Page 48 of The Duke's Second Bride
Ava found herself wandering over to the opposite wall, pulling a book at random. It ended up being a book of botanicals, detailing the look and care conditions of all sorts of plants. She traced a finger over the delicate drawings.
“Many of those are local to the estate,” came a voice from behind her.
A warm buzz settled over her as she looked up and saw Christian looking over her shoulder at the book. As soon as he noticed her looking at him, he seemed to cloud over again and stepped away.
“One of the farmers provided the illustrations,” he muttered.
“How lovely,” Ava said, but Christian had left almost immediately.
Does he truly despise me that much that he can’t bear to be around me for even a minute?she wondered.
Soon enough, Luke had returned to the counter with a stack of adventure accounts. Ava slid the book of plants back onto the shelf and went to make small talk with Bertha as Christian paid for the books.
It wasn’t until hours later, when they had said their goodbyes and taken the carriage back to the manor, and she wasunpacking their new acquisitions, that she found the book of plants on top of the pile.
CHAPTER 17
“Not again.”
Christian glared at the ginger mound on his desk. Pudding glared back.
It seemed these days that, no matter where he was, Pudding found a way to be there.
If Christian wanted to curl up in his chair, the cat would be there; if he was looking for a particular pair of boots, Pudding had stolen them and hidden them somewhere.
Now, for instance, he had a stack of paperwork he absolutely needed to complete by the night’s end. Naturally, he entered his office only to find Pudding curled up atop that very stack of papers, with seemingly no intention of moving anytime soon.
“Off,” Christian ordered, waving his hand at the cat. Pudding did not even budge an inch. “Go on. Get out of here. This is an office, not a kennel.”
Pudding stretched, arching his back low, squinting and yawning with his tiny cat tongue poking out. He extended his legs forward, and his long, winding tail swung like a lasso, knocking over an inkwell.
Christian rushed to right the inkwell, letting out a curse as he immediately stained his palms and fingers. He quickly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, mopping up the worst of the spill before it could spread to any important papers or drip onto the carpet. Once he had done that, he went to wash his hands.
Despite how long it took to get the ink stains out, when he got back, he found, much to his dismay, that Pudding was still there. The cat didn’t even bother to meet his glare this time.
What should he do? Should he call for help?
No. He dismissed the idea immediately.
Who would he call for help anyway—Miss Grant? Certainly not Ava. It was her damn cat, for certain, but he was a grown man—a duke, at that! He would not be found like this, cowering at the whims of a five-pound orange-furred monster. He would not yet admit defeat.
He would not let Ava see him in a state like this. It would make him feel pathetic.
Pudding was at least on the corner of the desk now, instead of the center. Fine, then—Christian would simply do his work around the cat, as though Pudding weren’t there at all. That would show him. Though he was starting to feel a bit foolish at holding this much of a grudge against a cat—a cat who, by the looks of things, was as absolutely unbothered by this whole thing as Christian was livid—but he had come too far and persisted too much to back down now.
He sat down in his chair and picked up the first of the papers. After a few moments, he found he was able to focus easily.
At least, until Pudding stood up again. Christian immediately and instinctively reached out for the inkwell, looking to protect it. Thankfully, this time, Pudding instead decided to leap off the desk.
“Finally,” Christian muttered—only for his relief to turn into renewed annoyance when Pudding began weaving around his legs, rubbing at his boots. “No. Bad cat,” he said crossly, though Pudding seemed to take no notice.
“Mangy little rascal.” He nudged the cat gently with one boot, but Pudding refused to leave.
Finally, after another lap or two around Christian’s legs, Pudding decided to settle down—right on top of the duke’s feet. Christian let out an audible groan.
Once it became clear Pudding had no interest in moving, Christian gave up. If he was going to be stuck in his chair, he supposed he might as well return his attention to his work.
Within minutes, the cat was purring. It was a soft, low sound, and ebbed and flowed almost like a heartbeat. Christian was loath to admit it, but the sound was almost … comforting. Soothing, even. It seemed to make the work go faster, as he was spurred on by the gentle rumbling sound.
