Page 92 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“See that I don’t,” he said coldly. “Because this is your only warning, Eastfold. Cross me or my wife again, and it will be the last thing you ever do in polite society.”
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the club, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
As he emerged onto the street, Kenneth felt a surge of grim satisfaction course through him. He had protected the Spencer name, the dukedom, and by extension, Beatrice.
The cool night air filled his lungs as he walked, his steps purposeful and steady. He had done his duty as the Duke of Dunford, defending his family’s honor and putting Eastfold in his place. It was a victory, albeit a bitter one.
Yet, as the thrill of the confrontation began to fade, Kenneth felt the weight of his unresolved issues with Beatrice settle back onto his shoulders. He had eliminated the threat of Eastfold, yes, but the rift between him and his wife was still there.
I’ve done what needed to be done. I’ve protected her, even if she doesn’t know it. Even if she doesn’t want it.
Beatrice arrived at Catherine’s home, her body weary and her mind in turmoil. As she was shown into the parlor, she saw Catherine rise from her seat, a look of concern etched on her face.
Catherine, heavily pregnant, moved forward as quickly as she could to greet her friend. “Beatrice, my dear, what’s happened now?” she asked, her voice filled with worry.
Beatrice collapsed onto the sofa, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Oh, Catherine, everything’s fallen apart.”
Catherine lowered herself beside her, taking her hand. “Tell me everything.”
Beatrice took a shaky breath. “I confronted Lord Eastfold about his blackmail as you suggested. But he… he refused to stop. He’s demanding even more paintings now with impossible deadlines. I’ve been painting non-stop, and it’s horrible. The art… it feels tainted, corrupted by his greed.”
Catherine’s eyes flashed with anger. “That despicable man! How dare he continue to threaten you!”
“That’s not even the worst of it,” Beatrice continued, her voice cracking. “Kenneth… he found out I’d been speaking to Eastfold. I tried to explain about the blackmail, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s been so volatile lately, his emotions swinging wildly. One moment he’s cold and distant, the next he’s accusing me of betraying him.”
Catherine squeezed her hand. “Oh, Beatrice. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”
“I’m just so angry, Catherine,” Beatrice said, tears welling up in her eyes. “Angry at Eastfold for his manipulation, angry at Kenneth for not trusting me, and angry at myself for getting into this mess in the first place.”
Catherine wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “You have every right to be angry, my dear. But none of this is your fault. Eastfold is a scoundrel, and Kenneth… well, he’s being a fool.”
Beatrice leaned into Catherine’s embrace. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I thought Kenneth and I were building something real, but now… How can we have a marriage without trust?”
“Men can be stubborn creatures,” Catherine said softly. “Kenneth’s pride has been wounded, and he’s lashing out. But that doesn’t excuse his behavior.”
Beatrice nodded, wiping away a tear. “I just wish he would listen to me—truly listen. I’ve tried to explain about Eastfold, about why I kept it secret, but he seems determined to believe the worst.”
Catherine furrowed her brow in thought. “Perhaps… perhaps it’s time to force the issue. To make Kenneth see the truth of the situation.”
“What do you mean?” Beatrice asked, looking up at her friend.
“I mean, my dear, that sometimes we must take drastic action to protect ourselves and those we love,” Catherine replied, a determined glint in her eyes. “We need to find a way to neutralize Eastfold’s threats and make Kenneth understand the gravity of the situation.”
Beatrice felt a spark of hope ignite in her chest. “Do you really think it’s possible?”
Catherine nodded firmly. “I do. You are not alone in this.” Suddenly, her eyes lit up with a sudden idea. “Beatrice, mydear, I think I might have a solution—at least for part of your troubles.”
Beatrice looked at her friend curiously. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been painting as Westback, under the pressure of Eastfold’s demands,” Catherine began. “But what if you were to paint as yourself? Not for him, not for anyone else, but simply for your own peace of mind?”
Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “I… I’m not sure I understand.”
Catherine smiled softly. “Paint something that speaks to your heart, Beatrice. Something that represents your true self, your feelings, your struggles. Don’t think about style or technique or what others might want. Just let your emotions flow onto the canvas.”
Beatrice considered this for a moment, feeling a glimmer of excitement at the idea. “I haven’t painted for myself in so long,” she admitted. “It’s always been about meeting Eastfold’s demands or maintaining the Westback persona.”
“Then it’s high time you reclaimed your art for yourself,” Catherine declared, taking Beatrice’s hand and leading her toward the paints and canvas still on the easel from Beatrice’s last visit.
