Page 17 of Wedded to the Duke of Seduction (Dukes of Passion #3)

CHAPTER 17

“ A nd the blue drawing room is used primarily for afternoon callers, Your Grace,” Mrs. Phillips explained, opening a set of double doors to reveal an elegantly appointed chamber. “The previous duchess preferred it for its excellent light.”

Marina stepped into the room, admiring the delicate blue silk adorning the walls and the tasteful arrangement of furniture that created several intimate seating areas.

“It’s lovely. I can see why she favored it.”

“Indeed, Your Grace.” The housekeeper’s stern face softened slightly. “The room catches the afternoon sun perfectly. The late duchess was fond of embroidery and claimed no other room in the house provided better light for detailed work.”

Marina moved to the window, gazing out at the well-manicured garden below. The tour of her new home had taken nearly two hours already, and they had yet to explore the upper floors or the servants’ domain.

The townhouse was massive by London standards, the Rencourt family’s wealth and position made clear.

“I think I shall continue the tradition,” Marina decided. “This will be an excellent place to receive visitors.” She turned back to Mrs. Phillips with a smile. “Now, what about the household accounts? When are they typically reviewed?”

The housekeeper’s eyebrows rose fractionally—the first sign of surprise she’d shown during their extensive tour. “His Grace normally reviews them quarterly with the steward, Your Grace. The next review is scheduled for the end of the month.”

“I see.” Marina nodded thoughtfully. “I’d like to familiarize myself with them before then. Would tomorrow morning be convenient for you to walk me through the current arrangements?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Phillips seemed pleased by the request. “I keep detailed records of all household expenditures. Since His Grace has been absent so frequently in recent years, I’ve maintained a strict accounting of every shilling.”

“I expected nothing less,” Marina assured her. “I’m also interested in the menus for the coming week. I know His Grace has particular preferences, and I’d like to ensure they’re being met.”

“The Duke likes French cuisine for formal dinners but prefers simpler English food when dining alone,” Mrs. Phillips replied promptly. “He’s not overly particular about breakfast although he insists upon proper coffee—a habit gained during his travels, I believe.”

Marina filed away this small insight into her husband’s tastes. “And the staff rotation? I noticed several footmen during dinner last night, but only one at breakfast.”

Mrs. Phillips nodded approvingly. “Indeed, Your Grace. We maintain a lighter presence during informal meals to allow the family privacy. The full complement of staff is available for formal occasions and dinner service.”

Marina followed along as they toured the house—the sitting rooms, the formal dining area, the spaces she’d soon manage. She asked straightforward questions about how things worked, determined to handle her new role as smoothly as she’d run her first husband’s home, even though this one was far more impressive.

“And through here is the portrait gallery,” Mrs. Phillips explained, guiding her down a hallway lined with paintings.

She walked slowly, taking in each portrait until one painting stopped her in her tracks.

Two young men stood side by side, both dressed for a hunt. They were tall, good-looking, but clearly very different in personality.

One was unmistakably Leo—younger, his face open and relaxed but definitely the man she’d married. The other bore a strong resemblance but appeared more carefree, his smile easier.

“Is this His Grace’s brother?” Marina asked, studying the second figure with interest.

Mrs. Phillips’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes, Your Grace. That is Lord William, painted some twelve years ago.”

“They look quite close,” Marina observed, noting the casual way the brothers’ shoulders touched in the portrait, the relaxed postures suggesting genuine comfort in each other’s company.

“They were, once.” The housekeeper’s voice held a note of sadness. “Lord William has been gone for many years now.”

Marina glanced at her, intrigued by the phrasing. “Gone? You mean he no longer lives in England?”

Mrs. Phillips hesitated. “Mr. William has been… away for some time, Your Grace.” Her tone was gentle but final, the kind of practiced diplomacy that signaled further inquiry would be unwelcome. “It’s not my place to speak on the matter.”

Marina, sensing the boundary, let the subject drop.

“And has His Grace been away frequently?” Marina asked, keeping her tone casual.

“These past ten years, extensively.” Mrs. Phillips’s expression turned thoughtful. “His business often takes him to the continent for months at a time. He maintains strict standards for the household even in his absence, but…” She hesitated.

“Yes?” Marina prompted gently.

“A house needs its master and mistress, Your Grace,” Mrs. Phillips concluded simply. “The staff has noted how different His Grace seems since his return this time. More… present if you’ll forgive the impertinence.”

Before Marina could inquire further, Henderson appeared to announce the modiste. Mrs. Phillips curtsied and withdrew, leaving Marina to ponder this additional insight into the man she had married as she greeted Madame Beaumont and her assistants.

The rest of the afternoon flew by in a blur of fabrics, measurements, and fashion sketches.

Madame Beaumont seemed thrilled with Marina, constantly praising her “perfect figure” and “lovely coloring.”

“The Duke asked me to create an entire wardrobe suitable for your new role, Your Grace,” Madame Beaumont explained as her assistants unpacked sample fabrics. “Morning dresses, afternoon outfits, evening gowns—everything a duchess might need.”

Marina hesitated, feeling overwhelmed by the extravagance. “That sounds like far more than I’ll need right away?—”

“His Grace was very clear,” Madame Beaumont interrupted gently but firmly. “He wants you to have everything you might require.”

When Madame Beaumont finally left, promising the first dresses within the week, Marina felt dizzy from all the decisions she’d made.

As Lady Asquith, her wardrobe had been simple. Now, she was surrounded by luxury—silks, lace, and elaborate embroidery—all carefully chosen for her.

Finally alone, Marina returned to her rooms where Betty was waiting to help her prepare for the evening.

“The Duke has not returned, Your Grace,” her maid informed her as she unlaced Marina’s day dress. “Henderson says he’s not expected until dinner.”

Marina nodded, unsurprised. Leo had business to attend to—namely, settling her late husband’s debt with Giles. She tried not to speculate on how that meeting had progressed though she couldn’t help hoping Leo had put the odious man firmly in his place.

“I think I’ll rest for a while, Betty,” she decided. “Wake me in time to dress for dinner.”

Once alone, however, Marina found herself too restless for sleep. Her mind kept returning to the portrait of Leo and his brother and to Mrs. Phillips’ careful evasion when questioned about William. Something significant had happened between the brothers—something that had driven Leo to his frequent travels and left a shadow in his eyes whenever family was mentioned.

Moving to the writing desk by the window, Marina withdrew a fresh sheet of paper and her pen. Without consciously deciding to do so, she wrote, words flowing onto the page as a new story took shape in her mind.

The captain stood at the helm, his weathered face turned toward the horizon where the rising sun kissed the endless sea. Ten years he had sailed these waters, searching for the brother who had disappeared with the family’s treasure and the woman they had both loved. Ten years of pursuit, of near misses and false leads, until the quest itself had become his only companion…

Marina paused, surprised by the direction her tale had taken. Unlike her previous stories featuring the rakish duke, this protagonist was a sea captain—driven, haunted by loss, and consumed by a quest that had long since become more punishment than purpose. Though she had changed the setting and circumstances, she recognized the inspiration for this troubled hero.

She continued writing, lost in the narrative of a man whose obsession with the past prevented him from embracing the future, until Betty’s soft knock interrupted her concentration.

“Your Grace? It’s time to prepare for dinner.”

Marina set aside her pen, tucking the pages into a drawer. This story was different from her previous works—less explicitly sensual, more focused on the emotional landscape of a complex man. Whether it would please readers accustomed to her more scandalous tales remained to be seen, but the writing had satisfied something in her that her stories about the Duke never had.

As Betty helped her into an elegant evening gown of deep green silk—one of her better pieces from her previous wardrobe—Marina wondered if Leo would return for dinner and what mood he might be in after his confrontation with Giles.

Their conversation the previous evening had ended awkwardly after his attempt at… seduction? Kindness? She still wasn’t certain what to make of his offer to fulfill her desires.

Whatever his intentions, she resolved to approach the evening with an open mind. They were married now, bound by circumstances neither had expected.

Coexisting peacefully would benefit them both.

Leo strode into Lupton’s printing house. The clerk jumped to his feet at the sight of him, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste.

“Y-Your Grace! How may I assist you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Lupton,” Leo replied, his tone brooking no argument. “Immediately.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Right this way.”

The clerk scurried ahead to announce him, leaving Leo to follow at a more measured pace. He had come directly from Giles’s office, his patience with manipulative businessmen already dangerously thin.

Lupton rose from behind his desk as Leo entered, his oily smile firmly in place. “Your Grace, what an unexpected honor. Please, be seated.”

Leo remained standing, deliberately using his height to advantage. “This isn’t a social call, Lupton. I’ve come regarding Lady Asquith.”

“Ah.” Lupton’s smile faltered slightly. “A most talented writer, Your Grace. Her stories have been quite profitable for my humble establishment.”

“Her stories will no longer be published by your establishment or any other,” Leo stated flatly. “The Duchess of Blackmere does not require such income, nor would I permit my wife’s name to be associated with such material.”

Lupton’s eyes widened at the revelation. “The Duchess—? I had not heard… That is, congratulations are in order, Your Grace.”

“Save your felicitations,” Leo cut him off. “I am here to ensure you understand the situation clearly. Any manuscripts in your possession featuring characters that resemble me in any way are to be destroyed immediately. No further publications of such material will be tolerated.”

Lupton’s expression hardened. “With all due respect, Your Grace, those stories are my property. The contract Lady—pardon me, the Duchess—signed grants me publishing rights in perpetuity.”

“A contract obtained through coercion is hardly binding,” Leo replied, his voice dangerously soft. “Especially when the party in question was under financial duress deliberately exacerbated by yourself and Mr. Giles.”

The publisher’s face paled. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”

“Don’t you?” Leo leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on Lupton’s desk. “I find it curious that Giles suddenly collected on a decade-old debt precisely when the stories turned a profit. Almost as if someone had informed him of the Duchess’ literary success.”

Lupton swallowed visibly. “Business arrangements between gentlemen are private matters?—”

“You are no gentleman,” Leo interrupted coldly, echoing his earlier assessment of Giles. “And attempting to blackmail a vulnerable widow is no business arrangement.”

“I never blackmailed?—”

“Enough.” Leo’s voice cut through Lupton’s protest like a blade. “Here is what will happen. You will destroy all manuscripts featuring characters that resemble me. You will stop publishing any stories the Duchess submitted under duress. In return, I will refrain from making your predatory business practices known to certain members of the peerage who might take exception to your treatment of a woman now under my protection.”

Lupton’s face had gone from pale to ashen. “And if I refuse?”

Leo straightened, adjusting his cuffs with deliberate precision. “Then I will buy this entire establishment for the sole purpose of burning it to the ground and ensure that no reputable business in London will ever work with you again.” He smiled thinly. “I have the resources to do both, I assure you.”

The threat hung in the air between them, its weight almost palpable in the sudden silence of the office.

“I see,” Lupton said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Consider it done, Your Grace.”

“Excellent.” Leo moved toward the door, then paused. “One more thing, Mr. Lupton. The Duchess is a talented writer whose work deserves respect. Your exploitation of her circumstances reflects poorly on your judgment, both personal and professional. Remember that, should you ever consider crossing me again.”

Without waiting for a response, Leo departed, leaving Lupton pale and shaken behind his desk.

As his carriage returned him to Berkeley Square, Leo reflected on how quickly his priorities had shifted. Just days ago, his primary concern had been stopping the scandalous stories that threatened his reputation.

Now, his focus had turned to protecting the woman who wrote them.

“Her Grace is resting before dinner, Your Grace,” Henderson informed him as he handed over his hat and gloves. “The modiste’s visit was quite extensive.”

“I imagine so,” Leo replied, suppressing a smile at the thought of Marina overwhelmed by Madame Beaumont’s enthusiastic attention. “And was Her Grace satisfied with the arrangements?”

“I believe so, Your Grace, though she seemed somewhat taken aback by the scope of the commission.”

Leo nodded, unsurprised. Marina’s reluctance to accept what she perceived as charity had been evident from the beginning.

“She’ll adjust,” he said, more to himself than to Henderson. “Has there been any other word from Matthews?”

“No, Your Grace,” Henderson replied. “No further communications since the letter regarding Brussels.”

Leo frowned slightly. The lead had been promising—a landlady who had recognized William’s description and confirmed he had stayed at her establishment with a blonde woman. But by the time Matthews had arrived, they had already departed, leaving no forwarding address.

For the first time in years, Leo found himself less consumed by thoughts of his brother than by more immediate concerns—specifically, the woman currently resting upstairs, who would join him for dinner in a few hours.

“I’ll be in my study,” he informed Henderson. “Please notify me when the Duchess is ready to come down for dinner.”

As he settled into the familiar comfort of his study, Leo found himself wondering what Marina had made of her day.

Has she explored the house? Has she met with the staff? Has she begun to feel at home in her new surroundings?