Page 31 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Tristan frowned. “But Lord Griggs said you didn’t catch anything,” he shot back. “I heard him telling Sir Bartholomew that you missed every shot and complained about your damp powder.”

Emma squeezed Tristan’s shoulder, a silent warning, as Sidney’s expression darkened for a brief moment before settling into a tight smile.

“Children often misinterpret what they hear,” he said, his tone light but his eyes cold. “It’s a common youthful mistake.”

“I didn’t misinter—” Tristan started, but Emma’s grip tightened, cutting him off.

“I am sure it was just a misunderstanding,” she cut in, using her most diplomatic tone, though she did not doubt her son’s accuracy.

Her brother-in-law’s skill with firearms was as limited as his patience for anything that didn’t provide instant gratification.

Sidney’s gaze shifted from Tristan to Emma, his eyes roving over her figure with unsettling scrutiny that made her skin crawl beneath her simple gown.

“I trust I can expect an invitation for dinner at Cuthbert Hall soon,” he stated. “It’s been far too long since I have enjoyed your hospitality, sister-in-law.”

Before Emma could form a response that balanced courtesy with her strong desire to never host him again, he had already turned away, waving his hand to summon his servant as he went.

“I don’t like him,” Tristan declared once Sidney was out of earshot.

CHAPTER10

“Why do we have to be nice to him?” Tristan asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

“It’s complicated, sweetheart,” Emma replied, unsure how to break down the complexities of Sidney’s unwanted attention to a child, even one as perceptive as Tristan.

“The Duke doesn’t look at you like that,” Tristan mused, his brow furrowed in thought.

Before Emma could wrap her head around what her son could possibly mean, a deep voice spoke from behind her, making her whirl around.

“Lady Cuthbert.”

The Duke of Westmere stood a few steps away, his tall figure framed by the late morning sun.

Without even thinking about it, Emma instinctively pulled Tristan closer to her, a protective urge she couldn’t fully explain, especially because Tristan had already told her of the man’s kindness during the hunt.

“Your Grace,” she greeted, her voice surprisingly steady despite the quickening of her heartbeat. “I believe I owe you my thanks for bringing my wayward son back to Lord Griggs’ care.”

Victor’s gaze flicked to Tristan for a moment before settling back on Emma. “Your son showed both initiative and natural instinct,” he said plainly. “With the right guidance, those traits could serve him well. But right now, his enthusiasm is outpacing his judgment—a risky mix in a forest full of armed men.”

Emma blinked, taken aback by his straightforward evaluation, which lacked the condescension she had come to expect from men sharing their thoughts on her parenting.

“He has potential,” Victor said, his straightforward tone softened by a glimmer in his eyes that she found hard to read.

“I—” Emma started, unsure if she should take his words as a critique or something deeper.

But the Duke had already nodded slightly, acknowledging her before he turned and walked toward the manor, his long strides taking him away before she could gather her thoughts.

* * *

“What do you mean, he’s not receiving visitors?” Emma demanded, her gloved hands tightly clasped in front of her as she faced the unyielding butler blocking her way into Westmere Hall. “I’m not here for a social call. I need to speak with the Duke right away.”

There was a surprising firmness to her voice as she addressed the elderly butler who had answered the grand oak door.

She hadn’t slept much the night before, her mind racing with the implications of the Duke’s comments about Tristan’s potential. The more she thought about their brief conversation, the more she felt that a clear boundary needed to be set—for Tristan’s sake and maybe for her peace of mind too.

The butler looked at her with a polite skepticism that only years of service in noble households could cultivate. “His Grace is not receiving visitors at the moment, Lady Cuthbert.”

Emma straightened up, though she still felt small next to the tall, stern servant. “I didn’t ask if he was receiving visitors. I asked if he was at home.”

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