Page 39 of Duke of Pride

Stephen seemed thoughtful. She was, too. He had noticed she favored apple pie over all the other desserts. And he seemed ashamed to be reminded of how he had brought up her lineage before.

“The way you put it, it seems that we should have stopped by Piazza Café, after all. I have both gratitude to express and regrets to atone for.”

“Excessively melodramatic over a slice of apple pie,” Victoria snorted.

“Excuse me, but it happens to be a very good apple pie.”

Victoria liked him like this—lighter, livelier, kinder. His huge body relaxed, his broad shoulders comfortable, his moves less strained, his laughter easier. He was good-looking, she had noticed as much the moment Annabelle had introduced him to her.

Yet there was something icy cold about his beauty. Once, she had heard ladies talking about “melting the icy Duke.” But they should have reconsidered, seeing how the thawed Duke could prove ten times more dangerous.

“Miss Victoria.” He seemed determined to make this ride a confession booth. “It was unfair of me to judge your proximity with my mother.”

“Unfair? I could think of more accurate words, but I am taking my winnings and leaving.” She smiled, shaking her head.

“Perhaps I should scrap the rest of the speech I was going to give, since you seem to be easily satisfied.”

He was teasing her, she knew from his tone, but somehow his words registered differently, affecting her body in ways that shouldn’t be part of the conversation. She fumbled for a retort that would steer the conversation back in the safest direction.

He was going to say something nice, wasn’t he?

“It would be a shame to waste all the time you spent crafting that speech, Your Grace,” she said finally.

She tucked a curl behind her ear in an attempt to look composed. He followed that gesture and then pinned her with his azure eyes. He leaned forward and let his elbows rest on his knees.

“My mother…” He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he pushed on. “She was fading. Grief does that. It makes ghosts of the living.”

Victoria swallowed.

“And then you came. With your endless chatter, your ridiculous ideas for a tea party, your new rules for croquet, and your refusal to take orders from anyone.” A hint of a smile flickered across his face, then faded. “You were kind to her. Not because it was your duty, but because you cared. And somehow, without ever asking for anything in return, you brought her back to herself.”

The way he looked at her, so steady, almost broke her.

“She eats properly now, she laughs, and she complains about silly, little things. Lord Prevost can protest in that shrill voice of his all he wants, but you made sure I didn’t lose my mother, too.”

Victoria blinked, her heart thudding in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Stephen, sensing her surprise, leaned back into the carriage seat with a smirk. “Though I reserve the right to rescind that statement if lilac makes its way into my drawing room.”

Victoria laughed, startled and charmed. “If that’s the price for your mother’s laughter, I daresay even you could learn to live with a little lilac.”

“I should have toned the speech down to avoid insurrection.”

“Now that I know I am indispensable?—”

“From undervaluing to overpricing. Interesting.”

“You said that I made Dorothy happy, Your Grace.” She smirked. “You can keep her indefinitely happy, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“By keeping me around.”

Victoria saw his expression harden. Gone was the playful light in his eyes, gone was the light smirk. His countenance turned glacial, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Miss Victoria.” His voice was laced with a warning. “Do noteverpresume what a duke wants.”

“I never made such a bold claim,” Victoria said in a sweet, biting lilt. “I do not know whataduke might want. But”—her eyebrow rose—“I do know whatyouwant.”

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