Page 5 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

Her horror confirmed what he already knew: that he’d become nothing more than a spectacle for Society to gawk at, a grotesque curiosity to be whispered about in drawing rooms across the Queen’s great country.

The boy, on the other hand, did not seem afraid, and Victor found that both annoying and oddly refreshing. In fact, instead of terror, his eyes sparkled with that peculiar mix of morbid curiosity that only children seemed to have—the same look Victor had once noticed on the faces of street kids in Naples when they stumbled upon exotic animals in traveling shows.

“So,” he finally spoke, his voice a low growl grown rough from disuse, “you’re the one who’s been fattening up my dog?”

The greedy beast. No one would accuse him of neglect, and yet the blasted animal took every opportunity to play the victim.

The lady stiffened at once, her slender throat working as she swallowed. At that moment, she looked as though her thoughts raced with everything he had no doubt she’d heard about him.

He could see the calculations in her eyes—she was weighing her options, deciding whether to back away or stand her ground, measuring how fast she could get to safety against how quickly he might catch up to them.

The fact that she thought he could harm a child should have made him furious. Instead, it merely reinforced his contempt for Society and its facile judgment—not that he cared all that much, anyway.

They should’ve known better than to trespass, and he wanted them gone.

* * *

No matter how much she stared at him, Emma could not believe she was standing right before the very famous Duke who refused all callers and was rumored to wander his estate at night, driven half-madandhalf-naked by his pain and fury.

He was much taller than she’d imagined—broader, too, his shoulders stretching the fabric of his woolen shirt—but, of course, nothing could quite prepare her for the reality of his visage.

The lantern’s glow hit his face at a sharp angle, casting deeper shadows that made his scar stand out, making him look even moresavage. And she found herself wondering if he would give chase, should she pick up her son and run.

Her son, completely unaware of the tension swirling around him, beamed up at the Duke with an unwarranted familiarity.

“He really loves the roast chicken, Sir!” he said, speaking with the confidence of one accustomed to adult attention. “The cook makes it with herbs and butter.”

At that, the Duke cocked an eyebrow and took a deliberate step forward, noting how her body instinctively curved toward her son.

Well, he couldn’t fault her for that. But instead of being annoyed, he seemed impressed, even though it was slight, as though he was praising her for being protective of her child.

“You are aware, I’m sure, that trespassing is a punishable offense that can lead to serious consequences, boy?” the Duke said, addressing Tristan directly. “As is approaching unfamiliar animals without their masters’ consent?”

“But he’s not unfamiliar,” the boy insisted, his childish logic shining through the words. “He’s really clever, Sir.”

“Tristan!” Emma snapped, finally finding her voice. Surprisingly, it came out steadier than she’d thought it would, especially with the way her heart was racing as though it was about to burst. “Be quiet.”

The Duke turned his attention to her, and Emma felt like she was under the scrutiny of a general surveying a battlefield.

His gaze was striking—an icy blue that reminded her of the bleakest winter skies. But there was more to him than just that; something about his expression didn’t quite fit the sharp angles of his face or the reputation that preceded him. There was intelligence there, a hint of weariness, and, surprisingly, a glimmer of genuine curiosity.

She didn’t quite know what to think of that.

“Your son, I take it?”

Those words came out even rougher than when he had addressed Tristan, and he subtly tried clearing his throat as she flinched.

Emma straightened her back, years of her aristocratic upbringing kicking in despite her fear. She would not cower before anyone, Beast of Westmere or not.

“Yes. And we were just leaving. I apologize for the intrusion, Your Grace.”

* * *

She knew who he was, but he could not say the same about her, and that ought to be remedied at least. Something… There was something about her that nagged at his memory.

Something about her is also nagging at some… other parts… of my anatomy.

Victor’s frown deepened instantly, incensed at his own thoughts for even acknowledging something he’d tried his best to put behind him since laying eyes on the woman.

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