Page 9 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke (The Athena Society #3)

“ Y our Grace, may I present Mrs. Blackwood, the housekeeper.”

The duke’s voice cut through Samantha’s thoughts as they stood in the grand foyer of Valemont Hall. A severe-looking woman in her fifties stepped forward, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, her dark dress immaculate.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Blackwood said, dropping into a respectful curtsy. “Welcome to Valemont Hall. We are honored to serve you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Blackwood.” Samantha tried for a gracious smile, though her nerves were still jangled from the carriage ride. “I look forward to learning the household routines.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I’ve taken the liberty of preparing your chambers and arranging for a lady’s maid to attend you.”

As Mrs. Blackwood continued introducing the staff: the butler, Mr. Thornby, the cook, Mrs. Faulkner, and a handful of footmen and maids, Samantha found herself nodding and smiling while her mind wandered.

The grandeur of the hall was overwhelming, with its soaring ceilings, marble columns, and portraits of stern-faced ancestors gazing down from gilded frames.

“Where is Lord Stonehall?” she asked when the introductions concluded, turning to her husband. “I had hoped to meet him properly. Perhaps, have a meal with him?” After all, now that he no longer vied for her sister’s hand, she felt he was not so bad.

The duke’s expression grew guarded. “Percy is remaining in London for the time being. He’s taken up residence in the Valemont townhouse.”

“Alone?” The question burst from her before she could stop it. Stonehall had seemed so young, so eager to please.

The thought of him rattling around a London townhouse by himself seemed rather sad.

“The Marquess of Tenwick will be keeping an eye on him,” the duke replied, his tone suggesting the matter was closed. “Tenwick is well-suited to managing Percy’s more… adventurous tendencies.”

Samantha wanted to ask more, but something in her husband’s posture warned her against it. Instead, she nodded. “I see.”

“Mrs. Blackwood will show you to your chambers,” the duke said. “I trust you’ll find them satisfactory.”

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Blackwood stepped forward again, “if you’ll follow me?”

As they climbed the sweeping staircase, Samantha couldn’t help but notice the way the servants moved with quiet efficiency, their footsteps muffled on the thick carpets, barely audible.

Everything about Valemont Hall spoke of wealth and privilege, but also of a certain cold formality that made her think of museums rather than homes.

“Here we are, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said, pushing open a set of double doors. “Your personal chambers.”

Samantha stepped inside and caught her breath. The room was magnificent: all cream silk walls, gleaming mahogany furniture, and windows that overlooked the estate’s manicured gardens. A fire crackled in the marble fireplace, casting dancing shadows across the Persian carpet.

“His Grace’s chambers are through that door,” Mrs. Blackwood continued, gesturing to a door on the far wall. “The connecting door can be locked from either side, should you require privacy.”

Heat flooded Samantha’s cheeks. Of course their chambers would be connected. She was a duchess now, not a spinster who could retreat to her own private sanctuary.

“Thank you,” she managed, even as she tried not to imagine what dastardly things her rake of a husband could get up to, having access to that door.

Perhaps, she could… block it somehow?

“Mary will attend you,” Mrs. Blackwell said, indicating a young woman with kind eyes and auburn hair. “She’s been with the household for three years and comes highly recommended.”

After Mrs. Blackwood departed, Mary helped Samantha out of her traveling dress and into a silk wrapper. A bath had been prepared in the adjoining bathing chamber, and Samantha sank into the warm water with a sigh of relief.

“Tell me about His Grace,” she said as Mary attended to her hair. “What is he like as a master?”

Mary’s hands stilled for a moment. “He’s… strict, Your Grace, but fair. Never raises his voice to the staff, and he pays well. We all respect him greatly.”

“And before? When his father was the duke?”

“Oh, I wasn’t here then, Your Grace. But from what I’ve heard …” Mary’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The late Duke was… difficult. Cruel, some say. The staff who served him don’t speak of those days fondly.”

Samantha absorbed this information in silence. What had the duke’s childhood been like under such a father? It might explain some of his guardedness, his reluctance to discuss personal matters.

“Everyone says His Grace is nothing like his father,” Mary continued, her voice growing more confident. “And in my experience, he’s a good man, if a bit… reserved.”

After her bath, Mary helped her dress for dinner in a gown of deep blue silk that complemented her eyes. As she studied her reflection in the mirror, Samantha wondered what this first evening at Valemont Hall would bring.

Would her husband continue his disturbing blend of formal politeness and heated provocation?

The dining room was even more intimidating than the foyer, and yet, instead of a long table, Samantha found a small table, meant only for two, set up.

Two places had been set at each end, and Samantha was surprised to see that the table was laden with dishes that looked suspiciously like her favorites.

The duke rose as she entered, resplendent in an evening attire that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean frame.

He moved to pull out her chair, and she was again struck by his physical presence; by the way he seemed to command the space around him.

So much so that he now sought to command her, as well.

She would not be so easily conquered.

“How did you know?” she asked as he settled across from her.

“Know what?”

“These are all my favorite dishes. The glazed duck, the lemon tart …” She gestured at the spread before them.

His lips curved in what might have been a smile. “You’re my duchess now. I’m supposed to know these things.”

Something in his tone made her wary. “You had someone investigate my preferences?”

“I had someone make inquiries, yes.” He served her a portion of duck with practiced ease. “I thought you might appreciate familiar fare on your first night.”

It was a thoughtful gesture, but it also felt intrusive. How much did he know about her? What else had his inquiries revealed?

“The wine is from my private cellar,” he continued, pouring her a glass of deep red Bordeaux. “I think you’ll find it to your liking.”

They ate in relative silence for several minutes, the only sounds the clink of silverware and the crackling of the fire. Samantha found herself stealing glances at him, noting the way the candlelight played across his features, the elegant way he handled his knife and fork.

“Do you plan to return to the Athena Society?” he asked suddenly.

Samantha nearly choked on her wine. “How do you know about that?”

His green eyes sparked with amusement. “Word gets out, especially regarding their… passionate reading choices.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but she kept her voice steady. “We read intelligent fiction. Literature that challenges conventional thinking.”

“Ah, yes.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression far too knowing. “I find ‘The Governess’s Secret Desires’ particularly intelligent. Very thought-provoking.”

Samantha’s face burned. How could he possibly know about that particular selection? She did not like how well he knew of women’s rather… intimate pastimes.

She cleared her throat, trying to maintain her dignity by the skin of her teeth. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“No? I was particularly moved by the scene in the conservatory. Tell me, which part did you find more intellectually stimulating? Was it when the governess discovers her employer watching her bathe, or when she realizes she enjoys his attention?”

“Your Grace!” She set down her fork with a sharp clink, heat pricking in her cheeks. “That is hardly an appropriate conversation for dinner.”

“We’re married now, madam. I think we can discuss literature freely.” His voice held a note of wicked humor. “Or perhaps you preferred the scene in the library? When she begs him to touch her?”

Would he not stop this?

“I don’t know what game you’re playing?—”

“The same game you were playing when you pretended to read only ‘intelligent fiction’ .” He cut a piece of duck, lips curved with amusement. “I find honesty refreshing, don’t you?”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “Fine. Yes, we occasionally read novels of a more… adventurous nature. But that doesn’t mean?—”

“That you enjoyed them?” His eyes locked with hers. “That you wondered what it would feel like to be the governess in those scenes?”

The air between them crackled with tension. Samantha felt her pulse quicken, but she refused to look away.

“I wonder what it says about you , Your Grace,” she retorted, even though her cheeks were now flaming, “that you are speculating about what I think about those scenes.”

Of course, she had just inadvertently called him a degenerate to his face, but he didn’t react with anger. No, if anything, he seemed to be fighting back a smile at her rebellious words.

He made a noise in the back of his throat and, even though he was not looking at her, she could feel the full regard of his attention on her.

“You’re not what I expected.” He said, and Samantha nearly choked on her food.

“Excuse me?” She set down her knife and fork, giving him her full attention now, hackles raised. “And what, exactly, did you expect?”

He pretended to think about it. “A spinster with nothing but resentment toward the world.” He finally said, before biting a piece of meat from his fork.

His bluntness caught her off guard. “And instead?”

“Instead, I find myself married to a woman full of fire.” His voice dropped to that dangerous low tone that made her lower body tighten traitorously. “Sharper than I anticipated. More… challenging.”

“You mean difficult.” She arched a brow.

Men usually used such words to veil their true, condescending perceptions of women.

But her husband shook his head slowly. “No. Not difficult. Exciting.” He paused, his gaze traveling over her face. “More fun to tame.”

Indignation flared in her chest. “I’m not an animal to be tamed, Your Grace. I’m a lady.”

“Oh, but my dear, every proper lady hides an animal inside her.” His smile was that of a pure predator . “And you, wife, are a tigress.”

The endearment sent shivers down her spine, but she forced herself to remain composed. “I won’t play your games of seduction. Whatever you think you know about me, you’re mistaken. You won’t seduce me.”

“I will.” His certainty was maddening. “In time.”

“Your confidence is sickening. How very modest of you.” She said, sarcasm dripping from her words.

“Why would I be modest?” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “We’re married now. I could kiss you right now, and no one would stop me.”

Samantha went very still, her breath catching in her throat. The candlelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the strong line of his jaw, the sensual curve of his lips.

For a moment, she could almost imagine what it would feel like to have those lips on hers, to surrender to the heat she saw burning in his eyes.

“But I would,” she whispered, proud that her voice remained steady.

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice like velvet. “ Now you would.” He leaned even closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, feel the warmth radiating from his body. “But not for very long, my tigress .”

The moment stretched between them, charged with electricity and promise. Samantha’s heart hammered against her ribs, and she was dimly aware that her breathing had grown shallow.

His eyes dropped to her lips, and she felt her resolve wavering.

“Your Grace,” a servant’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Shall I serve dessert now?”

The spell shattered. Samantha jerked back in her chair, her cheeks flaming as reality crashed over her. The duke’s expression shuttered, returning to its usual composed mask.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly, rising from her chair so abruptly that it scraped against the floor. “I find myself quite tired from the journey. If you’ll excuse me.”

She didn’t wait for his response, didn’t dare look at him again. Instead, she fled from the dining room, her silk skirts rustling as she made her escape.

But even as she climbed the stairs to her chambers, she could still feel the weight of his gaze on her back, could still hear the promise in his voice:

Not for very long, my tigress .

And the most terrifying part was that she was beginning to fear he just might be right.