Page 49 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Eastfold leaned back in his chair.
“Well, now that I’ve met Her Grace, I understand why. She is beautifulandsmart. You would have been a fool not to marry her.”
Kenneth felt a flicker of irritation at Eastfold’s probing. He wasn’t willing to admit, even to himself, that his marriage might be more than just a convenient arrangement.
“It was a practical decision, nothing more,” he said dismissively, his tone clipped.
Eastfold raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Is that so? Practicality and love are often at odds, old friend.”
Kenneth’s eyes hardened slightly. “Let’s stick to the matter at hand, shall we? The reason you’re here is business, not to discuss my personal life.”
Eastfold nodded though his eyes retained a glint of curiosity. “Very well. I came to discuss the new pieces I’ve acquired for your collection. I think you’ll find them quite remarkable.”
As they delved into the details of the art collection, Kenneth forced himself to focus on the conversation. However, his mind kept drifting back to Beatrice, to the way she had laughed and conversed so easily with Eastfold.
His friend’s words echoed in his mind, refusing to be dismissed as easily as he had intended.
Later that night, Kenneth sat alone in his study, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows over the room.
He had spent hours poring over the estate accounts, trying to drown his thoughts in numbers and ledgers. The sound of his quill scratching across the parchment was the only noise that broke the heavy silence. He had even taken his dinner alone, hoping the solitude would bring him some peace.
But it hadn’t.
His mind kept wandering back to the previous night, to the way Beatrice had felt in his arms. Her soft curves pressing against him, her warm breath fanning his skin, the delicate scent of her hair teasing his nostrils. He remembered the way she had sighed, a contented smile on her lips as she drifted off to sleep. The memory of her weight in his arms as he had carried her to her bed, how light she had felt, how peaceful she had looked.
The figures before him blurred, and he let out a frustrated sigh, closing the account book with a snap. This was pointless. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think straight with the memories of Beatrice haunting him. The desire he had felt for her was more than physical—it was a gnawing need, a longing that he couldn’t quite understand or control.
With a determined breath, Kenneth rose from his chair, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. He left his study, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the corridor as he made to find his wife.His mind was filled with thoughts of her, the memories of their passionate night together replaying in his mind, fueling his desire.
As he approached her chambers, he heard soft murmurs. Pushing the door open slightly, he saw Beatrice being bathed by her lady’s maid. The sight of her bare shoulders and the soft curve of her back sent a jolt of desire through him.
He stepped into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Anna, retire for the night,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Anna’s eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly curtsied and scurried away, casting a quick glance at Beatrice before leaving the room.
Beatrice turned to face him, annoyance evident in her eyes. “You can’t just order my maid around like that,” she protested.
Kenneth ignored her words, rolling up his sleeves with deliberate slowness. “I’ll bathe you myself,” he said, his voice low.
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “I am perfectly capable of bathing myself…” she retorted, but her words faltered as he picked up the cloth and dipped it into the warm water.
He moved closer to her, his presence overwhelming.
“Let me,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin as he began to slowly wash her back.
Beatrice’s protests died on her lips as she felt the gentle pressure of his hand, the cloth moving in slow, soothing circles. Her body responded to his touch, a shiver of pleasure running down her spine. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be lost in the sensation.
Kenneth dipped the cloth into the warm water again then gently ran it down her back, the steam rising around them.
“You were quite friendly with Eastfold earlier,” he noted, his voice calm but probing.
Beatrice glanced back at him, confusion in her eyes. “Is that not what is expected of me as a duchess?”
Kenneth’s hand stilled for a moment before he continued bathing her. “Polite, yes. But there is a difference between politeness and friendliness.”
She frowned slightly. “I don’t understand. Was I not supposed to engage him in conversation?”
Kenneth leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. “You can be polite, but you should not be friendly with my business associates,” he murmured, his voice low and possessive.
