Page 13 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

And yet…

There was something in his eyes when he’d spoken of danger, of protecting one’s child—a flicker of pain she’d thought she’d imagined at first. But now, she was not so sure.

Emma pressed her fingers against the cool glass of the window, tracing the outline of the distant trees.

Was he there now in that shadowy cottage, alone with his loyal dog? Did the thought of her cross his mind as well, or had their brief encounter faded from his memory like the fleeting annoyance she had no doubt he considered it to be?

A sudden knock on her door jolted her out of her thoughts. Before she could respond, it swung open to reveal Mrs. Peabody, the housekeeper, her usually calm expression twisted with worry.

“My Lady!” she gasped, her hand clutching her chest. “It’s young master Tristan!”

Emma’s heart thudded painfully as she stood up. “What’s happened? Is he hurt?”

“He’s gone, My Lady,” Mrs. Peabody replied, her voice shaking. “His bed is empty, and young Tommy says he saw the boy slip out through the kitchen garden not half an hour ago.”

Emma gasped. “Not again.”

CHAPTER4

“Tristan Bickford! Come here this instant!”

Emma’s voice rang out through the evening air as soon as she caught sight of her wayward son.

She had really been too lax with him, she thought as she closed the distance between them in hurried steps, the soles of her evening shoes sinking into the ground.

The gathering dusk cast the Duke’s garden in deepening shadows, rendering the overgrown hedges and untamed rosebushes into formidable sentinels that seemed to watch her hurried approach with silent judgment.

Emma did not like it—neither the fact that she was here again nor the fact that she was forced to imagine the feeling of judgmental eyes from plants. Tristan was driving her positively mad, of that she was certain.

At the sound of her voice, he looked up from where he knelt beside the massive English Setter, his small hands buried in the creature’s thick fur. For a brief moment, guilt flickered across his face before being quickly replaced by the irrepressible enthusiasm that both endeared him to her and tested her patience in equal measure.

She could not let his pretty eyes deceive her because she knew very well that her son had known exactly what he was doing.

“Mama! Look! I’ve been teaching him to sit and give his paw, though it seems he’d already learned that.” He demonstrated with a proud gesture, and to Emma’s dismay, the enormous beast promptly sat, extending one massive paw with surprising gentleness toward her son.

It was at that moment that the beast seemed to notice her presence, and for some reason she could not fathom but for the inherent friendliness of a dog, he bounded toward her with alarming speed, his massive form circling her skirts in an excited greeting that threatened to topple her.

Emma stiffened at once, not quite sure whether to retreat or stand her ground as the animal’s hot breath fanned her hand.

This boy is going to get himself killed by this beast one of these days, she thought, alarmed by the sheer size and heft of the beast all over again.

That he could be so gentle with her son was something she still didn’t trust or believe, no matter what the stubborn boy claimed each time.

“Tristan,” she said, her voice low but no less stern as she carefully sidestepped the dog, “do you have any notion of the worry you’ve caused? Mrs. Peabody was beside herself, and I…”

She paused, unwilling to admit the cold dread that had seized her heart when she’d realized where he must have gone once again. If she admitted that, she would be conceding the fact that the Duke… intimidated her, and that was something she wasn’t quite ready to do.

With her hands on her hips, Emma leveled her son with a hard stare. “This behavior cannot continue. We’re leaving immediately.”

And, of course, while she was quite capable of issuing commands, it was another matter for her one-track-minded son to follow those commands.

At the moment, it didn’t quite look like he was ready to listen to her.

“But Mama—” he started to argue, but she just held up one hand, her other hand going to massage her temple—she could already feel a headache coming on.

It was quite comical. Of all the times and places for her son to begin his pre-teen rebellion against her, did it have to be here, in the Beast of Westmere’s gardens? And did it have to be now, when she worried that he would stumble upon them once again?

It hadn’t even been a day and a half since the Duke had last turned them both out on their ears, and yet Tristan had still come back here. Where he got the audacity to do this, she didn’t quite know.

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