Page 31 of Her Beast of a Duke
“I like the one with the bard playing the lute,” Thomas immediately said. “It reminds me of the tavern.”
He pointed out a piece that was indeed, as he said, full of pale greens, ocean-blues, and yellows. It was bright, pretty, and flawlessly themed.
“Then we shall put that up right over the pianoforte.” She waved down a footman, who came equipped with the tools to begin displaying the piece. “What about another?” She hummed, dancing her fingers through the air over the art. “How about this one?”
It was of a couple dancing, lines of silver wrapping around them, as if it were music brought to life in color and visuality. The couple’s hands were pressed together, fingers linked, and while they were not in as fine clothes as Isabella, they were perfectly dressed for the occasion. The lady’s dark hair fanned out around her like an ink spill, and the man’s auburn hair caught the sun on the outdoor dance stage.
“I like this one,” Thomas said decisively. “It reminds me of my mama and papa.”
Isabella smiled, thinking of her dance with the Duke, the two of them aligned even as strangers. She had felt so overwhelmed with the intensity of dancing with her then-fiancé, even though she had barely spoken several words to him.
“What could a dance feel like, full of love, like this one in the painting?”
“Miss Duchess?” Thomas probed. “Can I put this up near the harp?”
Isabella startled back into reality. “Yes, most certainly.”
Together, they picked out two more pieces to decorate the room with, and she saved the others for other rooms to be done later. But as they left the music room, a shadow fell over the floor, and Thomas, skipping in his excitement, crashed right into the Duke of Rochdale.
An ear-piercing shriek left the boy’s mouth when he realized who it was, and he threw himself back immediately, bowing over and over.
“Your Grace!” he shouted. “I am so sorry, Your Grace! I am sorry! Please do not shout at me.”
“What is going?—”
The Duke’s raised voice and Thomas’s shriek broke the overall silence of the castle, and, from the hallway, Morris began barking wildly. He darted down toward them, skidding on the floor, rounding into the music room.
The art pieces fluttered up in the air, scattering alongside sheet music. Morris’s hulking body skirted frames that held violins, sending them crashing to the floor as he kept barking.
Isabella spun, startled, unsure of where to look.
At Thomas’s red face, his tears shining in those curious eyes; the Duke’s tight anger fixed on the whole scene, and Morris, who was still going wild.
The Duke stepped forward, pointing down the hall. “Thomas, leave. Now.”
“But I did not mean?—”
“Leave.”
With a jump and a whimper, Thomas scampered away, already calling for his mother.
“What are you doing, frightening the poor child?” she approached the Duke with a sense of wonder. “He was only helping me.”
“He was wreaking havoc.”
“He is a small child who was excited to be able to help the new mistress of the household. You cannot scare such a young boy. He cannot defend himself the way that—” she cut herself off, biting her tongue.
“The way thatwhocan?” he challenged.
Isabella tightened her jaw and lifted her chin. “You may go around scaring men like Lord Peregrine, who can fight back, andyou can try to scare me with your silence and orders because I can understand them to a degree, but he is achild.”
“And he can handle himself. He is old enough.”
“So that is why he ran away in tears?”
The Duke’s cheek muscles twitched as he bit back his annoyance. He looked around the music room, turning to look into another room behind them. “And what do you think you are doing to my house?”
Isabella smiled, pleased with herself. “I am redecoratingourhouse,” she corrected. “And adding a little light and some brighter décor is hardly a drastic change to lose yourself over. If that is the worst thing you can confront me about, then I am not doing too badly as your wife.”
