Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
“This one”—Leo lifted one of Lady Margaret’s notebooks and carefully turned it over in his hands as he examined the sketches, tracing a delicate fern with his finger—“should be transcribed first, then published.”
Beatrice leaned closer, her eyes following the intricate details he indicated. “It is exquisite,” she murmured. “She had such an eye for both accuracy and beauty.”
Leo’s gaze met hers, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Indeed. And it is high time the world knew her work. And her name.”
Three days had passed since he had shown Beatrice the hidden library. True to her word, she had thrown herself into helping him catalog the extensive collection, spending hours deciphering faded annotations and organizing scattered manuscripts.
Leo watched her now, bent over a particularly detailed illustration of a rare orchid, her dark curls escaping their pins as she worked. Something tightened in his chest, a sensation both unfamiliar and increasingly frequent in her presence.
“Her observations were truly decades ahead of her time,” Beatrice agreed without looking up, carefully turning the delicate page. “These hybridization experiments alone would cause quite a stir in botanical circles.”
“Under her full name,” Leo added firmly.
Beatrice smiled, setting the manuscript aside. “Oh, your grandfather would be rolling in his grave.”
“Precisely,” Leo replied, a smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps that’s part of the appeal.”
“Speaking of things your father would have disapproved of,” Beatrice said, her expression turning more serious. “I’ve been thinking about Philip and Anna.”
“As have I,” Leo admitted, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been alerted about Anna’s condition.”
Beatrice’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve noticed too?”
“The way Adrian described her symptoms in our last conversation—the fatigue, the sickness, her emotional state… It wasn’t difficult to discern.”
“I suspected as much when we found her,” Beatrice said. “The way she held herself, protected her stomach.” She hesitated. “Does it complicate matters, in your view?”
Leo considered the question. The complicated tangle of emotions he had once felt regarding his cousin had simplified in recent weeks.
The anger at Philip’s cowardice, the unexpected jealousy over his prior relationship with Beatrice…
these had faded in the wake of what had grown between him and his wife.
“It changes the timeline,” he said finally. “We need to bring her here sooner rather than later. Anna needs proper care.”
“Here?” Beatrice couldn’t hide her surprise. “You would bring her to Stagmore?”
“Why not? The estate is remote enough to provide protection. The old gamekeeper’s cottage could be prepared for her.”
“That’s remarkably generous,” Beatrice remarked, studying him.
Leo shrugged, somewhat uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Family matters. And we’ll have to catch Westbury soon, so that Philip can marry her. Before her condition becomes obvious.”
“A private ceremony here at Stagmore?”
Leo nodded. “With proper witnesses. We’ll record it appropriately, but without fanfare. The child will be legitimate, if slightly premature, according to the official dates.”
“Regardless, the ton will talk because of her status,” Beatrice pointed out.
“Let them,” Leo replied with unexpected vehemence. “Philip and Anna have suffered enough. I won’t allow their child to bear any more pain if I can prevent it.”
Beatrice placed her hand on his shoulder, her touch warming him through the layers of his clothing. “Have I told you lately how much you’ve changed?”
“You’ve had a dangerous influence on me,” he teased, though the truth of her words settled deep in his chest.
“Such flattery,” Beatrice said, her expression turning serious again. “Have you received news about Westbury?”
Leo’s jaw tightened. “They’ve traced his movements to Dover. It appears he’s planning to flee to France.”
“Will they catch him before he sails?”
“Blackwood assures me they will. They caught several of his accomplices already, including the manager of the Gilded Lion.” Leo’s voice hardened. “The evidence they’ve gathered is damning.”
“Good,” Beatrice said with surprising fierceness. “After everything he’s done to Philip and Anna, after threatening them, he deserves whatever punishment comes.”
Leo studied her face, struck again by the quiet strength that lay beneath her gentle exterior. “You continue to surprise me, Duchess.”
“Hm?” She smiled, her eyes warm with affection. “I should hope so. Marriage would grow terribly dull, otherwise.”
“I find that with you,” Leo said, rising to stand before her, “dullness is the least of my concerns.”
That caught her attention.
Beatrice looked up, her blue eyes widening slightly.
Their eyes held, and that now-familiar current passed between them—a silent recognition, an understanding beyond words.
Leo found himself increasingly addicted to these moments of connection, these glimpses of something he had never thought to find in a marriage born of duty and circumstance.
“I have something to show you,” he said suddenly, reaching for her hand. “Something beyond these walls.”
Beatrice raised an eyebrow, amusement playing at the corners of her lips. “Another of your great-aunt’s hidden sanctuaries?”
“No,” he replied. “Something entirely my own.”
Her fingers were warm in his as she followed him out of the library. That warmth seemed to spread through him, chasing away the chill he had lived with for so long.
“Should I change?” she asked, glancing down at her simple morning dress.
“No need,” Leo assured her. “Where we’re going, formality is unnecessary.”
They passed Edmonds in the corridor, and Leo nodded to him. “We’ll be back before dinner.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The butler bowed, his expression betraying nothing of his thoughts about the increasingly frequent walks the Duke and Duchess took together.
Outside, the summer sun warmed their faces as Leo led her toward a narrow path that skirted the formal gardens.
Leo nodded to the gardener as they passed by him, the elderly man’s expression betraying only the slightest flicker of surprise at their joined hands.
The servants had adapted remarkably well to the changing dynamic between master and mistress, though Leo suspected they had noticed the shift in his demeanor long before he had acknowledged it himself.
Now, he guided Beatrice not toward the formal pathways but to a narrow trail that skirted the edge of the manicured lawns.
“I didn’t know this path existed,” Beatrice remarked as they stepped into the cool shade of a wooded area.
“Few do,” Leo admitted. “It doesn’t appear on any of the estate maps.”
“How mysterious.” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Are you taking me somewhere scandalous, Your Grace?”
“Would you like me to?” he teased, enjoying the blush that rose to her cheeks.
The path wound through increasingly dense woodland before suddenly opening into a small, secluded clearing. At its center stood a modest structure—not a formal garden folly or classical temple, but a simple cabin built of weathered stone and timber.
“What is this place?” Beatrice asked, curious.
Leo’s nervousness flared as he led her toward the door. “A refuge of sorts. I began building it while my father was still alive. It’s a place where I could think, escape… breathe.”
“You built it?” Surprise colored her tone. “With your own hands?”
“Is that so difficult to believe?” He smiled, unlocking the door with a key he had pulled from his waistcoat pocket. “I wasn’t always the Duke of Stagmore. I was a son with too many expectations, too little freedom, and this was my one corner of the world where none of that mattered.”
The interior was simple but comfortable: a single room with a stone hearth, a sturdy oak table with two chairs, a narrow bed tucked against the wall, and shelves piled with books and oddities he had collected over the years.
Sunlight filtered through the small windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the air.
“No one else has ever been here,” Leo said quietly as Beatrice stepped inside. “Not even Adrian.”
She turned to him, understanding the importance of what he was sharing. “Thank you for showing me.”
“I needed a place that was mine alone,” he added, watching as she moved around the space, trailing her fingers over the table he had crafted himself. “Somewhere with no family history, no ducal responsibility. Just… me.”
“It suits you,” she observed, examining a chess set carved from driftwood. “There’s an honesty to it.”
Leo closed the door behind them, suddenly acutely aware of their isolation, of the intimacy of sharing the space that had been his alone for so long. “I used to disappear here for days. The staff knew not to search for me.”
“Is that why you brought me here?” she asked teasingly. “So, we can disappear together?”
He closed the distance between them in two strides, unable to resist the pull of her any longer. His mouth found hers with urgent need, his hands cradling her face as he poured into the kiss everything he couldn’t say yet.
Beatrice responded with equal fervor, her fingers clutching at his coat, drawing him closer. When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, her eyes were dark with desire.
“Here?” she whispered, glancing around the cabin.
“Here,” he confirmed, already undoing the fastenings of her dress. “Where no one will hear us. Where you can be as loud as you wish.”
She laughed breathlessly, helping him with the buttons. “Is that a challenge, Your Grace?”
“A promise,” he murmured against her throat, reveling in the shiver that ran through her.
They undressed each other with increasing urgency, garments falling to the floor in careless disarray. When she stood naked before him, backlit by the sunlight streaming through the window, Leo felt that same tightening in his chest—a sensation both painful and exquisite.
“You’re staring,” Beatrice noted, though she made no move to cover herself.
“I’ll never tire of looking at you,” he said simply.
He lifted her onto the table, its sturdy surface perfect for what he had in mind. Beatrice gasped as the cool wood met her bare skin, but her surprise quickly gave way to anticipation as Leo knelt before her.
“What are you—” Her question dissolved into a moan as his mouth found her center, his tongue tracing deliberate patterns on her sensitive flesh.
Leo gripped her thighs, holding her open to his attentions as she writhed above him. Her hands tangled in his hair, alternately pushing him away and pulling him closer as pleasure built inside her.
He had learned her body well these past weeks, knew precisely how to drive her to the edge and keep her teetering on the precipice.
“Leo,” she gasped, her voice breaking around his name. “Please—”
He doubled his efforts, focusing on the spot that made her thighs tremble against his shoulders. When she came, her cry echoed through the small cabin—uninhibited, primal, perfect.
Before she could recover, Leo rose and entered her in one smooth thrust, swallowing her gasp with a kiss. The table creaked beneath them as he settled into a rhythm, her legs wrapping around his waist to draw him deeper.
“God, Beatrice,” he groaned into her mouth. “You feel—”
“I know,” she breathed, meeting each thrust with equal fervor. “I know.”
They moved together with increasing urgency, the small cabin filled with the sounds of their pleasure—the slap of skin against skin, breathless endearments, the steady thud of the table against the floor. When Leo felt himself approaching the edge, he slowed, determined to bring her with him.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, one hand coming up to cup her face. “I want to see you.”
Her eyes, dark with desire, locked onto his as he resumed his movements, each thrust deliberately angled to hit the spot that made her gasp. The intimacy of their stare pushed him closer to the brink, but he held back, waiting, watching for the telltale signs of her release.
When it came, her eyes widened, her lips parting in a silent cry before pleasure overwhelmed her completely. The sight of her coming undone triggered his climax, wave after wave of intense sensation washing over him as he buried himself deep inside her.
They remained joined afterward, their foreheads pressed together as their breathing gradually slowed.
Leo felt oddly vulnerable, as though something fundamental had shifted between them, some final barrier.
“You’re trembling,” Beatrice whispered, her hands gentle against his back.
He simply grunted in response. He hadn’t noticed, too lost in the unfamiliar emotions swirling inside him.
She nodded, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Not from the cold, I think.”
“No,” Leo agreed, carefully withdrawing and helping her down from the table. “Not from the cold.”
They dressed slowly, exchanging languid kisses and casual touches that spoke of growing comfort with one another. Leo found himself reluctant to leave this sanctuary, where they could simply be themselves, without the weight of titles or expectations.
“We should go back before they send a search party,” Beatrice said eventually, though she made no move to leave.
Leo caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. “We’ll come back.”
“Is that another promise?” Her smile held a hint of mischief that delighted him.
“You naughty woman.” He chuckled. “And yes, that is a promise. One of many I intend to keep.”
The words emerged with surprising gravity, carrying weight beyond their immediate context.
As they made their way back through the woods, hands entwined, Leo found himself contemplating the strange journey that had brought them to this point.
“What are you thinking?” Beatrice asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Leo glanced down at her, this woman who had somehow become essential to him in ways he was only beginning to understand.
“About you, my beautiful Duchess,” he said carefully. “Only you.”