Page 25 of The Duke’s Second Bride (Regency Second Chances #4)

“ N ot again.”

Christian glared at the ginger mound on his desk. Pudding glared back.

It seemed these days that, no matter where he was, Pudding found a way to be there.

If Christian wanted to curl up in his chair, the cat would be there; if he was looking for a particular pair of boots, Pudding had stolen them and hidden them somewhere.

Now, for instance, he had a stack of paperwork he absolutely needed to complete by the night’s end. Naturally, he entered his office only to find Pudding curled up atop that very stack of papers, with seemingly no intention of moving anytime soon.

“Off,” Christian ordered, waving his hand at the cat. Pudding did not even budge an inch. “Go on. Get out of here. This is an office, not a kennel.”

Pudding stretched, arching his back low, squinting and yawning with his tiny cat tongue poking out. He extended his legs forward, and his long, winding tail swung like a lasso, knocking over an inkwell.

Christian rushed to right the inkwell, letting out a curse as he immediately stained his palms and fingers.

He quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, mopping up the worst of the spill before it could spread to any important papers or drip onto the carpet.

Once he had done that, he went to wash his hands.

Despite how long it took to get the ink stains out, when he got back, he found, much to his dismay, that Pudding was still there. The cat didn’t even bother to meet his glare this time.

What should he do? Should he call for help?

No . He dismissed the idea immediately.

Who would he call for help anyway—Miss Grant? Certainly not Ava. It was her damn cat, for certain, but he was a grown man—a duke, at that! He would not be found like this, cowering at the whims of a five-pound orange-furred monster. He would not yet admit defeat.

He would not let Ava see him in a state like this. It would make him feel pathetic.

Pudding was at least on the corner of the desk now, instead of the center.

Fine, then—Christian would simply do his work around the cat, as though Pudding weren’t there at all.

That would show him. Though he was starting to feel a bit foolish at holding this much of a grudge against a cat—a cat who, by the looks of things, was as absolutely unbothered by this whole thing as Christian was livid—but he had come too far and persisted too much to back down now.

He sat down in his chair and picked up the first of the papers. After a few moments, he found he was able to focus easily.

At least, until Pudding stood up again. Christian immediately and instinctively reached out for the inkwell, looking to protect it. Thankfully, this time, Pudding instead decided to leap off the desk.

“Finally,” Christian muttered—only for his relief to turn into renewed annoyance when Pudding began weaving around his legs, rubbing at his boots. “No. Bad cat,” he said crossly, though Pudding seemed to take no notice.

“Mangy little rascal.” He nudged the cat gently with one boot, but Pudding refused to leave.

Finally, after another lap or two around Christian’s legs, Pudding decided to settle down—right on top of the duke’s feet. Christian let out an audible groan.

Once it became clear Pudding had no interest in moving, Christian gave up. If he was going to be stuck in his chair, he supposed he might as well return his attention to his work.

Within minutes, the cat was purring. It was a soft, low sound, and ebbed and flowed almost like a heartbeat. Christian was loath to admit it, but the sound was almost … comforting. Soothing, even. It seemed to make the work go faster, as he was spurred on by the gentle rumbling sound.

For a long, long time, he continued not to move his feet at all. And when Pudding eventually decided it was time to leave, he did one last nuzzle against Christian’s leg before slipping out of the room.

Ava had taken it upon herself to go back to the village once with Luke, where they were able to get more books and speak to more people.

The people of the village seemed intimidated by Christian when Ava spoke to them, but there was a deep respect that coursed through their words, too. Like her, they seemed to perceive him as serious.

She marked, though, that the presence of Luke and her seemed to calm them. It seemed people believed that the presence of the vivacious young wife and child softened Christian’s sternness.

If only they saw how he really was around me , Ava thought to herself.

Still, there was no denying that the trips to the village had clearly done Luke some good. In the days that followed, he spoke more and more. They had gotten more books, as well.

“Oh no!” Luke held up a little sprout. They were back in the courtyard garden, pulling weeds and turning over soil. “There are little green bugs eating this plant!”

He was hardly stuttering at all now, Ava had noticed. His frustration in the bookstore had been so easily abated by the kind patience shown to him by Ava and the bookseller. If the people in the village noticed Luke’s stutter, they didn’t say anything about it.

When Luke realized he wasn’t going to be mocked or punished, he began speaking more, his confidence clearly growing with each word out of his mouth.

Ava took the plant, wrinkling her nose, and put it into a sack they had brought with them. “We shall have to get ladybugs, then,” she said. “Have you seen those before?”

“Yes!” Luke cried. “The little red ones with black spots. But those are still bugs, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but they are very good for plants,” Ava said. “They eat all of the bugs that hurt the plants, like aphids.”

“Aphids?” Luke asked.

Ava nodded. “The little green bugs,” she said, nodding at the sprout she had just bagged. “Those are called aphids.” The book on plants that Christian had bought from the bookstore turned out to be incredibly helpful in their gardening endeavors.

Ava couldn’t help but wonder why he had bought it. Surely not just because he thought she was interested in it? After all, he had behaved so oddly—commenting on the book, and then practically running away.

She knew she should leave Christian alone. All his actions seemed to indicate that that was all he wanted. And yet, the longer she knew the man, the more she felt drawn to him. Upon their return to the estate, she had nearly been tempted to approach him before bed again—to talk, if nothing else.

She couldn’t help but run over that first night of their marriage in her head. If he was not attracted to her—as she unfortunately suspected—then why would he kiss her? And if he was attracted to her enough to kiss her, then why push her away?

She supposed it didn’t matter, in the end. Whatever the reason was, he didn’t want to kiss her. Her own husband didn’t want to kiss her. It shouldn’t have stung so much, she knew. It was a situation she had become well acquainted with in her first marriage, after all.

What made it so much worse this time around, though, was the fact that she wanted Christian. She wanted him so badly, in a way that was so completely unlike her first marriage that it nearly took her ages just to realize what the nature of her feelings was.

She longed for him. She wanted to kiss him, and she wanted much more. She wanted to feel his lips pressed against hers. She was in a fever for the touch of his skin against hers.

Every night as she went to bed, she could not stop herself from imagining what might happen if her husband were in bed next to her. What would it feel like to have the heat and weight of him pressed against her?

What would it be like to have him want her as much as she wanted him?

In some ways, these thoughts made her feel ungrateful.

Even if it hurt that he didn’t want her, he had still given her so much.

He had given her a home, stability, and freedom from fear and from Brandon.

He had given her access to the kind of life she had dreamed of while stuck in London society.

He had even given her the child she had never had.

And now he had given her this book. And she couldn’t figure out why.

Perhaps it was just a practical matter, she wondered.

He showed such interest in the village crops, according to Bertha.

He knew enough to recognize the plants that were local to the estate grounds and to recognize the work of the farmer who had done the illustrations.

Perhaps he had simply wanted to support the bookstore and the creators of the book.

Or perhaps he knew it would be helpful to Luke’s garden. After all, again, it was clear that he cared for the boy deeply.

Yes , Ava told herself. Surely that was the reason .

After all, it couldn’t possibly be a sign of any kind of affection he had for her.