Page 48 of Duke of Pride

“Hard to imagine being married to a wallpaper,” Victoria interrupted again.

“You won’t have to suffer his opinions at dinner.”

“Sufferis the correct word to use regarding being married to Edward.”

“I am afraid that we are running out of suitable prospects.”

“What about the Duke of Blackwell?”

Stephen stopped abruptly. Victoria, still holding onto his arm, almost tripped. He pinned her with that sharp look of his that should have been intimidating.

“I saidsuitableprospects.”

Victoria blinked up at him with exaggerated innocence. “Oh? And what makes the Duke of Blackwell unsuitable, Your Grace? His excellent taste in waistcoats? His ability to discuss topics beyond horseflesh and crop rotation?”

The muscle in Stephen’s jaw twitched violently. “I do not approve of him.”

“How dramatic. I’m merely saying that your vigorous disapproval might hint at hidden virtues.”

Stephen’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then lower, to where her pulse fluttered at her throat. When he spoke, his voice was a dark caress.

“Tell me, do you truly find him attractive?”

She did not. Victoria barely found the Duke of Blackwell interesting. But coaxing a reaction out of Stephen was too delicious a game to skip. Now, under his scrutiny, she had nothing to say.

The silence stretched between them like a bowstring. She simply followed him as he led the way to the picnic.

They finally reached the perfectly sublime spot she and Dorothy had prepared with such care. And their efforts seemed to have paid off, for the scenery was out of a fairytale.

The guests were sitting on luscious cushions by the wooden platform at the edge of the water. Their laughter skipped across the lake's mirror-like surface, pastel skirts skittering and linen shirts rustling. Low tables sat between them, laden with fruit, refreshments, and colorful china.

Victoria looked up at Stephen, and he seemed taken by the scenery, too. That was praise more than words could ever convey.

“See? Not that bad,” Victoria said, squeezing his arm.

“Adequate.”

Victoria laughed as Dorothy came toward them with the brightest smile on her face.

“Stephen! I am so glad you joined us.”

Stephen leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. And accept her embrace without recoiling.

“I was led to believe that attendance was compulsory,” he said, smirking. “Plus, Euclid needed a walk.”

Victoria scoffed and followed Dorothy to her spot. She watched as Stephen sat in the farthest spot that wasn’t quite in the lake but close enough to the edge. He looked so uncomfortable in the serene environment. Soon, Annabelle and Frederick joined him, and he managed to relax. Still no smile, but Victoria knew well to choose her battles wisely when it came to Stephen.

“Your Grace,” a saccharine voice cut through the air.

It was Adelaide, Lady Weatherby’s daughter—the thrice times dowager made it a point to have one child with each husband—and the youngest of the brood. She was the epitome of a proper lady—willowy, golden-haired, and possessed of the kind of calculated charm that was expected from a lady.

“It is good to see you joining us.”

Victoria clenched the fork she used to spear strawberries. There was no mistaking her tone or the sensual way she moved. She boldly sat on the cushion next to Stephen, and a strawberry paid for it. She arranged her skirts with practiced elegance, the pale blue silk whispering across the cushions.

“Your estate is breathtaking in summer, Your Grace. The gardens are exquisite.”

“Thank you, though my mother takes care of the estate if you want to properly congratulate someone.”

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