Page 26 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

She hoped she had not just made a terrible mistake, even though, in her heart of hearts, she knew it certainly did not feel that way.

That was when an idea popped into her mind, and Annabelle’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. She immediately set off for the stables.

“What’s this commotion about the new mare?” Annabelle called out brightly as she approached the Oakley Hall stables, causing the three stable hands to turn in her direction with obvious surprise.

“Miss Lytton!” John, the head groom, scrambled to his feet from where he’d been tending to the visiting horses. “We weren’t expecting… that is, there’s no commotion, my lady.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, gesturing toward the far end of the stable block. “I distinctly heard raised voices concerning the chestnut’s temperament. Come, show me what the fuss is about.”

As the men reluctantly moved toward the indicated stalls, Annabelle slipped toward the Duke of Marchwood’s distinctive black carriage. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she retrieved the two volumes from beneath her shawl: Mary Wollstonecraft’s book, as well as Austen’sSense and Sensibility, as she wanted to spoil the girl.

She tucked the books beneath the velvet seat cushion. This was a small act of rebellion, perhaps, but one that might demonstrate to His Grace that not all literature was designed to corrupt impressionable minds.

“There’s really nothing amiss here, my lady,” one of the older grooms said as she rejoined them. His weathered face was creased with confusion.

“My mistake entirely,” Annabelle replied cheerfully. “How foolish of me to misinterpret what I heard.”

She made her way toward the stable entrance, congratulating herself on the success of her small subterfuge, when the sound of approaching voices caused her to pause.

Through the wide doorway, she glimpsed the unmistakable figure of the Duke of Marchwood striding across the courtyard alongside Williams, her grandmother’s steward.

“—requires immediate attention before the autumn rains worsen the situation,” Williams said as they drew nearer. “The drainage system in our south meadow has failed, and it borders Your Grace’s land.”

“Then we shall coordinate our efforts,” the Duke replied curtly. His commanding presence was evident even in profile. “Shared boundaries require—” He stopped abruptly as his gaze fell upon Annabelle standing in the stable entrance. “Miss Lytton.”

“Your Grace. Mr. Williams.” She dropped into a perfectly calibrated curtsy. “I was merely inspecting the roses while you concluded your business.”

Williams glanced between them, then cleared his throat once. “Perhaps I should see you to the house, Your Grace, where Lady Oakley awaits.”

Before the Duke could respond, a young footman appeared at the courtyard’s edge, slightly breathless. “Mr. Williams, sir? The master gardener requires your presence.”

Williams’s expression tightened with frustration. “Can it not wait? His Grace and I have pressing matters to discuss.”

“I’m afraid he was most insistent, sir,” the footman replied apologetically.

“Allow me to escort His Grace to the house,” Annabelle interjected smoothly. “I was returning there myself, after all.”

The steward hesitated, clearly reluctant to abandon his duties, but the footman’s increasingly urgent demeanor settled the matter. “Very well. Your Grace, if you’ll excuse me?”

With a bow, Williams departed, leaving Annabelle alone with the Duke in the suddenly charged atmosphere of the stable yard.

The Duke’s eyes locked onto her with sudden sharpness, his voice low but firm. “Miss Lytton, I found something unexpected in my study today.”

Annabelle’s pulse quickened. There it was. Obviously, he’d bring up the romance novel at some point. Still, she didn’t want to give him any satisfaction yet.

So, she blinked at him, feigning surprise, “Oh? And what would that be, Your Grace?”

He stepped closer, “A certain volume, rather out of place amid my usual reading. I find it nestled amongst the treatises on philosophy and politics.”

Annabelle tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do tell me the title, then. One must know what sort of book would cause such distress.”

His eyes narrowed. “A most improper romance novel.The Lustful Libertine’s Lessons in Love.”

A soft giggle escaped her lips. “I confess, Your Grace, I had no idea such works were to your taste.”

The Duke’s jaw tightened, frustration flickering in his gaze. “This is no jest, Miss Lytton. You see fit to toy with my household and my patience alike.”

Annabelle’s smile deepened, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes.

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