Page 40 of A Duke for Stealing
“What about the children?” Everett asked quickly. “Are they not listening? Breaking things? Stealing?”
He wanted proof. Something, anything to point out that the woman was not perfect.
“Not at all! In fact, their disposition has improved quite drastically since she came along,” Mrs. Mulberry stated. Then, in a warmer tone, added, “You should be proud, Your Grace. You chose your bride well.”
To the Devil with it all. Of course, that is her answer.
Everett looked away as he kneaded his right fist with his left hand. No proof of imperfection from the strict Mrs. Mulberry, then. A woman whom he was sure would have at leastonecomplaint.
“And where is my bride now?” He asked after a while. “Do you know if she has retired for the evening?”
“I do not believe so, Your Grace. I am certain she told me not two hours ago that she was going to read a bedtime story to the children, then go to her library.”
“Very well,” Everett sighed. “Thank you, Mrs. Mulberry. You may go now. Have a pleasant evening.”
“You as well, Your Grace,” Mrs. Mulberry replied.
He waited until he heard his office door shut before rising from his chair. He turned toward the drink cart, where the barely touched bottle of whiskey sat, and stood before it. He hadn’t had a drink since he’d shared one with Rose. The image flashed in his mind. Particularly the part where she’d kissed his forehead. It had felt so…intimate.Yet far more innocent than anything he’d ever experienced with another woman.
With a muttering of curses, he left the bottle on the bar cart untouched and left his office. He didn’t want whiskey anyway. He wanted Rose.
As Mrs. Mulberry had predicted, he found her in her new library, lounging in a white nightgown and robe atop a settee near the fireplace with a book in her hands. She’d let her hair down from its usual updo, and it fell in long, dark ringlets over her breasts and nearly reached her navel. His palms itched to reach out and touch it. To discover if it felt as silken and soft as it looked.
His eyes then focused on her face. No frown or lines, just a soft look of concentration as she stared at the book in her hands. He wanted her to look at him like that, he realized as he studied her, and the thought alarmed him.
When she continued to not recognize his appearance, however, he grew frustrated and cleared his throat. He knew she’d heard him come in. And for whatever reason, she was pretending she didn’t.
After a long moment of growing frustration, Rose finally looked up at him with apparent disinterest as he walked closer to her, and he almost stopped and turned right back around. He then stopped himself, remembering he was a man, for God’s sake. He was not a man who ran from women! He was a man whom women ran toward. Except, of course, for this particular woman.
“I heard you were visiting with the girls,” he stated in way of greeting, stopping just a few paces before her. His tone came out gruff, and he did not care to correct it.
“I was,” she answered stiffly, not looking up from her book. He waited for her to say more, but was greeted with the soft sounds of the crackling fire.
“And how are they?” He prodded.
Rose slowly turned her page before answering, “Fine.”
Everett raised a curious brow. This was not the attitude he’d predicted from her, especially after the thought he’d put into her dress specifications. He’d made sure that it was in her favored color, that it was elegant. That it was something that would garner praise and admiration. He’d expected thanks, not disdain.
“And how did you and your friends get on at the modiste?” He ventured. “Did she have some new garments for you to bring home today?”
Rose finally looked at him, but there was certainly no gratitude in her eyes. In fact, nothing but contempt glared back at him.
“Fine,” she answered again. “And yes.”
Everett let out a frustrated sigh and reached forward, plucking the book out of her hands.
“Pardon me!” She shouted, sitting up. “Give that back!”
“Not until you tell me what is wrong with you,” he replied, pulling the book back as she reached for it.
“Nothing!” She insisted. “Now give me back my book!”
“You lie,” he replied, his tone matching the ice in hers. “Under most circumstances, you greet me with at least a modicum of civility, even when I jest with you. Now you are being most avoidant, so I ask again, what is wrong?”
Lust coursed through Everett’s body as Rose stood up and her robe parted. The cast of the fire against the white linen of her nightgown accented the supple curves that lay beneath it, even the darkened small circles of her areolas. His palms instantly itched yet again to touch her as he had the night before. His mouth watered as he was reminded of the taste of her kiss. Her flesh. The smell of her scent still lingered in his nostrils.
“It is the dress.”
