Page 23 of The Duke’s Spinster Bride (A Duke’s Game #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I s someone singing?” Andrea looked up from her book, frowning as she strained to hear the noise.

It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and she had decided to have a relaxing morning after an evening of festivities. She did not think she had ever danced so much, nor chatted.

She rubbed her feet absently. She usually left balls early, and was used to her early departure being a fairly unremarkable occurrence. Her arrival at such events was also a fairly unremarkable occurrence. Or at least it had been.

But that was no longer the case. The feel of people clamouring to talk to her, of strangers asking her to dance. The way Frederick seemed to always be watching her, or talking about her to other people.

Her heart twisted at the memory and a giddiness stole over her as she rubbed her chest absently. The sound of whistling drifted towards her.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she closed her book, heading into the hallway and listening closely for more singing. It is definitely a man singing.

She followed the sound of his voice, eventually reaching the dining room. She walked in and found herself looking at Frederick, who was wearing a broad grin on his face as he buttered a slice of toast.

Frederick sang. “Butter on the toast. Jam on the butter..”

He jiggled about in his seat, bouncing with a glee she’d have expected from a child just out of leading strings, and took a bite of his toast. Andrea touched a finger to her lips, struggling to keep her laughter from spilling out of her as she watched her husband.

The noise of it caught his attention and he whirled to face her, his entire face, neck and both his ears going the colour of beetroot. She gestured to him.

“Oh, please, do not stop on my account.” She sat beside him.

“How long were you standing there?” Frederick peered at her from out of the corner of his eye.

“Not long.” She shrugged. “But I was sitting in the drawing room when I first heard your… musical efforts.”

Frederick groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I thought you would be out painting in this light. I swear the servants told me you were in the grounds.”

“I was, but then I remembered that I hate painting landscapes in London so I came back inside and decided to read instead, and I am very glad I did.” She flashed him a wicked smile. “Or I would not have heard your whistling and the little moment of song at the end.’”

She had not thought it would be possible for Frederick’s colour to deepen any further, and yet somehow it did. She took his hand gently in hers.

“You need not be embarrassed. I think it is rather sweet.” She squeezed his hand. “It is nice to see you so excited about something that it causes you to embrace your inner bard.”

“I just really enjoy my toast and jam. To be honest, it is a leftover from childhood. I used to sing silly little songs about all sorts of things, now I mostly whistle.”

“Because you are such a dignified man?” Andrea teased. “Perhaps you should sing me the full song.”

Frederick laughed. “We shall see, after all you seem to be rather enamoured with my musical prowess.”

She smiled at him. “Honestly, I am surprised I have not heard you sing about it before now. We have jam on toast most days.”

“Perhaps today, the jam is exceptionally good. Or I am just in a good mood.”

“And what has put you in a good mood?”

“I will give you one guess.” His eyes flitted to hers, the blue of them darkening with such intensity that her breath seemed to vanish in an instant.

Andrea felt her heart speed up, tumbling around her chest as she fought to try and keep a hold of even the vaguest thought tumbling around her brain.

Frederick canted his head towards her. “Are you not going to guess?”

Andrea shook her head, her tongue licking lips that were almost as dry as a desert. She did not trust herself to speak.

Frederick smiled at her. “A pity.”

He pushed his seat away from the table and strode from the dining room, munching his piece of toast and singing to himself as he went.

Andrea watched him go, a pulling sensation filling her chest. “Will he ever stop having this effect on me?”

She could not tell if she wanted it to stop or not. Shaking her head, she made her way into the garden. “He is far too dangerous.”

She squinted in the sunlight, recalling the description of the leaves she had read in ‘A midwife’s helper: A compendium of herbs for women and their daughters’. She was fairly certain she had seen the plant on the eastern most part of the garden.

She spotted it and let out a smile, her thoughts drifting to Frederick and his silly little song. She found herself humming it as she carefully harvested the plant and placed it in a small cloth bag.

She wandered back towards her room, the bag clutched tight in her hand as she tried to decide what to wear. She sat down on the bed with a flump, running her hands along her bag of herbs.

I want a real marriage, and sooner or later that will mean… And I want that but… Am I ready for children? Will I ever be? She swallowed.

“Are you decent?” Frederick peered his head around the doorframe and into the room.

Andrea hastily tucked the small bag of herbs into her bedside drawer, trying not to draw too much attention to it. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she swallowed with difficulty. She noticed his eyes follow her movement as she put the herbs away.

Will he ask about them? “You know, it is a bit pointless to ask if one is sufficiently dressed and then peek your head into a room like some peeping tom.” She forced herself not to look at her bedside table. “It is lucky I am fully dressed.”

“You were the one who suggested we share a bedroom, dear Duchess. And that means sometimes, I need to interrupt you so that I can get the clothes I need to prepare for the day.” Frederick grinned at her.

Andrea flushed, her hand unconsciously reaching out to stroke the side of the bed that he usually slept in. It was not as though she had anything to be embarrassed about.

They were married, after all, and even if they were not, the most scandalous thing that had happened between them was that Frederick had kissed her publicly.

And that she fell asleep in his arms most nights. But that was as far as things went. Why am I even thinking about this?

“And was there something in particular you were looking for?” Andrea asked, immensely grateful that her voice sounded no where near as flustered as she felt.

“My cravat.” He motioned to his neck while half heartedly peering about the room.

“Which one?” Andrea furrowed her brow.

“The blue one with the little goats embroidered on it.” Frederick made flicking motions with his fingers as he adjusted an invisible cravat around his neck.

“I thought they were bulls.”

“They might be. All I know is they are some kind of horned creature.” He canted his head towards her. “Have you seen it?”

“You know, you would have a much easier time finding things if you put them back where they belong. That is why I organised all the clothing boxes for you…. Well, most of them.” She swallowed, thinking about the set of clothes she had decided to leave unorganised as the very thought of touching them made her blush so deeply she could scarcely cope.

How I am expected to be even vaguely sensible when the man has to simply look at me to make my knees go weak, I do not know. She shook herself, trying to bring her wandering mind back to the task at hand.

“But then I would have no excuse to come and bother you.” Frederick flopped onto the bed beside her, batting his eyelashes at her in comic fashion.

“As though you have ever needed an excuse to do that.” She laughed, her fingers brushing against his hand.

A shiver ran down her spine, and to her satisfaction she saw a similar effect take hold of Frederick too. At least we are both as bad as each other.

He grinned at her, his eyes slightly lidded with a strong emotion. “True. But I do like having one.”

“I am sure you do.” She licked her lips. “Well, I can tell you that you will not find your cravat sitting on the bed with me.”

“I might.” He leaned back, stretching across the bed like a cat srtetching in the sun.

“You definitely will not. I think the last place I saw it was hanging up on the coat rack by the front door.”

“What is it doing there?”

“Goodness only knows, I am not the one who put it there. It is a wonder your valet does not quit out of sheer frustration.”

“He is used to my ways. Besides, that is why I have so many cravats and such, I am constantly losing them and having to replace them.”

“You could just put them where they belong.”

“I could, but by the time I remove them from my neck I am usually too drunk or too tired to care.”

“Then it is lucky you are so wealthy.”

An odd look crossed Frederick’s face that she could not quite read. “It is not as though we are not both wealthy. After all, you are my wife.”

“And that wealth is yours, not mine. At least, as far as the law is concerned.”

There was that strange look again. Andrea frowned. “Is something the matter?”

Frederick gave a start and shook his head. “No. I… I was just thinking about my cravat. That is all.”

He stood up, reaching a hand towards her and then apparently thinking better of it as he curled his hand into a fist and walked away from him.

Andrea watched him go, brows creased. She could not say why, but she had the sneaking suspicion that Frederick had just lied to her.