Page 9 of The Duke’s Spinster Bride (A Duke’s Game #2)

Chapter Nine

“S o, you do have quiet hobbies.” An amused voice said from the tree above Andrea.

She gave a start, the movement upsetting her hand and almost ruining her painting. She was standing with her easel in the gardens of Caverton Estate, looking out over the rolling hills as fog settled in the valleys.

Looking up, she saw Frederick sitting in the bough of the tree above her, a leg dangling down and a book in his hand. She wondered how long he had been there.

“What are you doing?” she canted her head towards him. “Besides scaring me half to death.”

“Reading.” He gestured to the book in his hands and grinned at her.

Her brow furrowed, and she would have folded her arms across her chest had she not remembered the paintbrush clasped in her hands. “And you needed to be up a tree to do this?”

“It is a lovely day, and I felt like being out of doors. And this way I am sure to remain undisturbed. You would be surprised how few people look up.” He laughed to himself and gave her a conspiratorial whisper. “It has saved me from more than a few tiresome business meetings, let me tell you.”

“Are not such things part of running an estate?” She pursed her lips.

Frederick shrugged and made a vague gesture with his free hand. “I find it is best to limit the amount of boredom one submits oneself to, otherwise you risk going rather mad.”

“Says the man reading a book in a tree.” Andrea gestured to him.

“That does not make me mad. Simply a man in search of peace and quiet and the comforts of a good book.” He leaned back against the tree trunk and gave her a half serious look. “And given your escapades with the violin this morning, I thought it best to leave the castle. In truth, I did not think it was possible to make a violin make such sounds.”

“I am full of such hidden talents.” Her cheeks flushed with colour.

In an effort to irritate the Duke, she had decided to practice her violin in the early hours of the morning. Her working theory was that the more irritating she was, the more the Duke would avoid her and the safer she would be.

She had given the servants warning, not wanting them to be caught off guard by the unholy sounds she intended on making.

“As I am starting to learn.” The Duke ran a hand through his hair, his lips quirked into a half smile. “You must have had a rather varied musical education, far more than most women. Bagpipes, the violin, the piano forte, the timpani. I am surprised your father encouraged it.”

“He did not.” Andrea clenched her fist. “When I gained my independence, I won the time to study things that would bring me joy.”

“Perhaps we should continue those studies. I am sure we could find you a teacher to refine your skill.” The Duke returned to his book.

“You realise that if we did that, I would have to practice even more?” Andrea narrowed her eyes at him.

“Only if you wanted to improve.” The Duke turned the page of his book, and Andrea saw the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. “If you want to watch me, dear Duchess, please feel free. I have been known to capture many a woman’s attention.”

Andrea snorted. “There are more interesting things to watch. Thank you.”

Andrea turned to her painting. Thankfully, she had not ruined her work when the Duke made her jump. She squinted into the distance and added a few strokes to the canvas. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she turned around to find Frederick looking at his book with the quiet kind of intensity of a man who had not been doing so moments before.

“Are you going to stay there?” Andrea gestured to him with her paint brush.

“Why should I not? I was here first.” His brow was furrowed and he did not look up from the novel in his hands.

She glared at him. “I want to paint without an audience.”

“I am hardly an audience. Besides, I am reading.” He held the book up as though to illustrate the point.

Andrea arched an eyebrow. “Your book is upside down.”

“Perhaps I like it that way.” The Duke tilted the book cover towards him and shrugged.

“You are utterly infuriating.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a mocking bow from his branch.

Andrea threw her hands up, making an exasperated noise. “It was not a compliment.”

“I know, but from you it is as good as one. Just look at the passion in your eyes.” He nodded to her. “If I did not know any better, I would say you are warming to me, dear Duchess.”

She rolled her eyes at him, letting her voice drip with sarcasm. “I think you mistake my anger for passion, dear Duke.”

“The line between the two is rather thin in my experience.” Frederick waved his book in the air.

“And I am sure you have rather a lot of it.” She narrowed her eyes at him, thinking of the many women of the ton who seemed to follow his every move.

“Now that , I am convinced, is a compliment.” He slapped his thigh with his free hand, almost unbalancing himself. Andrea took half a step towards him and then stopped herself.

If he wants to act the fool, it is no business of mine.

“It was not.” Her lips thinned.

“Anything can be a compliment if you simply change your point of view. Observe.” Frederick hooked his legs around the branch of the tree and let himself fall back, so that he was peering at her upside down.

His coat fell around his head and the sight of him grinning broadly at her, sent a warmth through her. His dimpled cheeks gave him a boyish look, and his laugh was dangerously infectious.

“You are ridiculous.” She smiled at him. “You should be more careful, you could fall and crack your skull.”

“It is rather sweet that you are so concerned for me. After all, as my widow you would be rather well looked after.” His face was turning red, but it somehow made him look even sweeter.

“So long as the Ton did not think I had killed you myself.” The thought of Frederick dying made her chest ache and she frowned. “I try not to make a habit of wishing ill on people.”

“A noble endeavour indeed.” He swung himself up to the tree branch, grabbing it in one hand and dismounting with a flair worthy of a travelling acrobat. “And one I am sure I must be thankful for.”

Andrea only just managed to keep herself from applauding as he swept into a deep bow. He always manages to do this. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the warmth.

Frederick stretched and let out a languid yawn, adjusting his coat as he did so. Andrea found herself watching the lines of his body and the way the light caught his hair. She thought of what paints she would use to capture the dark blue of his eyes, lips pursed, paintbrush halfway to the canvas.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He took a step towards her.

She shook her head. “I do not think they are worth that.”

“Well if you do not share them we shall never know.” He moved as though to catch her hand, but stopped before he could touch her, curling his outstretched fingers into a fist that he hastily placed behind his back.

Andrea could not tell if she was relieved or disappointed. Her chest tightened.

“Please?” Frederick’s eyes were wide and inviting.

“I was thinking about the colours I would use if I were to paint your eyes.” Why did I say that? She waited for him to laugh at her, to make a silly quip about her wanting to stare at him.

To her surprise, he simply canted his head towards her. “My eyes?”

“The way the light caught them just now. They looked so dark and yet so vibrant. The blue is dark and complex, and there is so much emotion, I wondered how I could bring it to life.” She had taken a step towards him, tracing the air around his face with the paintbrush and then realised what she was doing.

Hastily she took a step back and swallowed. “It was a silly thing.”

“I do not think so.” Frederick moved to stand closer to her, gesturing to the painting as he scanned it with his eyes. “You have quite a talent for painting. The hills practically seem alive, and you captured the atmosphere perfectly. The way your hands seem to tease things to life, the confidence of your brushstrokes. I’ve seen professionals with less skill.”

“You do not mean that.” Andrea felt herself straighten at his words, her chin held high.

“I do. I have half a mind to ask you to do my next portrait, the man who did the last one was useless.” Frederick gave her painting an approving nod. “How on Earth did you make the fog look like that?”

“I play with the consistency of the paints and then I use colour to draw the eye in particular directions. Though I do not think I have quite managed to capture the way it sits.” Andrea frowned at the slowly dissipating fog.

“I think you have captured it perfectly.” Frederick met her gaze with an earnest smile. “It is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Andrea ran her thumb across the tips of her fingers.

“Now I am even more curious to see how you would capture my eyes, especially as you seem so enraptured by them.” He batted his eyelashes at her, and placed his hands under his chin as though her were a cherub in a painting.

“I am not enraptured by them, they just present an interesting challenge as a painter.” Andrea shrugged, but could not help but look at the Duke’s eyes. They would be an interesting thing to try and capture in oils.

“I am surprised my grandmother never spoke of your talent. She has a keen eye for art.”

“That is because she has never seen my work.”

“Why ever not?”

“My father thought that my paintings were childishly derivative, he only wanted to hang ‘real’ art in his house.”

A muscle in the Duke’s jaw twitched, his fist not quite clenching. His words were clipped, his easy smile not quite meeting his eyes as he said, “then he is a fool and lacked the wit to see your skill. I would proudly hang your art where anyone could see it.”

“Oh please, do not do that.” She gave a small shudder. “What if someone asked who had done it?”

“Then I would tell them it was my highly talented wife.” Frederick shrugged.

Highly talented wife? Andrea’s eyes widened, even as a surge of warmth swept through her chest, she twisted her fingers together. “They would think I was terribly arrogant.”

“I doubt that.” Frederick glanced at her, and Andrea saw his gaze soften. “Though if it distresses you this much, I will not do it.”

“Thank you.” Andrea almost reached out to lay a hand on his arm, but she stopped herself just in time.

“I would do not anything that would cause you distress. But you should consider hanging some of your work, one should always have things of beauty around them. Your gift should be celebrated, not hidden.” He looked at the painting and then at her. “I should let you get back to your work. I have distracted you long enough.”

He doffed an imaginary cap to her and walked away. Andrea had taken half a step after him, her hand raised before she caught herself.

“How does he do this? I was quite content to be furious at him and now I am practically chasing after the man.” She looked at the painting. “Just because he said I had some skill with painting.”

More than that, he wanted to show off my work. The pride in his eyes made something inside her ache. I wonder what he would think of my other paintings.

“No doubt he would insist on hanging them for all the world to see and tell me I am brilliant or some such nonsense.” She had meant to sound scathing, but her words came out with a distinct note of pride in them. “Would he be just as kind if I played the violin properly? What am I saying?”

She swallowed. “He is entirely too charming. And I am too much of a fool to keep away.”

She hastily packed up her things and began to make her way to the castle. Every time she tried to annoy the duke, it seemed to slide off him, like water off a duck’s back.

She took the stairs two at a time, chewing on her bottom lip. “I need something that he will not be able to forgive. What do men hate?”

She thought of her father, remembering a time when she had made the mistake of tidying a few papers on his desk. He had screamed at her for hours.

“A man’s study is his sanctum!” her father had yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. “Do not ever touch it without permission. Who knows what you might have ruined?”

Andrea swallowed. His sanctum . She tried not to imagine how it would feel if the anger she had glimpsed in Frederick was directed at her. I have to do this.

She made her way to his study, her paints and easel still tucked under her arm. This will definitely put an end to any dangerous warmth between us.

She slipped inside, glancing over her shoulders as she did. The room before her was simple, with a mahogany desk placed in a corner. The desk was covered in papers arranged in slapdash piles. The walls of the study were lined with bookshelves from top to ceiling. There were a few spaces here and there for art.

She frowned at the pictures. They seemed so lifeless and dull compared to what she had seen of Frederick. She pulled a book down from the shelf at random, frowning at the title.

“The Iliad.” She had meant to put the book in a random location, but when she scanned the bookshelves, she realised that would be pointless. “Greek poetry next to economics. History beside farming. Goodness, it is a wonder the man can find anything in here.”

Do you really think you know better than me? Her father’s voice sounded in her head as she began plotting out a cataloguing system for Frederick’s chaos. She faltered. The point is to annoy him. If he takes this as a critique, all the better.

The study was small, and she decided that rough organisation of books would be good enough. Though she itched to alphabetise them within the subgenres.

“I am trying to annoy him – if I focus too much on the books I will not be able to do anything else.” She forced herself away from the bookcases, glancing at the grandfather clock.

She had been there for several hours.

“What about these papers?” she began to leaf through the piles on his desk. “Invoices, correspondence, letters of credit, contracts.”

She began to sort them in separate piles, filing away contracts that had been signed in an appropriate place. She looked at the window and then back at the Duke’s desk.

“I think. Yes.” She looked for some sort of material she could slide under the thing so she could push it across the floor without it damaging the wood.

A bead of sweat dripped down her neck as she stood back to survey her work. The books were organised, as were his papers and files. She had changed the must dull painting on the wall to something livelier. But the desk, that was her crowning achievement.

The door behind her opened and she turned to find herself face to face with the Duke. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack as he stared around the room.

“What is all this?” he was running his hands along the bookcase, his voice quiet, but his face turned from her so that she could not see his expression.

In for a penny, in for a pound. She fixed a smile on her face. “I wanted to thank you. For what you did with my father. The way you defended me, I appreciated it.” Her words came out more sincere than bright and airy. “No one has ever stood up for me before.”

With a start, she realised that she meant it. She did appreciate what he had done.

“When I saw the chaos of your study, well… It seemed like the perfect way to thank you. This way you will be able to find things whenever you wish. Whoever organised it before was a madman.” She added the last bit, surveying the Duke’s back, watching for a telltale sign of irritation.

He was still looking around the room, his hands behind his back. He moved to the desk, and she heard a soft exhale of breath. Her shoulders tensed. She knew what came next.

It was time for a storm.