Page 18 of Duke of Pride

“Yes, precisely.” Victoria pointed with her fork. “That scowl.”

“Frustration,” he growled.

“With me?”

“Unquestionably.”

Dorothy snickered but wisely kept her eyes on her plate.

Victoria stifled a laugh. She was providing quality comedy to her friend while irritating the great Duke of Colborne. What a productive morning!

“I am so sorry, Your Grace, to be the cause of your frustration,” she said with a fake, sugary smile.

“Miss Victoria, some people have real responsibilities and matters to attend to.”

“But a man of your intellect must realize that for every action, there is a reaction. Your rules have deprived me of my fun, so I must channel all that energy somehow.”

Stephen ignored his mother’s barely contained amusement and leaned back in his chair, stretching one long leg out beneath the table. He looked entirely at ease, the very picture of refined control, but Victoria knew better.

“You mistake order for rigidity,” he said, his voice smooth as polished oak. “But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

“And you mistake fun for recklessness. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

They were locked in a staring match. In this chess game they were playing, one wrong word could be all the ammunition the other needed.

Victoria was ready to fire back when Euclid trod in, and she smiled because she was aware of how Stephen got irritated when the dog was allowed in the house. Only, the little treacherous mutt went straight to Stephen and demanded to be petted.

For some bizarre reason, Euclid had taken a liking to Stephen, and that was something Victoria could not swallow that easily.

“See, even Euclid knows you are in a sour mood, and he is trying to cheer you up.”

“That is not it.” Stephen looked at her coldly. “The dog recognizes who the master of this house is. He seems to be wiser than you.”

His gaze was so dominant and powerful that Victoria cleared her throat, determined not to acknowledge the ridiculous effect that one single look from him had on her. She focused on her plate, cutting her eggs with unnecessary force. No man had the right to look like that by simply sitting on a chair. Least of all, a man likehim.

He had sharp, sculpted features, as if he were carved from marble. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, decisive chin, piercing blue eyes that could freeze a room with a single look. He was impossibly handsome, a fact Victoria loathed to acknowledge. But more than that, he was controlled. Rigid. Unshakable. And that made her want to shake him.

Stephen had spent his life commanding rooms with a glance, bending the world to his will, and yet here she was, utterly unimpressed.

But now that he had the last word—a rare opportunity—he rose from his seat, kissed his mother on the cheek, and left the room, Euclid hot on his heels.

“Euclid!” Victoria was not ready to let him have the dog as well.

* * *

After that disastrous breakfast, Dorothy and Victoria had settled in the drawing room, where the late morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, making the polished wooden floors gleam.

It was Victoria’s favorite room in the whole house. It was so light and inviting, warm and cozy.

She lounged on the settee, flipping idly through a book she had no interest in, while Dorothy busied herself with a bit of embroidery. It was too darn quiet. The day was splendid, and yet both of them were occupying themselves with idle things, not talking that much.

Just as Victoria opened her mouth to suggest something scandalous, perhaps sneaking into the kitchens for an early treat, the butler entered, carrying a small stack of letters.

Dorothy immediately brightened. “Ah! A letter from my Annabelle.”

She reached for the letter eagerly, her fingers already breaking the wax seal.

Victoria set her book aside and scooted closer. “How is she? Tell me everything.”

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