Page 38 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“He won’t,” Beatrice reassured her. “And if he does, nothing will happen to you. I promise.”
The housekeeper paused, still uncertain, but finally nodded. “Very well, Your Grace. I will keep your secret.”
Beatrice moved as if to hug her but stopped short, realizing she was covered in paint. She laughed awkwardly. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitfield. I don’t want to get paint all over you.”
Mrs. Whitfield chuckled though she maintained her professional demeanor. “What do you need, Your Grace?”
“I need a washbasin and an apron, so I don’t ruin any more gowns,” Beatrice explained. “And I’ll order some plain dressesthat I can put on while I’m in this room. In the meantime, I’ll wear some of my old dresses.”
Mrs. Whitfield nodded. “I’ll help with everything. I’ll fetch a fresh change of clothes and warm water with soap so you can clean up.”
Beatrice’s relief was palpable. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitfield. I appreciate your help more than you know.”
The housekeeper gave a small, reassuring smile before leaving the room.
While she waited, Beatrice moved to the window, gazing out at the breathtaking landscape. The rolling hills and distant sea provided a serene backdrop, but her attention was quickly drawn to the gardens below. There, Kenneth rode his horse with effortless grace. His riding garb was more casual at home, and his shirt was more open than usual, revealing a glimpse of his muscular chest.
She watched him with admiration, unable to look away. The way his thighs looked strong and powerful in his riding breeches sent a shiver through her. He dismounted with fluidity, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did so.
Beatrice bit her lip, feeling a heat rise to her cheeks as she recalled the memory of his touch, the way his hands had felt on her skin, the intensity of his gaze.
Kenneth stretched, his movements languid and unguarded, as his horse rested under the shade of a tree. Beatrice’s breath hitched as she took in the sight of him, every sinew and muscle perfectly defined. Her heart raced, and a deep desire stirred within her, overwhelming her senses.
For a moment, she allowed herself to be carried away by the fantasy, her thoughts consumed by the man who had so unexpectedly become her husband. The yearning in her chest was almost painful, a reminder of the complicated emotions she felt towards him.
However, she quickly composed herself as a knock sounded at the door, signaling Mrs. Whitfield’s return.
Beatrice stepped away from the window, smoothing down her paint-stained dress and trying to calm her racing heart.
Mrs. Whitfield entered with a fresh change of clothes and a washbasin filled with warm water. “Here you are, Your Grace. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Whitfield,” Beatrice replied, welcoming the distraction and the housekeeper’s support.
With a last glance out the window, where Kenneth was now leading his horse back to the stables, Beatrice took a deep breath, determined to focus on her art and her duties as Duchess, even as the memory of his touch lingered in her mind.
Later that evening, Kenneth made his way to his study after spending the day riding the fence lines of the estate with his steward. His muscles ached from the long hours of riding, but his mind was sharp, focused on the work that awaited him.
As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with Beatrice, who was dressed beautifully for dinner.
“Oh. Apologies, Duke,” he heard her mutter under her breath, her eyes avoiding his.
As he took her in, he noticed that the neckline of her dress plunged just enough to be tantalizing, drawing his gaze to the delicate curve of her collarbone and the swell of her bosom. The gown hugged her curves in all the right places, accentuating her figure in a way that made his breath hitch.
Kenneth’s eyes lingered on her longer than he intended, and it wasn’t until she spoke again that he realized he had been staring.
“Do you need anything, Duke?” Beatrice’s voice held a teasing lilt, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Beside her, Mrs. Whitfield stood quietly, her hands folded neatly in front of her, trying to make herself invisible.
Kenneth cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from his wife’s enticing form. “No,” he told her, his voice rougher than he intended, and then turned to Mrs. Whitfield. “Please have dinner brought to my study.”
Mrs. Whitfield nodded, clearly sensing the charged atmosphere. “Of course, Your Grace.” She hurried away, leaving him alone with the Duchess.
Beatrice’s lips curled into a playful smile. “Just dinner, Duke? Nothing else to tempt your appetite?”
Kenneth felt a surge of heat at her words. “I believe I’ll manage,” he said, his voice low.
She stepped closer, holding his gaze. “Are you sure? For a man as busy as you, one would think you’d need more than just dinner to be satisfied.”
