. “I do believe he’s on the brink of insanity. Running out of funds to support his crimes, and his failure to get the information he risked his reputation for…He is bound to come out of hiding.”

Vincent nodded. “He is even more desperate now, and I would not be surprised if he infiltrates every single military man’s home in the hope of getting his hands on something tangible.”

Somerton sighed, shaking his head. “If I were in his shoes, I would have given up by now. I must say, I respect his resilience, but it will be the end of him.”

“Oh yes. It will very much be.” Vincent nodded, and to that, both men shared a drink.

Juliana opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room, the scent of the space—rich, slightly floral—clinging to the air, and an overwhelming sense of not belonging creeping into her chest.

She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, and then sat up, letting the heavy covers pool at her waist.

The sounds she had grown accustomed to back at Ridgewell House were absent.

She had woken up expecting to hear the rhythmic clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen, and the usual morning bickering between Ava and Emily over something trivial.

She had expected to hear her mother’s distant commands to sort out the latest sibling squabble. Instead, the silence was absolute—unnerving, almost suffocating.

Blackmoor Mansion was five times the size of Ridgewell House, and even with the huge staff, there wasn’t the faintest hum of activity. The usual bustle of servants going about their chores, the quiet shuffle of feet in the halls, was absent.

It was beginning to dawn on her just how far she had come—and how truly alone she felt.

She shook her head, trying to push down her growing unease. Blackmoor was her home now, whether she liked it or not.

With a slow, deliberate breath, Juliana stretched, and her eyes landed on the forbidden door—the one that connected her chambers to Vincent’s. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering whether she would ever use it.

The attraction she felt toward her husband had not gone unnoticed, especially after the kiss that had sealed her fate as the Duchess of Blackmoor. But even so, she couldn’t ignore the conflicting emotions that flickered in his gaze the night before at dinner, the way he had distanced himself from her as if her very presence unsettled him. The thought of her skin against his seemed to disgust him, as though it was a crime simply to be near her.

No , the attraction she felt toward him would never be reciprocated. He seemed indifferent to everything, to her.

And with that sobering realization, Juliana understood something else. She was now responsible for her own happiness. A thought that might have seemed so clear had she married Geoffrey, but with Vincent…it was entirely different.

With a soft sigh, she climbed out of bed and rang for Eunice.

The maid appeared almost instantly, ever the professional, wasting no time in preparing her for the day. She even styled Juliana’s hair with a deftness that exceeded her skills, making her feel a touch more in control of a life that seemed to slip further away from her with every passing hour.

“Where is Mrs. Holt?” Juliana asked as Eunice fixed the final pin in her hair.

“Most likely in the kitchens, Your Grace. Would you like me to fetch her for you?”

Juliana nodded, and in no time, Mrs. Holt entered the room.

“Good morning, Your Grace. How did you enjoy your first night at Blackmoor?”

“Very well, thank you,” Juliana lied, a small smile playing on her lips.

Which she didn’t feel guilty for because it was not as though she could tell the housekeeper that she’d been tossing and turning all night, her mind haunted by the nearness of her husband, which she now craved.

“That is delightful to hear.” Mrs. Holt returned her smile. “I believe now that you are well rested, I might interest you in a tour of the estate.”

“Absolutely.” Juliana clapped her hands, and together they exited her chambers.

“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, we can begin the tour outside the mansion and then work our way in.”

Juliana nodded, liking the idea, and both women headed outside, the cool morning air kissing their skin.

The tour began from the well-tended garden on the left of the mansion, which housed not only beautiful flowers but also simple crops, which Juliana was impressed by, especially after hearing that Vincent himself had planted them on a random day after returning from a long trip.

Next were the stables, which housed over ten gallant horses.

“These horses are only second to those in the palace,” Mrs. Holt boasted. “And I say second simply because the horses aren’t in the palace anymore.”

Juliana’s eyes widened with shock as Mrs. Holt went on to explain that five of the ten horses were a gift from the palace. She could not believe her ears. Vincent had to be truly good at what he did if he was receiving gifts from the palace.

Mrs. Holt continued speaking, but Juliana couldn’t help but wonder if all the servants knew that Vincent worked for the Crown, or if they knew what his work for the Crown involved. She couldn’t seem to figure it out, but she also knew she could not ask.

So, she plastered a smile on her face, determined to make the best of the situation, and followed Mrs. Holt further down the path to the stables.

Each discovery at Blackmoor left her in a state of surprise and awe, but nothing prepared her for the sight that awaited her behind the mansion.

As they rounded the corner, Juliana’s eyes landed on a serene lake, its waters gleaming in the morning light. White swans glided gracefully across the surface, their elegant movements adding to the peaceful ambiance, while proud peacocks strutted confidently along the edges, their vibrant feathers unfurling in a display of beauty.

“Beautiful,” Juliana whispered, but her words weren’t aimed at the picturesque scene before her.

No, it was not the lake or the birds that had captured her attention, but the figure standing beside it—shirtless, his skin gleaming in the early sunlight.

Vincent .

Her breath caught in her throat as she took him in. He was completely unaware of her presence as he held a plank position, his taut body covered with a sheen of sweat, the muscles in his arms and chest bulging under the strain.

His black trousers hung low on his hips, accentuating the strong and defined lines of his body—a sight so tempting, so raw that Juliana couldn’t help but stare.

She had expected him to be gone, already immersed in the affairs of the estate, but here he was, moving with disciplined precision, the morning light highlighting every contour of his powerful frame.

Juliana’s heart began to race, her body responding immediately to the sight of him half-naked. She tried to look away, tried to regain her composure, but her eyes betrayed her, lingering on him for just a moment too long.

Her pulse quickened, and an unfamiliar heat rose in her chest. It was as though the entire world had paused, leaving her with nothing but the image of him—powerful, untouchable, and yet right there before her.

“Oh, it is His Grace,” Mrs. Holt announced, surprised to find Juliana already nodding her head.

“What is he doing?” Juliana asked, not taking her eyes off his perfect body.

She hadn’t seen him completely bare, but she’d felt him pressed against her, so she knew he was perfect.

“His Grace likes to exercise to keep his body fit,” Mrs. Holt explained. “According to him, since he travels often, exercise keeps his body strong against the strain of the journeys.”

Juliana nodded her head, but her attention was far from whatever Mrs. Holt was saying and more on how it would feel like to be wrapped up in her husband’s arms, with no layer between them.

She paused, shocked by the thought. She could already feel her face reddening, and she could only imagine how much worse she looked to the older woman.

“Does he exercise every day?” she quickly asked to clear the air, and her thoughts.

Mr. Holt nodded. “Every morning, without fail.” Then, she paused. “Would you like me to call for him?”

Juliana’s eyes went so wide that she feared they would pop out of her face.

She shook her head. “He seems committed to the routine. It would be a shame to distract him,” she said, already turning away before her body would decide to remain there.

“It might be a little too late for that, Your Grace,” Mrs. Holt drawled.

Alarmed, Juliana whipped her head in Vincent’s direction, only for her heart to skip a beat as she watched him approach them.

His body looked like a statue of David come to life—every muscle chiseled to perfection, sculpted with the kind of precision that made it seem almost unreal.

His trousers hung loosely from his hips, the fabric shifting with every movement, while beads of sweat glistened on his skin, tracing a path from his face down to his torso.

His hair, slightly damp, clung to his forehead, soft strands framing his sharp features and adding a touch of vulnerability to his otherwise commanding presence.

Juliana’s breath hitched in her throat, and she gulped, unable to tear her eyes away from him. She had thought that his body was perfect in theory, but as she stood there, watching him come closer, she realized just how much she had underestimated him. The raw power and grace he exuded were impossible to ignore, a magnetic pull she hadn’t anticipated.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Mrs. Holt greeted, bowing her head slightly as he stopped before them.

Juliana held her breath. What was she supposed to say? Last night’s dinner hadn’t particularly ended on a good note, but she couldn’t just stay quiet.

“Good morning, Vince— husband ,” she stuttered, looking away from him.

“Good morning to you both,” he returned, his voice tense.

He hadn’t asked her how her night had been, hadn’t looked her in the eye when he spoke, and hadn’t even stopped to speak.

He simply responded to their greeting, his face set in a harsh frown as he walked past them.

He had to be the most infuriating handsome man she had ever encountered.