Page 84 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
I thought him charming, intelligent, a friend to Kenneth and me. But now I see the truth. He’s nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a man consumed by his greed and ambition.
The memory of his smug smile, the glint of avarice in his eyes as he spoke of her art as nothing more than a commodity, made her stomach churn with disgust.
He cares nothing for the beauty, the emotion, the soul of my work. To him, it’s just another means to line his pockets, to increase his wealth and status.
Her current painting, a seascape, was a departure from her usual style. Dark, turbulent waves crashed against jagged rocks, the sky above a roiling mass of angry clouds. The scene was lit by a single, feeble ray of light, struggling to pierce the gloom. It was a reflection of her inner turmoil, the darkness that threatened to consume her.
Kenneth… I should have told you the truth from the start. I should have trusted you, trusted in your strength. But I was so afraid of losing you, of seeing the disappointment in your eyes when you learned of my deception.
She knew that her husband was a man of honor, a man who valued honesty and integrity above all else.
What will he think of me now?Will he ever be able to forgive me for my lies? For the secrets I’ve kept from him?
The thought of losing Kenneth, of seeing the warmth in his eyes replaced by cold disdain, was almost too much to bear.
I have to make this right.I have to find a way to stop Eastfold, to protect my art and my identity, without losing the man I?—
As she wrestled with her thoughts, a sudden clarity washed over her.
This wasn’t just about the physical attraction that had always drawn them together. It wasn’t about the passion that ignited every time they were near each other.
This waslove.
Deep, undeniable love. She loved Kenneth with all her heart, and the realization filled her with both fear and determination. She couldn’t lose him.
But how could she protect her secret and their future together? Eastfold was a powerful man with connections that reached into the highest echelons of society. And she was just a woman—a duchess, yes, but still bound by the constraints and expectations of her gender.
No. I am more than just a duchess. I am an artist, a creator, a woman with a voice and a vision. And I will not let Eastfold or anyone else silence me.
She stepped back from the easel, her eyes roaming over the angry, turbulent seascape. It was raw, unpolished, a far cry from the serene, idyllic scenes she was known for. But it was honest, a true reflection of her heart and soul.
A knock at the door jolted her out of her dark thoughts.
“Your Grace,” Anna’s voice called softly. “Lord Eastfold is here to see you.”
Beatrice’s heart sank, cold dread seeping into her veins.
So soon?
Her hand trembled slightly as she set down her brush.
I thought I would have more time, more space to breathe before he descended upon me once again.
But she knew she had no choice. With a deep, steadying breath, she rose to her feet, smoothing down the skirts of her paint-stained dress.
“Send him in, Anna,” she said, her voice sounding far calmer than she felt.
Moments later, Eastfold strode into the room, his footsteps heavy on the polished wooden floor. He was followed by two burly footmen, their arms laden with empty canvas bags and packing materials.
“Your Grace,” he said, his voice dripping with false warmth.
His gaze fell on the painting on her easel, and he paused. His brow furrowed, a flicker of displeasure crossing his features.
“What’s this? This isn’t Westback’s usual style.”
Beatrice stiffened, jutting her chin in defiance. “It’s a new direction I’m exploring. Art is about growth, about pushing boundaries and exploring new territories.”
Eastfold’s eyes narrowed, his tone sharpening. “Art, Your Grace, is a commodity. And I will not lose value because you’ve decided to be uncooperative. You will paint in Westback’s style, the style that my clients expect and demand. Is that clear?”
