Page 39 of Duke of Myste
The puppy chose that moment to squirm in Jane’s arms, letting out a small whine that drew Richard’s attention immediately.
“And this creature,” he continued, eyeing the puppy with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, “appears to be riddled with fleas and God knows what else. What precisely do you intend to do with it, Duchess?”
“Him,” Jane corrected, fighting a smile at his obvious dismay. “And I intend to keep him, naturally. He was abandoned, half-starved, and is clearly in need of care.”
“Absolutely not,” Richard said flatly. “That animal belongs at the stables at best, if not returned to wherever you found it. Myste House is not a refuge for strays.”
The puppy looked up at them with soulful eyes, as if understanding the precariousness of its situation.
Jane felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness—both for the helpless creature in her arms and for her right to make decisions in her new home.
“You are right,” she relented. “But we can at least try to find a home for the poor creature, can we not?”
Richard’s expression shifted from curious to wary in a heartbeat. “Pardon?”
“I agree with you, Your Grace,” Jane said, her voice steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. “Though I would not advise getting used to it.”
Richard stared at her for a long moment, and she could almost see the calculations behind his eyes.
“Also,” she continued before he could formulate a response, “we need to talk. Now.”
For a split second, she thought he might refuse both demands. Then, to her surprise, he inclined his head in a gesture of reluctant concession.
“Very well,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “My study would provide suitable privacy.”
Jane nodded, following as he led the way through the gardens and into the cool interior of Myste House. The puppy had fallen asleep against her chest, the warmth of its small body seeping through her riding habit.
The study reflected its owner perfectly—meticulously organized, subtly masculine in its dark wood and leather furnishings, with everything arranged for maximum efficiency. Books lined the walls in neat rows, not a volume out of place. The massive oak desk that dominated the room bore neat stacks of correspondence and ledgers, each pile designated for a specific purpose.
Jane seated herself in one of the large armchairs facing the desk, arranging her skirts with more care than usual, conscious of the dirt from her ride and the puppy’s matted fur against the pristine leather.
Richard remained standing, his tall figure silhouetted against the window for a moment before he turned to face her. “You wished to speak,” he prompted, his tone neutral.
“Yes.” Jane took a steadying breath, gathering her thoughts. “This constant monitoring of my every move cannot continue, Your Grace. I cannot live with constant scrutiny and disapproval at every turn. You cannot be waiting around every corner to tell me what I have done wrong.”
His expression remained unreadable. “I merely wish to ensure that proper standards are maintained.”
“No,” Jane countered, her voice gaining confidence as she expressed frustrations that had been building for some time. “You wish to control every aspect of my existence. That is not a marriage—it is a prison sentence.”
The puppy stirred in her arms, perhaps sensing her agitation. She stroked its head automatically, finding the motion calming for both of them.
“Surely you exaggerate,” Richard said, though with less conviction than usual. “My expectations are no different than those Society places on any duchess.”
“That is blatantly untrue,” Jane replied evenly. “Many duchesses ride as they please on their own estates. Many receive visitors during their honeymoons. Many keep pets of their choosing. What you expect is not Society’s standard, but your own impossibly rigid definition of propriety.”
Richard moved to his desk, trailing his fingers along the polished wood as if gathering his thoughts.
“Your behavior since our marriage has been consistently provocative,” he stated finally. “Deliberately challenging every convention, every reasonable boundary.”
“Because you have offered nothing but restrictions!” Jane exclaimed, her composure slipping despite her best efforts to maintain it. “From the moment we exchanged vows, you have done nothing but instruct me on what I cannot do, where Icannot go, how I cannot behave. We cannot build any kind of functional partnership on such a foundation.”
Richard’s jaw tightened, but rather than the outburst she had half-expected, he seemed to consider her words. “What do you propose instead, then, Duchess?” he asked after a moment.
The question caught Jane off guard. She had expected further argument, not this willingness to consider alternatives.
“I propose that we find some common ground,” she replied carefully. “Some middle path that respects both your need for propriety and my need for… for freedom to be myself.”
Richard paced the length of the study, his movements betraying an unusual restlessness.
