Page 31 of His Godsent Duchess
He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. "No," he said after a moment. "Not displeased."
Her smile widened, and his gaze dropped to her lips, his thoughts beginning to spiral out of control once more. What is wrong with me?
He cleared his throat again, harder this time, and gestured toward the shelf. "Place the book where it belongs and get some rest."
He turned toward the door, intent on escaping whatever madness was clouding his thoughts.
"I'm not tired," she called after him.
He didn't turn around. "Do as you wish, Duchess, but remember—the library is still forbidden to the household."
She grumbled something under her breath, and for the first time that night, Victor smiled—an unbidden, unexpected smile that spread across his face before he caught himself. He shook his head as he left the room, feeling the weight of the door closing behind him.
What in heaven's name is she doing to me?
Thirteen
Victor leaned back in his chair, letting out a breath as Christina's laugh floated through the open window. He closed his eyes, the sound tugging at something deep within him.
For the past several days, he had heard that same laugh, accompanied by the children's chatter, streaming in through his window, reminding him of the moment he had almost crossed the line in the library.Heaven have mercy on me.He turned his head, glancing over his shoulder at the window.
From his vantage point, he could see Christina and the girls in the garden. Cassidy and Amelia ran across the lawn, their skirts flaring as they raced one another. Katherine and Annabelle strolled arm-in-arm, their heads bent together in conversation, and there—skipping like a child—was Christina, holding Agnes's hand. Her auburn hair gleamed in the sunlight, and her laughter rang out again, pure and bright.
Victor sighed, rising slowly from his desk. This is what he had been doing for days—watching her from a distance. It had started after the night in the library, when he had nearly kissed her. Since then, whenever he heard her voice, whenever the children laughed, he would glance out and watch them.
He had issued a strict rule that the children and Christina were not to go out without his permission. Yet there she was, skipping across the garden as though he had never spoken the words. She always seemed to disregard his commands with an ease that infuriated and intrigued him.
Shaking his head, Victor turned back to his desk, determined to occupy himself with work. But for the next hour, his concentration wavered, his thoughts drifting back to the scene outside. Finally, unable to continue with his tasks, he pushed his chair back and left the study.
The castle was quiet—too quiet. A feeling of unease stirred in his gut as he made his way through the grand foyer. Quietness in the Castle often signaled that mischief was brewing somewhere. He stopped a passing footman and inquired where his wife and the children were.
"They are on the third floor, Your Grace," the butler said, smiling as though everything was in order.
Victor exhaled, feeling a strange mixture of relief and suspicion. He ascended the stairs, his steps slowing as he approached the schoolroom. Voices carried through the doorway, and he moved carefully, positioning himself just out of sight. He leaned against the wall, listening.
Inside, Christina's voice was soft and clear, reading from a book, her words measured and graceful. The children sat around her, rapt with attention, including Annabelle, who rarely showed interest in such lessons. Christina finished reading and then addressed Katherine. "What do you believe the author meant when he said, ‘The heart cannot grow if it remains untouched by sorrow'?"
Katherine straightened in her seat, her brows drawn together in thought. "I believe he means that we cannot truly appreciate joy without experiencing loss. It is through sadness that we grow stronger, and without it, we might never understand the depth of our own emotions."
Christina smiled approvingly. "Precisely, my dear."
Agnes piped up, frowning slightly. "But how is that a lesson? I don't understand."
Before Christina could respond, Cassidy, of all people, leaned toward her younger sister, her tone patient and composed. "It means that sometimes we have to face difficult things to become better people. Like when we're sad, we learn to be more compassionate, to appreciate the good things more."
Victor's brows rose in surprise. Cassidy, usually the most mischievous and unruly of the lot, had spoken with such maturity and calm that it caught him off guard. He had never seen his daughters so engaged, so… at peace.
Just as Christina was about to dismiss them, she noticed Victor standing in the doorway. Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly, and she lifted a hand to her mouth, startled. He stepped forward, his gaze locking with hers, and the tension between them—unspoken, unresolved—hung in the air.
"What is it you are about to do?" Victor asked, his voice even, though the curiosity simmered beneath. "You seem rather surprised to see me."
Christina shook her head, offering him a soft smile. "Nothing to be concerned about, Your Grace. We were merely about to head to the music room for a bit of practice." She motioned toward the girls, who all stood and curtsied in perfect harmony.
Victor looked at each of their faces. They were the picture of innocence, as was Christina, but something felt amiss. It was the second time in recent days he had caught them in the middle of something that felt… concealed. Still, they all appeared as though they had done nothing wrong, their eyes wide with innocence.
"Very well," he said, his tone nonchalant as he turned on his heel. "As you were."
He had barely taken a step when he heard soft footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Christina following him. The sight surprised him, and before he could second-guess the impulse, he stopped and held his arm out to her.
