Page 25 of Duke of Pride

Lord Prevost looked over his shoulder at the bookshelves taking up one wall of the room.

“Quite rebellious of you, My Lord.”

Lord Prevost blinked, visibly thrown off course. He turned stiffly to regard his meticulously organized bookshelves, pressing his lips together as if questioning his own system.

Stephen suppressed a smirk.

* * *

Covering the small distance from Lord’s Prevost residence to his house, Stephen was adjusting his gloves with annoyance. Spending a good portion of his evening listening to the man’s preposterous accusations, his musings on failing morals, and his conspiracy theories about the debaucheries taking place in the house under the guise of tea parties and baked good competitions had been a complete waste of time.

He had decided to partially lift the third rule he had imposed on his household and allow some small, decent gatherings just to vex Lord Prevost.

He had spare time before dinner that he intended to spend reading up on next week’s legislative session.

Stephen was still in the gardens when he heard the noise. Chatter and music. He looked out at the house across the street. Empty and closed, as always. No, this was coming frominsidehis house.

He went up the stairs with alarming speed and flung the door open, following the commotion to the big drawing room. The sight he was greeted with made him double-check that he was, in fact, in his own house.

He stopped at the threshold, one gloved hand resting against the doorframe, surveying the chaos within, not knowing where to focus.

At a round table sat hismother with a brilliant smile on her face, along with Lady Hardwick, her ever-silent sister, andhis housekeeper, Mrs. Charlotte, all engrossed in a game of cards, the former smirking as she slid a few coins across the table.

They were gambling! In his house!

The music came from the pianoforte, which was currently manned by Lady Weatherby, a widow of three husbands and not a shred of shame if he were to judge by the lively tunes she was hammering and the scandalous lyrics that went with it, making the ladies gathered around the instrument cackle.

And in the middle of it all was Victoria Crawford.

Of course, it was Victoria.AlwaysVictoria.

She sat with two other ladies on the sofa, deep in a wicked conversation, a glass of something he sincerely hoped was only tea dangling carelessly between her fingers.Andthere was a satisfied look on her face.

It took approximately three seconds for the women to register his presence. Three long, deafening seconds in which Stephen felt a headache begin to bloom behind his temples.

“Oh,” Victoria murmured, tilting her head, eyes gleaming with unholy delight. “You’re back.”

“It seems that I should never have left,” he growled. “From what I see, in my absence, this place was transformed into an unruly den of vice.”

Lady Weatherby had the decency to stop playing but not enough to stop puffing smoke in his drawing room.

“Den of vice!” Victoria had the audacity to smile. “How very dramatic. This is merely a small gathering. You did suggest we partake in ladylike activities, after all.”

Stephen leveled her with a glare so severe it could have frozen a lesser woman on the spot.

Unfortunately, Victoria Crawford was no lesser woman. If anything, the heat of his glare only made her amusement burn brighter.

“I also recall suggesting embroidery and watercolors.”

“Oh yes, we tried those.”

Victoria pointed at some discarded canvases with the hand that still held the glass, which he was increasingly certain didnotcontain tea. Then, she looked back at him with mock seriousness—a look that said that he challenged her, and she responded.

“We decided that it was boring. So, we decided to try otherladylikeactivities.”

“I did not realize ‘ladylike activities’ now included gambling and tobacco consumption.” He took a menacing step toward her, just to intimidate her with his height.

“You really must keep up with the times.” Victoria tsked.

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