Page 84 of A Widow for the Beastly Duke

“All right.” She nodded, biting her lip.

“That’s my good girl.” He smirked, his thumb brushing her lower lip.

Silently, they began to dress, helping each other with rumpled layers and half-buttoned clothing. Victor smoothed a curl from her cheek, his fingers brushing her lips in a touch more intimate than a kiss.

And then the door burst open.

“My Lady! Master Tristan has taken one of the horses and ridden off alone!” the housekeeper exclaimed, her cap askew. She blinked and blushed as she spotted Victor and took in the state they were in. “Y-Your Grace. P-Pardon?—”

“What? A horse?” Emma cut her off. “How did he even manage to saddle him?”

“He didn’t, My Lady. Rode bareback, h-he did. Straight past the stables,” the housekeeper sputtered.

The blood drained from Emma’s face. Terror seized her heart as she envisioned her small son in danger.

As she turned to Victor, she saw alarm flashing in his eyes momentarily. His gaze carried an unspoken understanding of their shared concern for the boy who had come to mean so much to him.

“How long has he been gone?” he asked, his voice steady.

“Ten minutes at most,” answered the housekeeper, who pretended not to notice his hand briefly clasping Emma’s.

Without hesitation, Victor turned to the door. “I shall find him, Emma. You have my word.”

Emma couldn’t help but feel that the three of them—her, Victor, and Tristan—were forming something akin to a…family.

“But—” she began in a trembling voice.

“Do not fear,” he murmured, his expression grave yet determined. His hand reached up to briefly touch her cheek, a gesture hidden from the housekeeper’s view by his broad shoulders. “Stay here. I will return with him before dusk.”

As Victor departed, Emma stood frozen in the doorway, listening to the fading sound of his footsteps and then the distant thunder of hoofbeats as he galloped away.

* * *

“Your mother is very worried, Tristan!” Victor’s voice was stern as he steered his horse off the path toward the grass before climbing down.

He’d rode his horse aimlessly for a while before he’d come upon hoof tracks that had led him into his estate, to a secluded corner.

The corner where Caroline and John were buried.

Of course, he should have figured that the boy would be on his grounds, seeing as the child seemed to like something about his property.

Tristan jerked and whirled around at the sound of his voice, his face flushing with embarrassment—and maybe a little guilt.

“Your Grace!” he exclaimed, shuffling his feet and fidgeting as he watched the older man approach him. “I?—”

“You rode a horse without a saddle or even any recourse to your safety,” Victor interrupted, his voice hard as a rock and as jagged as one hewn by harsh elements. “Did you forget why you’ve been bedridden these last few days, boy?”

Tristan looked sufficiently chastened in front of him now. “I… I just wanted to show you that I could ride a?—”

Victor, now closing the distance between them, grabbed the child by the arms. “Is that more important than your safety? Than your mother’s well-being? Is my approval more important than your life?”

Tristan’s eyes were wide as he held his gaze. “I… I just wanted to…”

Victor took a deep breath, shoving his panic back behind the giant steel doors he’d constructed around his heart.

This was dangerous, indeed. The boy seemed to look up to him too much, even if it put him in danger.

What had he done to deserve such devotion?

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