Page 51 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Beatrice took a sip of her tea, considering her response. She couldn’t very well tell him about her plans to work on her painting for the Dowager Duchess.
“Oh, just the usual. Attending to household matters, perhaps a bit of reading. And yourself?”
Kenneth buttered a piece of toast, his gaze never leaving hers. “I have some estate business to attend to, as usual. Meetings with tenants, reviewing accounts, that sort of thing.”
Beatrice nodded, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Sounds riveting, Your Grace. Do try not to overexert yourself.”
Kenneth chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. “I shall do my best. Though I must admit, I find myself quite energized this morning.”
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers as he stole a piece of fruit from her plate. Beatrice’s breath hitched at his touch, a spark of electricity passing between them.
“I can’t imagine why,” she murmured, her eyes locking onto his.
Kenneth’s gaze darkened, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths. “Can’t you? I seem to recall a rather invigorating evening.”
Beatrice felt her cheeks heat up, but she held his gaze, a coy smile playing on her lips. “Ah, yes. It’s all coming back to me now.”
Kenneth’s expression grew more serious. “Just remember, Beatrice, you are my wife and the Duchess of Dunford. Your attentions should be directed accordingly.”
Her playful demeanor faltered slightly at his words, the reminder of their discussion about Lord Eastfold still fresh.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she replied, her tone softer.
They continued their breakfast, the air between them charged with a subtle tension. As Kenneth rose to leave, he paused behind her chair, his fingers tracing along her collarbone.
“Have a pleasant day, Duchess,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “I look forward to hearing about your adventures this evening.”
With a final, lingering touch, he brushed past her, leaving Beatrice breathless and yearning for more. As she watched him leave the room, she couldn’t help but marvel at the growing attraction between them and the way her body responded to his every touch and word.
“Mrs. Whitfield, I’ve finished the Dowager Duchess’s painting,” Beatrice said, setting down her brush. “Could you help me wrap it carefully and get a footman to take it to London? It must arrive safely.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Whitfield replied with a nod. “I’ll see to it right away.”
Beatrice wrote a letter to her dealer, her pen moving quickly over the paper. Her thoughts were clouded with concern about Lord Eastfold’s increasing interest in discovering Westback’s identity.
Once she had sealed the letter, she handed it to Mrs. Whitfield along with the painting. “Please, make sure it’s someone reliable.”
“I will, Your Grace. I’ll find someone trustworthy.”
A short while later, a young footman arrived. “Your Grace, I’ve been instructed to take this painting to London,” he said, bowing respectfully.
“Thank you,” Beatrice replied, watching as he carefully picked up the wrapped painting and exited the room. Once he was out of sight, she moved to the window, her eyes following him as he loaded the painting into a small coach. She continued to watch until the coach disappeared down the drive.
Later that afternoon, a knock sounded at the door to her room.
Anna entered, carrying a large package. “Your Grace, this just arrived for you.”
Beatrice frowned in confusion. “I haven’t sent for anything. Are you sure it’s for me?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Anna replied, setting the package down on the bed.
Beatrice opened it, her breath hitching as she revealed the most gorgeous pastel blue gown she had ever seen. The fabric shimmered in the light, the intricate embroidery catching her eye.
Mrs. Whitfield, who had followed Anna into the room, smiled warmly. “His Grace ordered it for you, Your Grace. He thought you might like to wear it to the ball.”
Beatrice’s heart skipped a beat. “He did?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mrs. Whitfield confirmed. “He wanted it to be a surprise.”
