Page 29 of Tamed By her Duke

“And yet, you appear unaware,” she pressed when a flicker of surprise crossed her husband’s face. “Which leaves me wondering: what are youdoingall day if not caring for your duchy?”

“You,” he said, pointing at her, “need to mind your own business.”

“It is my business,” she countered, voice still calm. “I am the duchess now. Or did you forget?”

He narrowed his eyes. She stood her ground. He took a step forward. Shestillstood her ground. He wouldn’t catch her out with that trick twice.

“I dinnae forget,” he grumbled. “But that’s man’s work. A man’s business. And therefore naught for you to concern yerself over.”

“Maybe not,” she allowed, inspecting her fingernails. “Except for the fact thatyouare not concerningyourselfover it. Thus, I must concern myself, or else tell the tenants, ‘Ah, I’m just a woman, so enjoy the drip over your beds.’”

“It’s over theirbeds?” Caleb asked before he remembered that he was trying to put her off.

Grace had no idea, honestly, but she shrugged. “I’m sure if it isn’t, they don’t mind getting icy water dripping into their food, or on their kitchen tables, or while they’re sewing by the fire, or?—”

“All right, lass, I get your point,” he grumbled. “If I tell ye I’ll see to it, will ye keep yer nose out of my business?”

“If it gets done,” she said, “there won’t be business for me to poke into. Unless, of course, there are more things the tenants need, more ways that you have been derelict. Then you shall find that I amverymuch involved.”

He growled. He actually growled.

Grace decided this meant that this conversation was going far better than she had hoped. Annoyed was more promising than apathetic, in her opinion.

“I said I’d do it,” he huffed.

“As a point of clarity,” she said, holding up a finger—see howheliked having someone poke at his nose, huh? “You did not say any such thing. You askedifI would leave you beifyou did it.”

“What are ye, a bloody solicitor? I’m not derelict. I’ll see to it.”

She smiled. “And I will keep my nose right where it is, until I am satisfied of that fact.”

Talking to him at all had irritated him; accusing him of ignoring his duties had angered him.

But implying that he was a liar, Grace realized, outrightoffendedhim.

“I do as I say, lass,” he said, voice low and serious, as he took another step toward her.

This time, she couldn’t resist moving back, just slightly. Except she’d been so close to the fire when she’d started that this nearly put her back into the flames, might have left the trailing ends of her blanket into the coals, if not for her husband swiftly seizing her around the shoulders and whirling her onto a low couch.

Momentum brought him nearly atop her, his weight palpable if not oppressive above her, one of his hands cradled behind her head.

His nearness—the great broadphysicalityof him—caused her breath to catch in her throat.

“Oh yes?” she challenged. Those honed instincts of which she was so proud had apparently decided to go on holiday, as this was, she knew even as she did it, very stupid. “I seem to recall you not completing one specific promise.”

She licked her lips to punctuate the sentence, and it almost made his words from the other night audible in the air between them.

Perhaps there might be a way to…prepare.

They were now nearly a week into Caleb’s two-week deadline; Grace had been thinking about that ticking clock—and about his comment in the portrait gallery—more than she cared to admit.

It was, she’d tried to tell herself, simple curiosity. Something about having one’s reputation smashed to pieces led to wondering what all the fuss was even about. It had nothing to do with any specific man.

Nothing at all.

Especially not this one.

“Oh, aye?” Caleb murmured. She felt the rumble go through him as he let a tiny bit more of his weight sink atop her. She wanted to dislike it.

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