Page 52 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Beatrice ran her fingers over the delicate fabric, her mind racing. She had not expected this gesture from Kenneth. The gown was beautiful, a symbol of his thoughtfulness, yet she could not forget the tension that still lingered between them.
“Thank you, Mrs. Whitfield,” she said, her voice soft. “And thank you, Anna. You both may go now.”
As the door closed behind them, Beatrice held the gown against her, admiring the way the light danced across its surface. She couldn’t help but smile, a small spark of hope igniting within her.
The next day, Beatrice and Kenneth climbed into the luxurious coach, ready for their journey to London.
As they took off and the countryside rolled past, Beatrice turned to Kenneth, attempting to break the silence.
“How is the estate business going? You seem to be hard at work lately.”
Kenneth glanced at her, his expression softening slightly. “Busy as always. There’s much to manage.”
Beatrice nodded, sensing his reluctance to delve into details. “And the riding stables? I’ve heard you’ve acquired a new horse.”
He relaxed a bit more, the topic evidently more to his liking. “Yes, a magnificent stallion. Strong and spirited. I think he’ll be a great addition.”
A small smile played on Beatrice’s lips at his obvious passion. “I look forward to seeing him.” After a brief pause, she took a deep breath and said, “Thank you for the gown, Kenneth. It’s truly beautiful.”
He met her gaze, his voice gruff yet sincere. “Do you like it?”
She nodded. “Very much. Did you pick the color?”
He looked away, mumbling, “Yes. Thought it’d go nicely with your eyes.”
A hint of a smile touched her lips, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. The gesture, though small, sparked a glimmer of optimism within her. Maybe they would find common ground in the days to come.
They continued their journey in comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts.
They reached their London townhouse late that night, the streets outside quiet, and the house dimly lit.
Beatrice retired to her room, but as she lay in bed, sleep eluded her. At first, she attributed her restlessness to the excitement of the ball the next day, but deep down, she knew it was something more. She wanted Kenneth.
She tossed and turned, trying to push the thought away, but it was no use. Her mind was filled with the memory of his touch, the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes had softened when he mentioned the gown. Unable to bear the longing any longer, she threw back the covers and slipped out of bed.
She made her way to his door, the plush carpet muting her footsteps. She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest, before raising her hand and knocking softly.
The door opened almost immediately, and Kenneth stood before her.
“Beatrice,” he said quietly. “Is something the matter? “Don’t you want to go to sleep early since we have the ball tomorrow?”
She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “Actually, I was hoping for something other than sleep tonight.”
The intensity of her gaze spoke volumes, and Kenneth’s eyes darkened with understanding. Without another word, he reached out and pulled her inside, the door closing softly behind her.
His hand slid down her arm, sending shivers through her body. She stepped closer, feeling the heat of his skin even through his shirt. Kenneth’s fingers gently tilted her chin up, their eyes locking in a silent, smoldering exchange. Then his lips crashed against hers, stealing the breath from her lungs.
The outside world faded away as they gave in to their passion in the deepening night.
Kenneth stood in front of the mirror, his valet, Thompson, adding the final touches of his attire. The valet’s deft hands worked quickly and efficiently, fastening the buttons and straightening the cravat.
“I’ve added a touch of blue, Your Grace, to complement Her Grace’s gown,” Thompson said, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
Kenneth glanced at his reflection, noticing the subtle blue accents in his outfit. It was a detail he normally wouldn’t have bothered with. He dismissed himself as ridiculous for even caring about such things. Typically, he never gave two thoughts about matching colors with anyone else.
Why am I even thinking about this?
“Thank you, Thompson,” he said, his tone gruff. “That will be all.”
