Page 42 of The Duke's Second Bride
Did he really hate being married to her so much that he would rather not be reminded of it at all?
If that were the case, why had he offered to marry her, rather than hire someone else to be nurse to Luke? Why kiss her at all?
“What is it you are in search of?”
“I want to know what is going on here,” he repeated, more sternly than before.
Ava fought hard to pretend that she did not feel like sugar in a saucepan at the low, rich growl that entered his voice when he was slightly annoyed and more than slightly baffled.
“W-w-we are trying t-to sp-sp-speak with P-Pudding,” Luke stammered.
Christian’s jaw tightened for a moment before he sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yes, thank you, Luke,” he said. “What I am curious about is why?”
“It is an exercise,” Ava said, “to help with?—”
“T-to help with m-my stammer,” Luke said, taking over, his voice bold despite the stutter. “W-whenever I stutter now, it helps if I say meow.”
Christian’s nostrils flared. “I see,” he said.
Ava, seeing his annoyance, felt a surge of protectiveness over the boy rise within her.
“Luke,” she said, “would you mind taking Pudding inside? I believe it will be time for his lunch soon. Ask the cook to have lunch prepared for you and me, as well.”
Luke nodded, though he said nothing more verbally. Bending down, he let the cat jump into his arms. Pudding sat there even more easily now than before, having grown fully accustomed to his new living circumstances and his new friendship with the young boy.
Ava watched Christian watch the boy leave. As soon as he was inside, he turned on Ava.
“What exactly do you think you are doing?” he hissed. “I asked you to help my son, not to make a fool of him. You had best watch yourself, madam.”
“Or what?” she fired back. “You’ll send me out on the streets?”
That took him aback. He fell silent, blinking, then shook his head.
“What are you so afraid of?” she practically cried, frustrated by his reluctance to speak. “You asked me to help him, and I am! He stutters less than ever before.”
“Because of you teaching him to act like an animal?” he asked, not quite shouting but with a forcefulness to the words that revealed the true depths of his frustration. “You and your affinity for wild beasts?—”
“Pudding is a house cat!” she said, exasperated. “He is hardly a wild beast. And whatever you may feel about our methodology, if it helps him with his stammer, are you not pleased with the outcome at the very least?”
“Perhaps I would rather have a son with a stammer than a son who thinks he is a cat, house cat or otherwise,” Christian said, running his hands through his hair. “Have you ever considered that?”
“I wonder if you have considered it,” she said. “His stammer worsens when he is stressed, and it worsens tenfold when he believes you to be disappointed in him!”
“I am not disappointed in him,” Christian insisted. “He is my son. I only care for him and wish for him to have the best of everything, the best life?—”
“Yes, yes,” she said, “he has plenty of financial stability, and beautiful things and people to take care of him. But none of that can replace the love of a father. Surely you are aware of that?”
Something changed in Christian’s face, as though her comment wounded him. She did not know exactly in what way, but it spurred her to soften her tone, nonetheless.
“I know you love your son, but he needs to know that his father is proud of him,” she continued.
“Of course I care for him. Of course, I am proud of him,” he said quietly. Christian closed his eyes for a long moment. “His life is so difficult already,” he said. “Children can be cruel. Especially young men. I am proud to have him as my son. But if you only knew the way people treated him for his stammer—I cannot imagine they would treat him any more kindly if he began meowing in the middle of conversations.”
“He is a child. Children have flights of fancy,” she said, still trying to keep her gentle tone, though she felt her patience quickly wearing thin. “And it will pass soon enough.”
“I find it hard to believe that coming from your mouth,” he fired at her, his anger flaming up once more. “When you are the one who has allowed him to have this inane idea. As though you have already not turned my household upside down enough!” he cried. “As though you have not entirely turned my life upside down!”
“And whose fault is that?” she replied sharply. “I would say both of our lives have been easily turned upside down, sir, and it was not from my doing alone. Let me remind you that it is you who offered to marry me.”
