Page 30 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“Maybe,” he said cheerfully. “But I won’t say a word if you don’t.”

Was the boy trying to strike a deal with him? The little rascal.

Lady Cuthbert certainly had her hands full with this one.

Yet, as they approached the sounds of the main hunting party, his hand rested briefly on Tristan’s shoulder—a light touch, gone almost before it registered yet somehow conveying more than words ever could.

* * *

“They’re coming back!” Lady Cecilia’s shrill shout sent a wave of excitement through the ladies gathered on the terrace.

The game had wrapped up long ago, giving way to relaxed chatter as they eagerly awaited the men’s return.

Now, Emma stood up, a wave of relief washing over her as she spotted the hunting party emerging from the trees. Her eyes quickly searched for Tristan’s familiar figure among the men. She felt the tension in her shoulders melt away when she finally caught sight of him, seemingly unscathed and vibrating with excitement as he trotted alongside Lord Griggs.

The gentlemen made their way across the vast lawn, their game bags weighed down by the morning’s catch. Leading the group was Lord Griggs, his ruddy face beaming with satisfaction as servants rushed to take their rifles and start sorting through the day’s haul.

“A highly successful outing, ladies!” Lord Griggs declared as they reached the terrace. “Though I must give credit where it’s due—the Duke of Westmere takes the prize today with the first blood and an impressive tally. Five pheasants, all headshots! I haven’t witnessed marksmanship like that since Wellington himself graced these grounds!”

“Oh?”

“Hmm, what else can we expect from the Beast of Westmere?”

The murmurs amongst the ladies were unforgiving.

“He must have enjoyed slaughtering the poor animals. The man’s twisted.”

But, despite the murmurs, Emma’s gaze was drawn to the Duke, who stood a bit apart from the other gentlemen. His face was unreadable as he handed over his rifle and game bag to a waiting servant. Unlike the others, who were animatedly sharing tales of the hunt, he seemed completely uninterested in boasting about his achievements.

Or he is just too prideful to converse with the others, she thought, even though she still could not take her eyes off him.

“Mama!” Tristan’s voice rang out, breaking through her thoughts as he dashed away from the group, his cheeks flushed with excitement.

Emma knelt down to wrap her arms around him, inhaling the earthy scents of the woods that clung to his clothes—pine, soil, and a hint of gunpowder.

“Did you see how many birds the Duke caught?” he exclaimed, pulling back from their embrace, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “He’s the best shot in the whole county—maybe even all of England! He taught me how to track properly too and said I need to walk on the balls of my feet instead of my heels when I’m stalking, and?—”

“When you’re stalking?” Emma interjected, her relief at his safe return quickly fizzling out as his words began to sink in. “Tristan, what do you mean by that? You were supposed to stay with Lord Griggs and observe. So what is this I’m hearing about youstalking?”

Tristan’s excitement dimmed a bit under her sharp gaze. He looked every bit like the naughty child who’d said way more than he should.

“Well,” he started, his voice small, “I saw this hare, and I thought?—”

“Tristan Bickford, did you run off on your own again? You did. I don’t even need to ask you that,” Emma answered her own question, gently pulling him away from the main gathering to give them a bit of privacy. “Tristan, we talked about this. You promised me you would stick with Lord Griggs and follow his instructions to the letter.”

“But I wasn’t alone,” Tristan protested. “The Duke found me and brought me back. And he let me watch him shoot a pheasant—right through the head! He says that’s the right way to do it because it doesn’t ruin the meat.”

Emma didn’t even know what to feel—thankful that the Duke had stepped in before anything could go wrong or worried that her son had been alone with a man known for his unpredictable nature.

“Regardless,” she said firmly, “you broke your promise to me. That was both dangerous and disrespectful, Tristan.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he replied, his expression showing genuine remorse, though his eyes still sparkled with excitement. “But the Duke wasn’t cross at all. He even?—”

“Well, well,” Sidney’s smooth voice chimed in as he strolled over, his hunting gear suspiciously clean for someone who had just spent a morning in the wild. “I see my nephew has come back from his first hunt in high spirits. Did you enjoy it, boy?”

Tristan’s lively demeanor shifted in an instant, his earlier excitement replaced by a guarded silence that tugged at Emma’s heart. “Yes, Sir,” he replied, his voice flat.

“I managed to bag a few birds myself,” Sidney continued, seemingly unaware—or perhaps just indifferent—of the change in the boy’s mood. “It was quite a successful morning.”

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