Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“Ifind nothing about this situation honest, Your Grace,” Beatrice told him, her voice sharp, her cheeks tinged with red. “Not your abandonment in the carriage, nor this midnight visitation.”
His wife was a little spitfire, apparently.
Leo observed her with clinical detachment, though something in the slight tilt of her chin stirred an unexpected response within him. Perhaps it was admiration, for he knew that another gently bred lady would have dissolved into hysterics.
No, Beatrice was a little minx. He was certain of it.
Her dark curls tumbled over her shoulders, a stark contrast to the white linen of her nightgown, sheer even in the soft lamplight, hugging her delicate curves so deliciously.
She was a curious contradiction. A woman who had agreed to a marriage of convenience, yet bristled at every suggestion that convenience might be its only purpose.
Unlike the practiced coquettes who’d warmed his bed in the past, the new Duchess of Stagmore displayed neither artifice nor calculation. Her indignation was genuine, her resistance unfeigned.
Leo found himself strangely intrigued by her authenticity.
If he were completely honest, he found it rather alluring.
“Honesty is precisely what I’ve come to discuss,” he finally spoke, maintaining his position at the foot of her bed, deliberately keeping a distance between them. “I believe we’ve begun our arrangement under certain… misapprehensions that would benefit from clarification.”
Her eyes narrowed, the blue in them darkening like storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Leo noted with unwelcome fascination how the color shifted in the lamplight, revealing depths he hadn’t noticed during their brief acquaintance.
“And these clarifications could not wait until morning?” she asked. “Or perhaps they might have been offered before we spoke our vows?”
“Some conversations are best conducted when the house sleeps,” Leo countered, unmoved by her indignation, though privately acknowledging the validity of her complaint.
He had, after all, abandoned her twice in one day. Behavior unbecoming of a gentleman, let alone a duke. Yet he found himself reluctant to apologize, as though conceding even this small point might establish a dangerous precedent.
“When we need not concern ourselves with servants’ ears pressed to doors, or observant eyes noting every shift in expression,” he finished.
“I cannot help but wonder if this consideration of yours extends to acknowledging that your bride might prefer rest after what has been, by any measure, an extraordinarily taxing day, Your Grace.”
Leo permitted himself a small smile at her sharp retort.
Most women of his acquaintance, even those who had shared his bed, would never dare address him with such forthright criticism. The novelty was… not entirely unpleasant.
“I’ve been informed by Mrs. Fairchild that you spent the afternoon conducting a thorough inspection of the estate,” he said, deliberately choosing not to comment on her retort. “Hardly the actions of a woman overcome by fatigue.”
“You had me watched?” Her posture stiffened further, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the covers tighter.
“I was informed of your activities, as any master of a house might reasonably expect,” he corrected, moving to take a seat in the armchair near the fireplace.
The casual assumption of territory seemed to further agitate her, but the slight stiffening of her shoulders and the quick jutting of her chin took him by surprise.
How different she was from the polished matrons and eager debutantes. With her, every flicker of feeling lay unguarded, bright as candlelight in a darkened room.
“Now, shall we discuss the terms of our arrangement like civilized individuals, or would you prefer to continue trading barbs until dawn?” he asked, a challenge disguised as a courtesy.
She drew a steadying breath, her shoulders squaring as though she could will composure into her bones. The tremors in her hands vanished, her gaze sharpening with quiet resolve.
How had a sheltered daughter of Ironstone learned such steel? Few women possessed it—fewer still so young or bound by her station.
“Very well,” she said finally. “What terms do you wish to discuss that were not already established in the antechamber at St. George’s?”
“Our daily expectations,” Leo replied, stretching his long legs before him in a deliberate display of ease.
He noted how her gaze flickered briefly to the movement before returning resolutely to his face.
“The practicalities of our arrangement were, by necessity, left somewhat vague during our hasty negotiation.”
“I was under the impression that ‘practicalities’ were precisely what we had discussed,” she countered. “A marriage that will be beneficial for both parties. None of the… encumbrances of genuine attachment will be expected, but we will treat one another with kindness and courtesy.”
Leo nodded.
A proper lady, indeed. Perceptive and eloquent.
Her detachment regarding this marriage mirrored his own, which should have been reassuring. Instead, he found himself curiously dissatisfied.
“Indeed. However, there are specific conditions I wish to establish now that we have exchanged vows.”
She straightened, a subtle shift that lent her a quiet air of command despite the softness of her nightgown.
Leo’s gaze traced the motion before catching on the delicate column of her throat, vanishing beneath silk. Heat threatened to anchor him there, but with practiced discipline, he dragged his eyes back to her face. As if sheer will alone could cage the impulse.
“I am listening, Your Grace,” she encouraged with a raised eyebrow.
“Firstly, while our marriage may be one of convenience, I see no reason why it should be characterized by mutual misery,” Leo began, his tone even, calm.
The kind of tone he used with business associates when negotiating deals.
“You will find that Stagmore Manor offers every comfort and luxury befitting your station. The staff is at your disposal, the accounts are open to your management for household matters, and you may redecorate any chamber you wish. Except for my study and bedchamber, of course.”
He paused, gauging her reaction. Her expression remained carefully neutral, and he couldn’t detect any give in her eyes, which stirred an irrational irritation within him, as though he had lost a point in a game whose rules remained undefined.
“Additionally,” he continued, “you will receive an allowance to spend as you see fit. Jewels, gowns, charitable endeavors… I leave the particulars to your discretion.”
“That is… most generous, although I suppose that is to be expected, as I am the mistress of this house. Others will expect to see the two of us fully falling into our new roles.”
His lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I assure you, Duchess,” he said, “that I am not in the habit of performing any duty by half-measures. You are now the Duchess of Stagmore and will be treated accordingly, both by Society and the staff.”
“And by you?” Her lips twitched downward, as though she regretted asking the question.
“I’ll treat you with the courtesy due your position,” he answered finally, his tone deliberately neutral. “And I expect the same in return.”
Disappointment darkened her features, though why she’d be disappointed at such a reasonable response, he could not fathom.
“Furthermore,” he added, steering the conversation back to practical matters with almost desperate precision, “we need not constantly be with each other. The estate is vast, and the London townhouse is similarly accommodating. We may pursue our separate interests, meeting only when social obligations require our joint appearance.”
“You propose we live as strangers beneath the same roof?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
“I propose we live as individuals who respect one another’s privacy and independence,” Leo clarified.
He felt a strange, uncomfortable twinge of reluctance in his stomach as he articulated those terms.
After all, they were precisely what he wanted, weren’t they?
“An arrangement far more desirable than the cloying pretense of affection that characterizes so many ton marriages, would you not agree?”
Beatrice’s gaze dropped to the intricate embroidery on the covers as she considered his words.
“You remember, however, that feigning affection is the hinge upon which you promised to salvage my reputation, do you not?” she said after a brief moment.
The lamplight caught the curve of her cheek, the shadow of her lashes against her skin, and Leo found himself momentarily captivated by the simple elegance of her profile.
She was beautiful, yes, but it was a beauty rendered more compelling by the intelligence and character evident in her features.
A dangerous observation.
Especially when he meant to keep his distance from her.
“So, what about when we are in company? What role am I to play then?”
“That of the devoted Duchess, naturally,” Leo replied with a dismissive wave, deliberately breaking the spell of his unwelcome appreciation.
“I promised you the performance of a whirlwind romance, and I shall deliver. We will present ourselves as a united, happy couple. The whispers about Philip’s disappearance will fade soon enough if we offer no fresh fuel for speculation. ”
He watched the wheels turn behind her eyes, fascinated. And he decided that perhaps he should control just how much fascination he allowed himself to feel at her mere existence. It spelled nothing but trouble.
“Speaking of Philip,” he added, leaning forward slightly, his gaze sharpening, “you will assist me in finding him.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”