Page 72 of Most Unusual Duke

She hummed, teasing him. “I feel fortunate, when all is said and done.”

“I fear we will have to be grateful to Georgie, when all is said and done.”

“We shall, in our own good time.”

“I suggest we engage in activities more pleasant.”

“Do you indeed, Your Grace?” She slid over to his side, and her salty tone did nothing to flag his desire and, if anything, aroused it. “Pleasant is far too anodyne a term.”

***

It was very well that Tarben knew what flowers meant, but Ursella knew other important things about them that he did not.

She knew, for example, the flower best suited to mark a true mate bond was orange blossom. None grew near the house, and it would not feature in the kitchen garden. If they were following the traditions of the bears, the blossoms would have been harvested at Disting and dried. She would tell Uncle Artie it was time to mind the ceremonies now. Even if Uncle Artie didn’t think they were a sleuth. (They were.)

Orange blossom was not a meadow flower or a wood flower like bluebells, so she would not venture out to Uncle Artie’s spot in the copse. The only place she could think to find it was the glasshouse. As she made her way there, the underbrush rustled withanimali puri. Was it hedgehogs and bunnies making the bushes rustle and dead leaves crunch? It was hard to tell, for she could not scent a thing, which was awfully strange.

When she reached the glasshouse, she saw the broken pieces were fixed and the door was new, and yet it creaked as she opened it, which was frightening but in the way a story might be frightening. The moonlight shone through the glass, and the plants and trees within cast looming shadows. As she paused at the end of the center aisle and did not find what she sought, one of the shadows detached itself from the others and found what it sought.

Her.

Eighteen

Withversipellianheightened senses in mind, Beatrice made her way around the chamber as soundlessly as she could. She donned her night rail and dressing gown, retrieved a note that had been slipped under the door, poked at the fire, quiet as a mouse.

It mattered not, for Arthur slept like…well, a bear in hibernation.

She tidied up the remains of their supper, such as it was, for Arthur’s appetite was prodigious. In all things. Yet despite his size, despite his Shape, he was gentle and careful in his actions and movements…but at the same time, determined upon his objective. He did not hesitate once the way was made clear to pursue his pleasures. She did not feel merely a convenient figure, but that her pleasure was as important as his. Not a means to an end but the end itself.

She pulled aside the curtain: the sun had risen, and they would miss breakfast if they tarried any longer. It was past time to join whatever a collective of bears was called.

It was time to rouse her husband.

“Arthur.” No response. “Osborn.” Not even a groan. “Your Grace!” He pulled a pillow over his head. “Come and bathe,” she said, and he groaned and grumbled and mumbled.

“Bathe?” he demanded of the pillow slip. “How do you suggest I fit in that wee tub?”

“The laundry has been prepared to accept us.”

“Us?” A big brown eye blinked up at her.

She held up the note. “There is a receptacle of adequate size to contain the Alpha and his, his mate. Ben saw to preparing it for us.”

He scrubbed his face against the pillow to slough off his sleep. “What hour is it? Surely you may allow yourself a day of rest, Madam. This is like to be our honeymoon.”

“It is nearly past time for breakfast, Your Grace. You have eaten all the food provided for us, and we have whiled away more than one hour—”

She whooped as a large hand pulled her onto a larger body. “‘Those hours, that with gentle work did frame,’” he quoted, “‘the lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell—’”

“Not every eye, and nor shall every eye,” she muttered, turning her nose to his neck. “We are to bathe and clothe ourselves and join the family, as I am told it is necessary we present ourselves as a bonded pair. Or nearly bonded.”

“It is required.” He squeezed her in a hug his kind were prone to. “This bed is too small.”

“What shall we do about the ducal suite?” she asked. “I cannot feel good about removing Ben and Charlotte.”

“There is another suite on the first floor.” He stretched, and his muscles were put on display to their best effect. “They were the staterooms, which I propose we do not make hospitable and thus prevent a protracted stay from our regent.”

“Let us take them for ourselves,” Beatrice mused. “We may call them what we like.”

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