Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

" W hat's going on here?" Kenneth asked, drawing their attention.

Beatrice turned to face him, her eyes widening momentarily before she composed herself. "Your Grace, I was just instructing the footmen to leave my trunks here. I will unpack them myself."

Kenneth frowned. "I don't know what life was like in Wales, but here, I cannot let my Duchess do such tasks. The servants will handle it."

Beatrice lifted her chin defiantly. "These are my possessions, Your Grace. I will take care of them. However, I would appreciate it if the rest of my things, such as my dresses, could be put in my room. I'll help the servants unpack upstairs."

Kenneth stepped closer, his towering presence meant to intimidate her. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low so the servants couldn't hear.

"Why are you so interested in my movements?" Beatrice shot back, her eyes flashing with irritation.

"You're living under my roof. I have every right to be interested," Kenneth replied frustratedly.

Beatrice stood her ground, her posture straight and unyielding. "It's also my house now," she retorted, meeting his gaze without flinching.

She was infuriating, yet undeniably beautiful. He stepped even closer, their faces mere inches apart.

"You are a stubborn woman," he said, something deeper lacing his voice.

"And you are a controlling man," Beatrice scoffed.

They stood there for a moment, the air between them crackling with tension.

Finally, Beatrice broke the silence. "Please, just let the footmen do as I ask."

Kenneth's jaw tightened, but he stepped back, giving a sharp nod. He turned to the footmen, his voice authoritative. "Carry the rest of her things upstairs."

Beatrice turned to the footmen, her voice softening. "Thank you, gentlemen."

With that, she walked away, heading towards the staircase.

Kenneth watched her go, his eyes lingering on her retreating form. The remaining footmen stared at him, waiting for instructions. He groaned inwardly, waving a hand in resignation.

"Put her things in the morning room as she asked," he ordered. "I'll let you know when you're needed to unpack."

As the footmen hurried to comply, Kenneth stood there, a myriad of emotions swirling within him. This woman, his wife, was proving to be more than he had anticipated. He just wasn't sure yet whether that was a blessing or a curse.

As he contemplated their encounter, the butler approached. "Your Grace, Viscount Ashford has arrived. He's here to discuss the potential sale of some of his land."

Kenneth nodded, his mood shifting. "Show him to my study, Jennings. I'll be there shortly."

He made his way to his study, his thoughts lingering on Beatrice before he forced himself to focus on the matter at hand. Viscount Ashford was known to have fallen on hard times, much like his own father had. The comparison stirred a mix of empathy and disdain in Kenneth. He was determined not to follow in his father's footsteps, and dealing with someone who had succumbed to similar vices was always a bitter reminder.

When Kenneth entered his study, Lord Ashford was already seated, looking rather uncomfortable. Kenneth took his seat behind the large oak desk, offering a curt nod. "Lord Ashford, thank you for coming."

The Viscount gave a strained smile. "Your Grace, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

Kenneth gestured for him to continue, and Ashford cleared his throat nervously. "I am in need of funds and have decided to sell a part of my estate. Given our properties' proximity, I thought you might be interested."

Kenneth regarded him coolly. "I am aware of your situation. Tell me, what exactly are you offering?"

Ashford hesitated, his eyes darting around the room before settling back on Kenneth. "A substantial part of my land adjacent to Dunford. It's prime land, Your Grace. Fertile and well-maintained."

Kenneth leaned back in his chair, considering the offer. The land was indeed valuable, but he couldn't ignore the Viscount's motives for selling. "And what has driven you to this decision, Ashford?"

The Viscount's face flushed slightly. "I have had some… financial difficulties. Debts that need to be settled."

Kenneth's gaze hardened. "Gambling debts?"

Ashford shifted uncomfortably. "Among other things, yes."

Kenneth felt a surge of anger, the memories of his father's reckless behavior flooding back. "I see. It's unfortunate that such circumstances have led you to this point."

Ashford nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. "Yes, well, it's necessary."

There was a brief, tense silence before he spoke again, attempting to lighten the mood. "I had almost forgotten, Your Grace. Congratulations on your recent marriage. I hear you've taken Lady Beatrice Wickes as your wife."

Kenneth's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I have."

The Viscount smiled though it didn't reach his eyes. "Quite the match, indeed. Her family's reputation precedes her, especially with a brother like Patrick. One must wonder what kind of duchess she will be, coming from such a stock."

Kenneth's hackles rose at the insinuation. "Lady Beatrice is my wife, Ashford. I would advise you to tread carefully when speaking of her or her family."

Ashford's smile faltered. "Of course, Your Grace. I meant no disrespect."

Kenneth leaned forward, his tone icy. "See that you don't. Now, about the land. I will consider your offer and have my steward review the details. You will hear from me soon."

The Viscount nodded quickly, sensing that the conversation was over. "Thank you, Your Grace. I appreciate your time."

Kenneth stood up, signaling the end of the meeting.

As Ashford left the room, Kenneth's thoughts returned to Beatrice. He had defended her without hesitation, and the realization stirred something within him. Despite their rocky start, he felt a growing sense of protectiveness towards her. She was his wife, and he would allow no one to tarnish her name or her honor.

He returned to his desk. The desire gnawing at him was a constant, unwelcome distraction.

As he reviewed the papers before him, his thoughts kept drifting back to her, wondering how he would balance his duty and the intense, undeniable attraction that burned between them.

Beatrice busied herself with unpacking, her hands moving deftly through her belongings. Anna and the young maid, Grace, worked alongside her. The room was filled with the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft thud of items being placed in drawers. Beatrice found the simple task soothing, a welcome distraction from the uncertainties of her new life.

As Beatrice pulled out an elaborate gown, Mrs. Whitfield entered the room, her eyes widening in surprise. "Your Grace, what are you doing?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with alarm.

Beatrice turned, offering her a reassuring smile. "I just wanted to help, Mrs. Whitfield. I've barely anything left to do for today, and I thought I might as well do something useful."

Mrs. Whitfield hesitated, clearly torn between her duty and the unusual sight before her.

"If that is what the lady of the castle wishes," she said finally, her tone reluctant but respectful.

As the minutes passed, the atmosphere lightened. The maids, initially unsure of how to act around their new mistress, began to relax. Beatrice encouraged them to share stories about their lives, genuinely interested in getting to know them.

Grace, the younger maid, spoke first, her eyes lighting up as she recounted tales of her family in the village. "My little brother, James, is always running wild in the fields. He's a handful, but he's got such a big heart," she said, her smile widening.

Anna chimed in, her voice filled with excitement, "I have three younger sisters. They're always underfoot, helping with chores or getting into mischief. They're the joy of my life."

Beatrice listened intently, her own heart warming at their stories. "It sounds like you both have wonderful families. It must be lovely to have such close-knit bonds."

At one point, she couldn't resist lightening the mood further.

"Have you noticed how the Duke always seems so stern?" She stood tall, her face a picture of exaggerated seriousness. "I am the Duke of Dunford, and I demand order!" she declared in a deep, mockingly authoritative voice.

Anna and Grace burst into giggles, their laughter echoing through the room. Beatrice joined in, feeling a rare sense of camaraderie and normalcy.

Suddenly, a voice came from the doorway, and it was none other than the Duke himself.

"What are we laughing about?" Kenneth asked, his tone cool and inquiring as he scanned the room.

The laughter stopped abruptly, and the maids quickly looked down, their faces flushed with embarrassment.

Beatrice straightened up, her cheeks still warm from the laughter. "Just a bit of fun, Your Grace," she replied, meeting his gaze with a touch of defiance.

Kenneth's eyes flicked to the maids. "Leave us," he commanded.

Anna and Grace curtsied hastily and scurried out of the room, leaving Beatrice alone with Kenneth.

As the door closed behind the maids, Kenneth's expression hardened.

"You might want to be careful about mocking me in my own home," he warned, his tone icy.

Beatrice lifted her chin defiantly. "Or you'll do what?" she snapped back, her eyes blazing.

Kenneth leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "You have only had a taste of what I can do to you, darling," he murmured, his lips grazing her neck.

Beatrice shivered involuntarily, the heat of his breath sending a jolt through her. She tried to regain her composure.

"You are continually frustrating," she retorted, her voice trembling with anger—and desire.

Kenneth's eyes blazed with anger and raw intensity. He moved even closer, the scent of leather and something uniquely him enveloping her.

"You challenge me at every turn," he said, his voice low and charged with tension. "Do you think I enjoy this constant battle?"

"Maybe if you weren't so set on monitoring my every move, we wouldn't be constantly at odds," Beatrice spat, her chest heaving.

"This is my home, and like you pointed out so comically earlier, I demand order in it," he responded.

"It is my home too now. I should have some degree of freedom in it."

"I gave you all the freedom you needed when I married you, remember? Or did you prefer staying with your oppressive mother?"

Beatrice halted. "It is precisely because of her that I expect you to give me some free rein here."

Kenneth clenched his jaw. "There are rules to be followed, Duchess. You cannot expect me to allow a stranger to do whatever they please in my home."

Beatrice winced at his words. "A stranger?" she asked.

"Yes. We hardly know each other."

"Is that why you deserted me on our wedding night, then?"

He furrowed his brow at her question. "There was an urgent matter I had to attend to. You remember that," he responded.

"You could have returned after you dealt with it. But in truth, you wished to get away from me, no?" Beatrice raised an eyebrow.

"That is not true," he snapped.

"Then why didn't you come back?"

She expected another angry response, expected him to evade her question.

But instead, the Duke grabbed her and kissed her fiercely. The intensity of his kiss sent a wave of heat through her, and she found herself responding despite her anger.

His hand slid up her back, drawing her closer, and she almost melted into him.

Suddenly, a knock on the door shattered the moment.

Kenneth straightened up, his eyes narrowing in irritation. "What is it?" he barked.

The butler entered the room with a respectful bow. "My apologies, Your Grace. The new saddles for your horses have arrived. I was instructed to inform you immediately."

Kenneth's jaw tightened, but he nodded curtly. "Thank you, Jennings. I'll see to it."

He cast one last intense glance at Beatrice before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

Beatrice stood there, breathless and confused, her emotions a tangled mess of longing and frustration.

As the door closed behind Kenneth, she leaned against the bedpost, trying to steady her racing heart.

The encounter had left her more uncertain than ever. The tension between them was undeniable, and she couldn't ignore the intense attraction that simmered beneath their constant bickering.

What is happening to me?