Page 24 of Duke of Emeralds
“It’s rather cold in here, Mrs. Smith,” Hester remarked, trying for insouciance, but her teeth threatened to chatter.
“His Grace never remarked upon the temperature, Your Grace,” Mrs. Smith replied, placing the ledger on a table in front of Hester. “He finds a cool head conducive to clear thought.”
The man looks like a mountain capable of warming himself.
Hester took a breath. “Well, I… that is… my head finds it rather… distracting. Uncomfortably so.” She gestured vaguely. “The cold. It makes it difficult to… focus.” She fumbled, hating the weakness in her voice.
Mrs. Smith blinked slowly as she regarded her. “Distracting, Your Grace? Perhaps a shawl? I can fetch one.”
“No!” Hester snapped then forced calm. “No, thank you, Mrs. Smith. I require the room to be warmer. Not tomorrow. Now. While I work.” She met the housekeeper’s gaze directly. “I mind the cold. His Grace’s preferences are noted, but I am occupying this room now.”
There was a beat of silence then a curt nod. “Very well, Your Grace. I shall have a footman attend to the fire immediately.” Mrs. Smith moved toward the bellpull.
Hester turned her attention to the ledger, opening it and flipping the pages. The accounts were meticulous with nothing to critique and no mismanagement to uncover.
“The fire, Your Grace,” Mrs. Smith announced as a footman finished coaxing the flames in the hearth. “Will that suffice?”
“It’s a start,” Hester sighed, closing the ledger with a soft thud. “Mrs. Smith, please ensure all rooms I frequent are kept adequately warm. Not just today. Until the summer truly takes hold. I know it approaches, but until then, warmth is required.”
Mrs. Smith inclined her head. “As you wish, Your Grace.” There was no warmth in the words, but the concession felt like a tiny, hard-won victory.
As Mrs. Smith departed, the sound of male voices drifted through the open window. Curious, Hester crossed the room and peered out.
Below, in the gardens, stood Thomas. Four men, likely estate workers, surrounded him, and he was gesturing emphatically toward a section of rose bushes, his stance authoritative.
She watched him, from his tawny hair glinting in the sunlight to his massive shoulders and strong arms. He looked nothing like a duke with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his coat discarded, yet he bore the authority of an emperor.
Then, as if sensing her gaze, Thomas turned. His eyes scanned the castle facade, moving unerringly towards the window where Hester stood. Panic seized her, and she jerked back, pressing herself flat against the wall beside the window, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Hesitantly, after a few frantic breaths, she inched forward again, hoping he had not seen her the first time.
Thomas was still looking up. Directly at the window. Directly at her.
Their eyes locked across the distance, his sharp, perceptive blue eyes holding her startled ones captive, then one corner of his mouth curved upward.
CHAPTER 13
It was Hester’s third evening at Lushton Castle, and she settled once more into her solitary meal, the only company being the footmen who served her with much detachment.
With each bite, her thoughts churned. Thomas had seen her through the window yesterday, and he could have come to her, could have joined her for dinner, or at the very least, sent word to her. But no! He had all but avoided her since handing her over to an indifferent household.
She had just speared a piece of carrot with her fork when a sudden resolve surged through her, prompting her to rise from her chair, nearly toppling it.
“I shall not be treated as though I am unwelcome,” she declared to the empty room. “Where is the Duke?” she asked the butler in the foyer.
“His Grace is dining in the drawing room this evening, Your Grace,” he replied, his demeanor as stiff as the starched linen on the table.
In thedrawing room? Hester’s heart sank. Was her presence so unwanted that he preferred solitude over her company? With both disbelief and curiosity, she made her way to the blue drawing room but found it empty. Then she sought another one, and the closed door told her that he might be within.
Raising a hand, she knocked on the door. When no answer came, she opened it and stepped inside. Her eyes widened when she saw Thomas seated in front of an easel with charcoal in hand, sketching.
She hesitated at the door before giving the frame a tentative knock, yet he remained oblivious, lost in the strokes of his charcoal as he captured the rugged beauty of a mountain pass where tiny caravans meandered through the craggy terrain. A sense of awe descended upon her, compelling her to linger, captivated by the talent she hadn’t known he possessed. As she watched, her annoyance forgotten, she realized he was using charcoal of different shades, one so gray it was silver.
Suddenly, he paused, turning slightly as if sensing her presence. Panic surged through her, and she quickly pivoted, retreating back down the hallway. In her haste, she collided with Mrs. Smith, nearly losing her balance.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but your meal is growing cold,” the housekeeper said before she pressed her lips into a tight line,looking Hester over from the top of her head to the hem of her dress.
“I—I was merely returning,” Hester stammered, her cheeks flushing.
