Page 41 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Tristan burst into giggles. “There wasn’t any elephant! You weren’t listening at all!”

“You caught me,” Emma admitted, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Forgive me, my darling. My mind was wandering.”

“To your lakes again?” he asked innocently.

Emma felt heat rise to her cheeks as Joanna watched her with shrewd eyes.

“Something like that,” she murmured.

CHAPTER13

“Enough, Argus. We’ve had quite enough leisure for one morning.”

Victor wiped perspiration from his brow with a linen handkerchief as he caught his breath.

The late summer heat pressed down even in the relative chill of early morning, making his daily exercises more taxing than usual. His dog was still looking up at him expectantly, clearly disagreeing with his assessment.

“Don’t give me that look,” Victor said, although a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You know even dukes must maintain discipline.”

He had doubled his physical regimen this past week—anything to exhaust his body enough that his mind might grant him respite from thoughts ofher.

The Dowager Countess of Cuthbert. The widow who had somehow breached the carefully constructed walls around his heart.

How many times had he relived that moment by the lake? Her infuriating defiance, her bravery, her spirit, the way the sunlight caught in her hair, creating soft highlights of amber and gold. The way her lips had parted in surprise when he’d moved closer. The way he’d nearly let the kiss evolve into?—

A rustling from the shrubbery bordering the eastern garden path interrupted his thoughts. Argus’s ears perked up immediately.

“What is it, boy?” Victor straightened, instantly alert.

The dog barked sharply and bolted toward the sound, disappearing into the dense foliage.

“Argus! Get back here at once!” Victor commanded.

But for perhaps the second or third time since he’d trained the animal, Argus ignored him completely.

And he knew exactly who it was that could inspire disobedience in his dog.

Cursing under his breath, he strode after his wayward companion.

The hedge maze was extensive—a favorite project of his late father’s—and Argus could cover far more ground than he could hope to match. He followed the sounds of excited barking, turning left, then right, until he emerged into a small clearing at the center of the maze.

There, to his utter astonishment, was Tristan, giggling as Argus danced around him, his tail wagging furiously.

“Unbelievable,” Victor grumbled.

The boy beamed when he caught sight of him. “Good day, Your Grace!”

But Victor was not in the mood for all that joy.

“Young man,” he said sharply, his tone making the boy jump, “what precisely do you think you’re doing on my property?”

Tristan’s expression shifted from delight to momentary alarm, then settled into a look of earnest pleading. “Please don’t send me away, Your Grace! I only wanted to see Argus again. He’s the finest dog I’ve ever seen!”

Victor crossed his arms, frowning at the boy. “How did you get here? Does the Dowager Countess know you’ve trespassed onto my estate… again?”

A flicker of guilt crossed Tristan’s features. “I rode Caesar. And I told Mrs. Higgins I was going to explore the woods. Which isn’t precisely a lie,” he added hastily, “as your gardens do have many trees. I left my horse near the boundary.”

The little imp.

---