Page 54 of Most Unusual Duke

Would they lie together again, tonight? After the meal, after the children were put to bed, after gathering for tea and chitchat and Charlotte’s knowing glances and Ben’s smiling eyes and Madam’s nerves, nerves he could see roiling beneath the layer of frost even from across this room. Was that what the frost was for, to disguise the wealth of warmth the woman sought to hide from theton? A wealth that had been thrown away by Castleton? A bounty of kindness that infused every compliment she paid to another on the successful completion of their task, that overflowed when she cuddled one of the cubs? The promise of progress every time she called him Osborn? The hope of growth that would, with careful sowing, produce so much more to be reaped—

Talk of reaping. “I would have an explanation regarding the destruction of the garden, Madam.” He brandished the sticks again.

“Why?” That arched brow!

“Why?” He looked at the sticks; they did not yield the answer. “Because I will not countenance such disruption of my land and of my…”

“Of your…?” A head tilt now accompanied the inquisitive brow.

Of his what? His authority? His peace of mind? He laid claim to neither. “To the so-called refurbishment of this place. A place that has known great chaos and ought to know no more. I will put a stop to it.” Arthur did not intend that to sound like a threat.

“Do you wish to frighten me?” Madam looked the opposite of frightened. She looked like she might spring claws from her fingertips and fangs from behind that rosebud mouth. “How far would you go to do so? Is it at your door I may lay those poor little creatures who did not deserve to die? If so, you are no better than Castleton, whose lands never played host to anything but predators such as he.”

“You may not, as I did no such thing. And do not compare me to that madman.”

“Then is it that you wish me to fail?” Arthur stood, struck dumb. She took his lack of answer to be proof enough. “It is well, therefore, I do not make these efforts to garner your favor. I do this because it must be done, and I am well able for it. I will not stand by and live under less than ideal circumstances, nor shall I allow any human or creature to live under anything less than the protection of a sound roof, in full cleanliness and comfort.”

“I do not—” What did he “not”? Did he not deserve this bollocking from his tiny wife? Did he not wish for the comfort of his people?

Whose people?his bear wondered.

“Be silent,” he snarled and then caught himself, chagrined to have spoken aloud. “Madam, that command was not intended for you.”

“No?” Lady Frost was now in full possession of the conversation. “Was it to your creature you spoke so? I wonder what he said to deserve your censure. He may be the wiser of the two.”

The beast preened like a debutante. “I did not mean to offend you. I am merely…”Worried about your welfare, of the welfare of all here. Concerned the changes being wrought are even greater than they appear. Uneasy that you may have fallen pregnant. Anxious you may have not. Distraught you will not welcome me into your bed again, no matter your desire for a child.“I am merely—”

A knock on the corridor wall interrupted his morose monologue. “It is I, ma’am,” came the voice of the fox. “I understand there was a disturbance in the garden.”

“If you would excuse me, Your Grace.” It was not a request.

Your Grace.That likely answered his question as to whether they would lie together again that night.

***

The children were abed, none the worse for seeing the destruction visited upon that innocent creature, and the adults gathered in the family reception room. They must devise a less cumbersome name for it. Charlotte and Ben were battling out a game of draughts with subdued hilarity. Osborn had been his usual taciturn self throughout the evening meal. And it was Beatrice’s turn to be looked at.

She had been aware of her frostiness upon entering the kitchens that morning and had been powerless to curtail it. She wanted nothing more than to melt at the sight of his eyes, those warm brown eyes fixing on her the moment she entered; the way he stood big as a mountain, the way his hands brushed down his front, his front that had been pressed up against her front… He had gained pleasure from it, had he not? Their argument in the footstool room had been fraught with more than a dispute over the ruined garden. Ought she to have given in to the silly argument? She would not take on fault that was not hers, even if it meant he would not lie with her again. That was no way to go on.

She could not face him if she thought he did not wish to retire with her again.

Would he wish to do that again, tonight?

When he was not pacing around the edges of the room and interfering with Charlotte’s moves on the board, Osborn lounged in the chair set catercorner with the bookcase, a chair that had been sitting alongside the chaise longue, which itself had been moved over to the window. Every time Beatrice visited this room, it reorganized itself by some means, which she supposed to be Charlotte or the children. Would she remark upon it? If a sofa was set in place, that was where the sofa remained. Was it a custom of their kind? She thought to ask him, but he was sitting with such…aggression, if that were possible. His legs stretched out before him, trousers taut on his thighs, ankles crossed, one hand propped against his chin, that fat curl lying on his brow.

Looking at her.

“Thank you, Corvus,” she said as the tea tray was set before her. She set about doling out treats and tea, Charlotte and Ben abandoning their match for sustenance.

“Ciara has made the lemon cake you prefer, Osborn,” she said as she put two slices on a plate and set it down on the tea table. He rose and took it and did not take his eyes off her as he bit into a slice and licked his lips.

Charlotte, her back to Osborn, took her cup as well as Ben’s; before she turned away, she made a show of licking her lips as the duke had.

Beatrice took a sip of her tea and gasped. Osborn rushed to her side and dropped his plate as he did so; it fell facedown on the rug.

“What is amiss? Has the milk gone off?” He loomed over her like an angel of retribution. “Show me your tongue.”

Across from her, Charlotte almost treated them to a reprise of her tea-spewing antics.

---