Page 14 of The Duke Who Stole Me (Stolen by the Duke #4)

Chapter Fourteen

“ I s this high enough, Your Grace? Or shall I lift it even higher?”

Juliana took a step backward, narrowing her eyes at the portrait of her husband, which had arrived earlier amidst the chaos that was her morning.

“Higher, and a little to the left,” she instructed the workers who had been tirelessly working and attending to all her needs since the renovations started three days ago.

It had officially been a week since she became the Duchess of Blackmoor, and the fourth day since she immersed herself into her title and started running the estate.

During her tour with Mrs. Holt, she had carefully noted the mansion’s many flaws, from small issues like missing window handles to larger problems like damaged ceilings in unused rooms.

Mrs. Holt, embarrassed, explained that she had reported the matter to Vincent, who had dismissed it, saying the room wouldn’t be used until another duke took over.

Juliana was shocked by his indifference, especially his apparent lack of interest in having an heir. That night, she realized that her marriage to Vincent would likely remain a marriage of convenience, and she decided to take charge, focusing on caring for the household.

However, Vincent’s actions angered her. He was rarely home, and when he was, he shut himself away in his study, seemingly content to neglect her.

“Your Grace?”

Juliana blinked, startled as Mrs. Holt’s voice brought her back to reality.

“Do you like this position?” Mrs. Holt asked.

Juliana blinked again, tearing her eyes away from the older woman to the worker suspended in the air, waiting for her feedback.

She hadn’t realized she’d been lost in thought, staring at the fresh portrait of Vincent. It was a magnificent piece, capturing the very essence of his personality—coldness and authority—highlighted by the scowl on his face.

Despite the harsh expression, he exuded the power of a duke, a man both respected and feared by his people.

A sigh escaped her lips. “It is perfect, Mrs. Holt.”

Indeed, the portrait was perfect, offering her a version of her husband who didn’t shy away or hide his displeasure from her, as though she were the plague incarnate.

Yes, she preferred this version of him—honest in his disdain, unafraid to show who he truly was.

“Your Grace, you said to let you know when the timbers arrive. They have. The workers await you at the entrance,” the old butler, Lewis, called.

Juliana nodded, taking one last glance at her husband’s portrait before walking off.

“I am in awe of Her Grace’s vision. She is young, but she has more insight than anyone her age I have met.”

Vincent narrowed his eyes as he leaned back in his wingback chair.

You haven’t met a lot of people her age , he wanted to say, but he knew Mrs. Holt was not one to give compliments for the sheer fun of it.

He had learned that over the years. If she said something, she meant it, and she would defend it, come rain or shine.

His eyes fell on the document spread across his mahogany desk, taking in the amount of money already spent on the renovations. He wasn’t bothered by the expense—he’d never lacked for money—but he was surprised.

He shouldn’t have been. He knew Juliana was someone who took charge and cared for those around her. Yet, he found himself surprised by her initiative.

He’d thrown himself into duchy matters, and he had also been working behind the scenes to discover Norfield’s whereabouts, but he hadn’t expected to return one afternoon to find his home slowly changing and taking a new shape.

He felt like he could breathe a little more easily, as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. When he passed by the renovated parts of the mansion, a sense of pride filled him.

“Yes, very good, indeed.” He nodded automatically.

That simple action didn’t go unnoticed by Mrs. Holt.

“Her Grace, God rest her soul, would’ve loved her,” she added, placing a hand over her heart.

Indeed. His mother would’ve been pleased with Juliana, and him for marrying her.

“Though…” Mrs. Holt’s demeanor shifted as concern filled her eyes. Vincent’s ears perked up, his eyebrows raised as he leaned forward, anticipating her next words. “I fear she is overworking herself. She has taken on too much work, and although she is handling everything well, she has little regard for her well-being.”

Vincent wrapped his hands around the armrests of his chair. “How so?”

“She has inhaled too much dust from constantly being present at all the renovation sites—even more than the workers, who work in rotation. I pleaded with her to take a few days off, but she refused, claiming she wouldn’t rest until the work was done.”

Stubborn .

How long had Vincent stayed away from his wife that he forgot about that very important part of her personality?

“I was hoping you could speak to her, Your Grace. Perhaps she’d listen to you and allow herself at least a full day of rest.”

Vincent swallowed, as though the request choked him, then he nodded. “I shall try my best. Thank you for looking after her, Mrs. Holt.”

The woman shook her head. “She has been the one looking after this house…including you.”

“Including you …”

Those two simple words, which without any context were meaningless, might have pushed Vincent to knock softly on Juliana’s door later that evening.

His body ached to see her ever since Mrs. Holt had exited his study, but he’d forced himself to finish his work before he could award himself with her presence.

He folded his hands behind his back as he awaited her response. But none came, so he knocked again, worry lines already creasing his forehead.

When she didn’t respond the second time, he pushed open the door, only to find his wife wiping water from her face, looking surprised and annoyed.

He had to force himself to keep his eyes on her face and not on her body, which was clad in a silk nightdress that accentuated her curves, leaving only the sweetest part to the imagination.

“I hadn’t responded,” she pointed out.

He nodded, stepping further into her room.

She looked…breathtaking, far better than the version of her in his mind. And the realization that he had missed her settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Mrs. Holt told me you have been feeling a little ill. I was worried something had happened to you,” he explained.

“You were worried? About me?” she asked, as though the very notion was impossible to entertain.

“I was. The last time I saw you, you were in great health. It is only right for me to be worried if you aren’t.”

“I am in great health,” she affirmed smoothly, casually setting the cotton fabric she’d used to clean her face on her bed.

Vincent nodded.

Suddenly, he felt out of place. This was his home, where he had spent the better part of his life. Yet, this room, this space, it felt foreign. Perhaps it was because the entire room smelled like her—like freshly plucked roses on a sunny day.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, folding her arm across her chest.

That simple action undid him.

Lord . He had to say his piece quickly and leave before his body could recall what being next to her felt like and choose to remain there.

He nodded. “I was wondering if I might interest you in horseback riding.”

Juliana blinked, staring at him as though he’d just admitted to having two pairs of hands.

“Horseback riding,” she echoed, and he nodded. “I am not sure if you have noticed, husband , but I’ve had my plate full in these past few days.”

“I insist. It shall not disrupt your schedule, as we shall set off by dawn,” he said, determination lacing each word.

Juliana studied him for a moment, and then she nodded. “Very well then, I shall see you at dawn.”

And with that, he left her room.

The soft knock on Juliana’s door at dawn told her one thing: she should’ve strongly declined Vincent’s invitation to horseback riding.

She’d never really enjoyed horseback riding much; it was more Ava’s pastime, so she wasn’t sure why she had agreed.

Perhaps it was the look in his eyes when she’d rejected him the first time, or her need to be next to him, or her need to show the servants that her husband did not loathe her. Whatever it was, she wasn’t sure it was worth sleeping in.

“Enter,” she called.

An overly excited Eunice entered the room, pulling out her riding habit as she greeted her in a sing-song voice.

Juliana, half awake, moved slowly as Eunice dressed her for the ride.

“I believe you’ll enjoy it, Your Grace. Blackmoor is known for its sights and greenery. It’ll be nothing like you’ve ever experienced before,” the maid was saying as they headed to the stables, where Juliana wasn’t surprised to see Vincent speaking with the stable boys.

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Vincent turned to her, a faint smile on his face. She’d noticed it because she was well accustomed to his scowling face, so even the tiniest hint of a different expression was not lost to her.

Not that it mattered.

“Morning, duchess,” he greeted, his voice smooth.

Juliana returned his greeting with a curtsy, although she wasn’t sure what the entire charade was about because the same man who stood before her had pretended he wasn’t aware of her existence for the past few days.

She was interested in finding out what had caused the change of heart.

Vincent ordered a horse to be brought out and assisted her in mounting it. However, shock rippled through her when he mounted behind her and took the reins.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” she asked, utterly flabbergasted.

“Did I not mention that we were going horseback riding?”

She shouldn’t have relished the feeling of his hot breath against her neck, or the way her back arched to accommodate him.

“You did. However, you failed to mention that we would be riding on a single horse!”

“There’s not much of a difference, is there?”

She could hear the smile in his voice as he kicked his legs into the horse’s flanks, startling not just the steed but also her.

“There is!” she cried out. “If I had known, I would never have accepted the invitation!”

“Well, it is too late to turn back now. Relax and enjoy the ride,” he said, whispering the last bit in her ear as he urged the horse to go faster.

Juliana could not, for the life of her, find it possible to relax and enjoy the ride for a few reasons, the most important one being the speed with which the horse tore through the cobbled paths and then the damn grounds.

“Do you think you can slow down a bit? I fear my stomach is not in favor of this ride!” she’d managed to say as they entered a wooded area.

She felt Vincent nod against her head, but he stopped the horse altogether, dismounting first to tie the reins to a tree before helping her down.

“I should’ve known this was your plan and never left my chambers,” she huffed after catching her breath.

She watched in awe as Vincent threw his head back and laughed heartily. He’d laughed in front of her before, but never like this.

“You have a flair for dramatics. The ride was just fine.”

“To you,” she spat. “I could barely feel my body. I felt as though my limbs were torn off, and you say it was just fine?”

Vincent laughed again, then held out his arm to her. “Come. Sit.”

Juliana did not think anything of it as she offered him her hand and he pulled her toward him, and then motioned for her to sit on a thick, fallen branch.

“Where did you learn to ride like that?” she questioned, her heart still beating rapidly from the ride. Or was it from his nearness? She wasn’t sure.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, duchess. There were days when I had to travel on nothing but a strong horse.”

Juliana’s eyes widened. No wonder he never missed his morning exercises. One really needed to have a fit body to perform such a feat.

“I don’t believe I trust any man as much as I trust a healthy horse,” he said. However, the tone of his voice hinted at something entirely different.

“You don’t?” she asked, testing the waters of her curiosity.

She knew him to be a very private man, and his opening up without any pressure was a rarity, so she didn’t want to overwhelm him.

Vincent nodded. “My line of work has shown me quite enough how untrustworthy people can be. It has taught me that one cannot trust even their own father.”

Juliana paused, her mind whirring as she considered his words. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to make him feel this way about his father, but she knew better than to ask such a personal question too soon. Instead, she focused on her own experience.

The silence between them felt almost comfortable despite the weight of their conversation.

After a moment, she spoke carefully, her voice quiet but steady. “I suppose…I can’t say I trust others either. At least, not easily.”

Vincent’s gaze flicked to her, more intense than before. “I don’t imagine you would. Not after what that bastard Norfield did.”

She hesitated, the words catching in her throat. But there was something about the way he listened, the way he seemed to understand, that made her want to say more.

She took a deep breath, shifting slightly.

“It’s not just about Geoffrey. My parents…” she trailed off, feeling the weight of her story pressing down on her, but something in his expression made her want to continue. “They had been expecting a boy when my mother went into labor. They had tutors ready, a library prepared, and everything an heir would need. But then I came along.” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “An unwelcome surprise.”

Vincent’s lips thinned, his voice cold. “Fathers are supposed to protect you, guide you. They’re supposed to show up for you when you need them. But it sounds like your father only cared for his disappointment. Men like that…they don’t deserve your trust. Or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes drawn to the ground as the weight of his words sank in. She hadn’t expected him to be so harsh, but the edge in his voice made her feel as if he understood all too well.

“They loved me—at least, I know my mother did—but they were never attentive. My father was practically never home. He only stayed long enough whenever my mother was about to go into labor, hoping he’d hear news of a baby boy. Eventually, after she gave birth to little Gina, his visits ceased, up until his last day.”

Vincent leaned forward, his expression hardening. “A man like that doesn’t deserve any thought from you. Not a single one. It’s a damned shame he wasted your time.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but instead of the anger she’d expected, a strange sense of relief filled her.

For the first time, someone was acknowledging the betrayal of her father, not with sympathy but with a righteous anger that she hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

“His neglect affected my mother deeply. It is why she has such a…particular personality.” Juliana paused as tears welled up in her eyes—it was the first time she’d ever opened up about her life and family. “I tried my best to see through her neglect of me and my sisters. I even stepped up to care for them because I understood what had made her so, but it was difficult.”

Vincent nodded.

“On some days, I wanted to scream at her, hoping it might help bring her back to her senses. To make her realize that she was the adult out of the five of us. But I never could. She was hurt and broken, and I had to bear the brunt of it for my sisters’ sake.”

“I never would’ve known,” Vincent murmured as he put his hand on hers, squeezing lightly.

“No one carries their burdens on their faces.” She smiled, but it was not a happy one.

“If I may say so—and although I have interacted very little with your family—you have done a terrific job with your sisters. And dare I say your mother,” he assured her.

Juliana felt as though she’d cry. No one had ever comforted her. Instead, they sought comfort from her.

“Come on, let us return. You deserve some rest.” Vincent rose and offered her his hand.

Juliana took it, and for the first time in a week, she truly felt at ease.