Page 15 of Duke of Pride

“We?” Stephen frowned.

“I am not going to take credit for all the amazing changes you see in the house. The truth is that Victoria did most of the work.”

Stephen’s fingers tightened around his cup.

Of course, she did.

That woman invaded his room, his library, his dining room, his damned gardens. And his thoughts, it would seem.

He was ready to make some comment about how many liberties were given to a woman who was supposed to be the lady of the house’s companion. But when he focused on his mother’s face, ready for a scolding, he saw it light up with joy.

He noticed how healthier she looked, how livelier, not a shadow of herself like when she was taking care of his father. How hard that must have been for her. How lonely she must have felt when he left.

It warmed his soul to see his mother so cheery and full of life. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, he knew that it was Victoria’s positive influence. Perhaps he was harsh the night before, accusing her of things instead of focusing on the good she had brought into his home.

That is the precise moment when Victoria chose to make an entrance. She went straight to his mother and leaned in for a kiss as she apologized for her tardiness. All he could do was study her.

She was wearing a simple morning gown, modest but cut in such a way that it hugged her body in the right places. The color was bluish-green, and it made her eyes seem even sharper, brighter, like storm-tossed seas beneath a sunbeam. He hated that dress with a passion.

Stephen had never noticed that Victoria was one of the few women who didn’t have to tilt her head back that much to look up at him. But instead of the willowy body that most tall ladies of the ton had, hers was curvy, full. He had felt those curves intimately and had seen them through her nightgown the night before.

For the love of God, Stephen!

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted smoothly as she took her seat, her voice the very picture of polite restraint.

Ah. So that’s how we’re playing this.

Last night, she had no problem speaking her mind, throwing all decorum out of the window and making blunt comments.

He inclined his head, his voice measured. “Miss Victoria.”

They tucked into their food quietly.

Stephen quickly realized that his mother had indeed spoken the truth when she said that Victoria liked apple pies if he were to judge by the way her eyes lit up at the delicacies.

“Dear!” Dorothy suddenly got up.

“Yes?” both he and Victoria answered.

They exchanged angry looks that were quickly interrupted by Dorothy’s sheepish smile.

“Stephen, there is something else I want you to see as well. I will be right back.”

“Mother!” he called, but she was already out of the room.

An awkward silence fell over the dining room the moment they were alone. A silence way too heavy for his liking. There was something inside him that simply couldn’t resist vexing Victoria. Perhaps if he made every moment unbearable, she would leave voluntarily. And—if he were being honest—it pleased him to see her affected.

“I see you are making an effort to be civil this morning,” he commented.

“I assure you, I have no intention of engaging in any uncivilized behavior.”

“How refreshing.” Stephen let out a quiet snort.

Victoria’s jaw ticked. He smirked at this small victory—seeing her so vexed yet trying to resist the urge to hurl insults at him.

“I didn’t realize I had so much to thank you for,” he said, his tone mild, setting his tea down with deliberate precision. “The house. The gardens. The entire redecoration of my home. Making yourself at home here.”

“More like making this mausoleum a home. Someone had to.” Victoria sipped her tea.

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