Page 73 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
Kenneth and Beatrice exchanged helpless glances as the suggestions grew more and more bizarre. Standing on one’s head after relations, drinking a concoction of herbs that sounded more like a witch’s brew, and even howling at the full moon were all proposed as surefire methods to produce an heir.
As the visit mercifully drew to a close, the Dowager Duchess fixed Kenneth with a penetrating stare. “You are doing your duty, aren’t you, young man? No shirking your marital obligations?”
Kenneth spluttered, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “I assure you, Duchess, I am… that is to say… we are?—”
“What my husband means to say,” Beatrice interjected smoothly, taking pity on him, “is that we are very much looking forward to starting a family when the time is right.”
This seemed to satisfy the two ladies, who finally took their leave amidst a flurry of kisses, last-minute advice, and promises to visit again soon.
Kenneth and Beatrice stood in the doorway, watching the carriage disappear down the drive. For a moment, there was silence. Then, almost simultaneously, they burst into laughter.
“Did you see Aunt Marjorie’s face when Mrs. Potts brought out the oysters?” Kenneth gasped, tears streaming down his face.
Beatrice leaned against him, shaking with mirth. “I thought the Dowager Duchess was going to demonstrate that ridiculous headstand right there in the drawing room!”
They made their way back inside, still chuckling. As they reached the foot of the stairs, Kenneth pulled Beatrice close, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“You know,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, “some of their advice didn’t sound half bad. Perhaps we should… experiment?”
Beatrice grinned up at him, her heart light with love and laughter. “Well, husband, I suppose it is our duty to try everything in our power to produce an heir.”
Kenneth’s eyes darkened with desire as he pulled her closer. “Indeed, it is, my dear. Though I must say, I’m particularly intrigued by Aunt Marjorie’s suggestion about magnetic fields. Shall we rearrange our bed to face north?”
Beatrice laughed, her fingers toying with the lapels of his coat. “Oh? And here I thought you might be more interested in the Dowager Duchess’s recommendation to eat oysters.”
“Hmm,” Kenneth mused, his hands sliding down to her waist. “I can think of something far more appetizing than oysters right now.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, a coy smile playing on her lips. “Is that so, husband? And what might that be?”
Kenneth leaned in, his breath hot against her neck. “Why don’t you come upstairs and find out?”
“Goodness,” Beatrice whispered, her pulse quickening. “How very forward of you, Sir. What would the Dowager Duchess say?”
“I believe,” Kenneth replied, his voice husky with desire, “she would say we’re doing our duty admirably.”
Beatrice laughed, the sound rich with promise. “Well then, husband, lead the way. We mustn’t shirk our responsibilities.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Another commission,” Beatrice murmured to herself, a smile tugging at her lips as she carefully opened the letter from her dealer.
Her heart raced with anticipation as she read its contents. The thrill of having her work recognized and sought after never ceased to amaze her.
But as she read further, her smile faltered. The client had given Westback a tight deadline of just two weeks. Beatrice glanced at her inventory, mentally calculating what she would need. It quickly became apparent that her current supplies would not suffice.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She knew what she had to do. Gathering the letter, she made her way to Kenneth’s study, her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.
Knocking softly on the heavy wooden door, she heard his deep voice calling, “Enter.”
Beatrice opened the door and stepped inside, finding Kenneth immersed in work at his desk
“Beatrice,” he greeted, a small smile playing on his lips, “what brings you here?”
She walked over to him, the letter clutched in her hand. “I received a new commission from a lady in London,” she began, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach, “but she’s given Westback a deadline of only two weeks.”
Kenneth leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Two weeks? Sounds like a rush.”
Beatrice nodded, biting her lower lip. “Yes, and I’m afraid my current supplies won’t be enough.” She paused, gathering her courage. “I was hoping I could go to London to shop for new supplies.”
