Page 24 of The Duke and the Runaway Bride

“Your Grace, I have been assigned to you by His Grace. I heard you stir and thought you might need help getting ready for the day. Might I enter?”

“Oh, um, yes, please come in,” Beatrice replied.

The young lady’s maid entered, and if Beatrice’s cheeks were burning bright, she showed no sign of noticing. The maid looked in her early twenties and had a plain face and wonderful bouncy curls that had been tied up in a ponytail.

“What is your name?” Beatrice asked.

“Penelope, Your Grace,” the maid replied.

“Penelope, would you select something from my clothes that would be suitable for breakfast?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Penelope picked out a modest morning dress for Beatrice, before pairing it with a simple necklace and brooch and arranging Beatrice’s hair into a simple chignon. Beatrice took an extra moment to compose herself before asking the maid to show her to the breakfast room.

Get a hold of yourself, and don’t let him see how much he affects you, even if it were only a dream.

A dream and a kiss. The dream might have been pure fantasy, but the kiss was not, and she still thought of it. It was likely what had triggered the dream in the first place.

The maid gestured toward the open door, and Beatrice held her head high as she entered. She had not yet crossed the threshold when she felt her lust whip itself up into a frenzy.

Edwin sat at the head of the table, and he did not do anything to provoke her in any way, but she could not help herself after what she had experienced during the night. She did not know what his body looked like under his well-fitting attire, but she could make a reasonably good assumption, as her mind had during her slumber.

He looked up and nodded at her, and his gaze felt like a challenge. His eyes had always held a burning intensity, but that morning, it felt like it was directed solely at her. He deftly moved his fork as he stabbed at small chunks of golden-brown ham, and she remembered his fingers dancing over her body. When he brought the fork to his mouth, she found that she could not take her eyes off his lips.

“Won’t you sit down, my dear,” Modesty said. “You are tiring me out by standing at the door. Come in, come in. We won’t bite. And if we do, it won’t hurt!”

She chuckled to herself, but no one else joined in. That was mainly because the joke was not a funny one, but in Beatrice’s case, it was because she was mortified at being caught staring at the Duke while his stepmother and sister were also in the room.

“Yes, thank you,” Beatrice replied quickly, relieved that her face had not reddened.

She found her way to the chair on the Duke’s left, assuming she should sit there, but she was quite bewildered by the scene. She knew she should have assumed nothing after the previous evening, but she had thought she would be alone with her husband.

Thought or hoped?

“The breakfast looks wonderful,” she commented, trying to break the tension, most of which seemed to be hers.

She was usually extremely talkative and charming, but everything had caught her unaware.

“His Grace made sure we had the very best of everything for this morning,” Elizabeth revealed.

Beatrice sat down, and a footman pushed her chair in. “Oh?”

“We did not have a wedding breakfast, so I thought it fitting that we have a family breakfast to celebrate our union,” Edwin explained.

Beatrice was not sure if she should feel honored or not. It was fantastic to have so much to choose from at breakfast, but it did not feel like a celebration. In fact, it felt like her marriage was done and dusted—a past event that needed no more ceremony.

She began helping herself to food—taking some apple slices, raspberries, and soft cheese. Beatrice caught Modesty’s and Elizabeth’s gaze and smiled at them both politely. She dared not look the Duke in the eye, for the feelings it would bring back.

“Did you sleep well, my dear?” Modesty asked. Her voice had a lilting quality to it, as if she might break into song at any moment.

“I did, thank you,” Beatrice replied.

Edwin continued to eat without saying a word.

“That is a wonderful dress. Where did you get it?” Modesty asked. “I shall have to copy the pattern so I can make one of my own. Do you know that I sew my own garments? Some say it is a waste of time, but I find it much more satisfying.”

“Yes, quite,” Beatrice said. “It was from Gibbard’s.”

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