Page 78 of His Unwanted Duchess

I am more than fond of him. I want him. I want his company, his conversation, his opinions. I want him. I think I love him.

This realization was accompanied by a generous surge of dread. Loving anyone, in Beatrice’s opinion, was a mistake and involved a significant amount of risk. Handing one’s fragile heart to another person was risky enough. They might drop it, and it would shatter like china.

It was even worse if the person did not realize that theywereholding your heart.

She cleared her throat, trying not to think about Stephen. It wouldn’t help, really.

“He’s gone out, I assume?” Beatrice said, suddenly keen to change the subject. She had eventually managed to get to sleep the previous night, irritatingly once Stephen had arrived, but the exhaustion suddenly seemed to pile up on her shoulders, weighing her down. “I imagine that we won’t see him again for a few days, at least.”

“On the contrary, my dear wife.”

Both ladies flinched and spun around to see a familiar figure in the doorway.

It was plain that Stephen had gone riding. He was dressed for riding, his hair disheveled by the wind, and his face reddened from vigorous exercise. He had taken off his jacket at some point, and his shirt clung to his powerful frame, dampened by sweat. A smell of musk and petrichor rolled off him, a faint scent that drifted into the room, making Beatrice’s nostrils flare. To her horror, she felt desire tighten in her gut once again.

Keen to distract herself, she turned back to her breakfast plate, praying that her thumping heart would calm down.

“That was a long ride, dear,” Theodosia remarked, sounding faintly surprised. “You were gone for hours.”

“I had a great deal of energy to work off,” Stephen answered, flashing a wry smile.

He crossed the room, coming to stand behind Beatrice’s chair. She itched to turn around, itched to look up at him, but she kept her gaze on her plate as if nothing else mattered.

He was looking down at her, she knew he was, those cool, amused green eyes eyeing her and waiting for a response. She cleared her throat, demurely spearing a piece of tomato.

Slowly, Stephen leaned forward, his chest nearly brushing her shoulder, and reached past her to pick up a piece of toastedbread. Beatrice held her breath. He was looking down at her. She could feel it.

And then, just as slowly, Stephen pulled back. She heard thecrunchof him biting into the toast.

“You’ll need more than that to refresh you after a long ride,” Theodosia remarked.

Shehad her eyes on her plate too, but more out of enjoyment of her meal. The older woman was clearly oblivious to what was going on, and Beatrice was more than a little relieved by that.

“I intend to have a bath. I instructed Mouse to draw me one,” Stephen drawled.

Beatrice could not keep her eyes down any longer. As if drawn by a magnetic thread, she found herself looking up at him, her heart hammering in her throat. Thewantingcoiled in her gut, a dull and insistent throb. He was looking back at her, his eyes shadowed and his expression unreadable.

Why did you leave me?Beatrice wanted to ask, wanted to scream right there at the breakfast table, within earshot of the servants and right in front of the unfortunate Theodosia.I woke up and you were gone. You insisted on sharing my bed with me and then left before I awoke. Why? Why?

She didn’t say any of that, of course.

Theodosia spoke, and the moment passed.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Stephen. If you need to pass the time before your bath, why don’t you eat something? Donotsit by me. I hope you haven’t left mud on the carpets, by the way. This house may not be mine anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take pride in the place, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Mother,” Stephen responded, grinning.

With an easy movement, he hooked his ankle around a chair leg, the one directly beside Beatrice, and pulled it out from under the table. He sat down, his thighs falling open, his fingers laced behind his head. His eyes narrowed to slits, fixed on Beatrice.

She felt almost as though she were burning up from the inside. Clearing her throat, Beatrice reached forward to help herself to a kipper. It was difficult to have lustful thoughts when one was eating akipper. It was not a very romantic food.

“I plan to visit Anna and Theodore later,” Stephen said abruptly, helping himself to another piece of toast. “I thought you might like to come with me.”

It took Beatrice a moment to realize that he was addressing her.

She blinked at him, a little taken aback. “You want to go together?”

He raised an eyebrow. “But of course. Anna would like to see you, I’m sure. Kitty frequently asks about Aunt Beatty, apparently. We could take the carriage, and perhaps a more scenic route back. What do you say?”

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