Page 21 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Lady Featherwell’s chatter became nothing more than background noise as Kenneth’s focus remained on Beatrice. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, the way her hair framed her face, and the grace with which she carried herself. The desire to close the distance between them, to feel her warmth and softness, grew stronger with each passing moment.
Soon, I will find a way to be alone with her again.
After dinner, the Dowager Duchess called everyone to the drawing room for drinks. The grand space was filled with plush seats, elegant green draperies, and the soft glow of candlelight.
As the guests settled in, Lady Featherwell quickly made her way to Kenneth’s side, her intent clear.
“Oh, Your Grace, you must tell me more about your estate in Dunford,” she purred, leaning in just a little too close. “It sounds absolutely enchanting. I have always wanted to visit such a grand place.”
Kenneth maintained his polite demeanor though he felt a twinge of irritation.
“It is quite a serene place,” he replied coolly. “Very peaceful.”
Lady Featherwell fluttered her eyelashes. “I do love peaceful places. Perhaps I could visit sometime, Your Grace? It would be delightful to see it with someone who appreciates its beauty as much as you do.”
Before Kenneth could respond, another young lady approached them.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she greeted with a friendly smile. “Lady Featherwell.”
“Ah, Miss Stenham,” Lady Featherwell said dismissively, barely glancing her way. “His Grace and I were just discussing his lovely estate.”
Kenneth nodded to Miss Stenham, grateful for the interruption. “Good evening, Miss Stenham.”
Miss Stenham seemed eager to join the conversation, but Lady Featherwell immediately turned her back to her, effectively cutting her off.
“Do tell me more about your gardens, Your Grace,” she insisted, her hand lightly touching his arm.
Kenneth’s smile was strained. “The gardens are well-maintained, Lady Featherwell. I am sure you would find them quite pleasing.”
His eyes wandered across the room, seeking an escape from Lady Featherwell’s relentless flirtations.
He spotted Beatrice talking to another lord, a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and a confident air. Kenneth recognized him as Lord Cranfield, a regular attendee of social gatherings.
Beatrice appeared to be engaged in a lively conversation, her face animated and her eyes sparkling.
Kenneth felt an unexpected pang of jealousy which he quickly dismissed. He told himself that he simply disliked Lord Cranfield, whose presence always managed to annoy him. It had nothing to do with the fact that Beatrice’s attention was focused on the man and not him.
Lady Featherwell continued her attempts to monopolize his attention. “Your Grace, I do believe you have the most fascinating stories. Tell me, what is the most exciting thing you have experienced at Dunford?”
Kenneth barely suppressed a sigh. “Dunford is quite tranquil, Lady Featherwell. I am afraid there is not much excitement to speak of.”
Lady Featherwell leaned even closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Surely there must be something, Your Grace. You strike me as a man who seeks adventure.”
Kenneth’s patience was wearing thin, but he remained polite. “I value peace and quiet, Lady Featherwell.”
His eyes drifted back to Beatrice and Lord Cranfield. She laughed at something the man said, her whole demeanor light and relaxed. Kenneth felt another surge of irritation. He tried to convince himself that it was merely his aversion to Lord Cranfield, not the sight of Beatrice enjoying someone else’s company, that bothered him.
Lady Featherwell’s voice cut through his thoughts again, but he barely registered her words. His attention was fixed on Beatrice and the inexplicable pull he felt towards her.
But then he forced himself to look away, his jaw tightening.
This is ridiculous! I do not get jealous.
But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, the undeniable truth remained: Beatrice Wickes had gotten under his skin, and he wasn’t sure how to rid himself of the growing desire to be near her, to get to know her, and to understand the fire that drove her.
As the evening wore on, Kenneth found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else.
Lady Featherwell’s attempts to engage him in conversation fell flat, and he responded with curt, polite remarks, his mind constantly wandering back to Beatrice.
