Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

" W hat's going on here?" Kenneth asked, his voice steady but tense.

Beatrice turned to him with a serene smile. "Lord Eastfold arrived earlier than planned, so I kept him company while he waited for you."

Kenneth's jaw tightened slightly at the friendly rapport between them. "I see," he said curtly. "Shall we move to my study to discuss our business privately, Lord Eastfold?"

Beatrice, sensing the sudden shift in his demeanor, interjected, "Lord Eastfold was just telling me about some fascinating pieces in his collection. I'm quite envious of his knowledge and eye for art."

Eastfold grinned, clearly enjoying the compliment. "Her Grace is too kind. But I must say, Your Grace, you are lucky to have such an art enthusiast for a wife. We've had quite the delightful conversation."

Kenneth forced a tight smile, biting back a retort. "Indeed. Beatrice has a keen eye for beauty."

Eastfold chuckled, looking at Beatrice. "She mentioned that she hopes to see your collection someday. I am surprised you haven't shown it to her yet."

Kenneth nodded, his tone clipped. "Perhaps one day. Shall we, Lord Eastfold?"

Beatrice, sensing the tension, smiled warmly at Eastfold. "Will you be staying for dinner, My Lord? I'd love to hear more about your recent acquisitions."

Eastfold looked as though he was about to accept, his eyes twinkling with genuine pleasure. "I would love to, Your Grace. It's not every day I get to discuss art with someone so knowledgeable."

Kenneth quickly interjected, his patience wearing thin. "The Viscount must be quite busy. We shouldn't keep him."

Eastfold glanced between them, understanding the unspoken command. "Of course," he agreed with a polite nod. "It was a delight to meet you, Your Grace." Standing up, he took Beatrice's hand and kissed it again, his eyes lingering on hers. "I hope we can continue our conversation another time," he said warmly.

Beatrice laughed lightly, clearly enjoying the exchange. "I look forward to it, My Lord."

Kenneth, feeling his control slipping, practically dragged the Viscount away from her, leading him towards his study. As they walked through the hall, Kenneth glanced back over his shoulder and saw Beatrice heading towards the morning room.

He felt a twinge of regret as he remembered their passionate night together. The desire to follow her and repeat their intimate encounter was almost overwhelming, but he forced himself to focus on the business at hand. There would be time for that later, he promised himself, even as the image of her, bathed in the soft morning light, was seared in his mind.

Once inside his study, he closed the door behind them with a firm click, shutting out the light-hearted atmosphere of the parlor. The room was dimly lit, the heavy drapes drawn against the afternoon sun, creating an intimate, almost conspiratorial ambiance.

Eastfold took a seat, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "I must say, Kenneth, I'm quite surprised to hear that you got married. I had to see it for myself. Given up your rakish ways, haven't you?"

Kenneth shrugged, a faint smile playing on his lips. "We all have to grow up sometime, Robert."

Eastfold leaned back in his chair.

"Well, now that I've met Her Grace, I understand why. She is beautiful and smart. You would have been a fool not to marry her."

Kenneth felt a flicker of irritation at Eastfold's probing. He wasn't willing to admit, even to himself, that his marriage might be more than just a convenient arrangement.

"It was a practical decision, nothing more," he said dismissively, his tone clipped.

Eastfold raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Is that so? Practicality and love are often at odds, old friend."

Kenneth's eyes hardened slightly. "Let's stick to the matter at hand, shall we? The reason you're here is business, not to discuss my personal life."

Eastfold nodded though his eyes retained a glint of curiosity. "Very well. I came to discuss the new pieces I've acquired for your collection. I think you'll find them quite remarkable."

As they delved into the details of the art collection, Kenneth forced himself to focus on the conversation. However, his mind kept drifting back to Beatrice, to the way she had laughed and conversed so easily with Eastfold.

His friend's words echoed in his mind, refusing to be dismissed as easily as he had intended.

Later that night, Kenneth sat alone in his study, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows over the room.

He had spent hours poring over the estate accounts, trying to drown his thoughts in numbers and ledgers. The sound of his quill scratching across the parchment was the only noise that broke the heavy silence. He had even taken his dinner alone, hoping the solitude would bring him some peace.

But it hadn't.

His mind kept wandering back to the previous night, to the way Beatrice had felt in his arms. Her soft curves pressing against him, her warm breath fanning his skin, the delicate scent of her hair teasing his nostrils. He remembered the way she had sighed, a contented smile on her lips as she drifted off to sleep. The memory of her weight in his arms as he had carried her to her bed, how light she had felt, how peaceful she had looked.

The figures before him blurred, and he let out a frustrated sigh, closing the account book with a snap. This was pointless. He couldn't concentrate, couldn't think straight with the memories of Beatrice haunting him. The desire he had felt for her was more than physical—it was a gnawing need, a longing that he couldn't quite understand or control.

With a determined breath, Kenneth rose from his chair, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight. He left his study, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the corridor as he made to find his wife. His mind was filled with thoughts of her, the memories of their passionate night together replaying in his mind, fueling his desire.

As he approached her chambers, he heard soft murmurs. Pushing the door open slightly, he saw Beatrice being bathed by her lady's maid. The sight of her bare shoulders and the soft curve of her back sent a jolt of desire through him.

He stepped into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Anna, retire for the night," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Anna's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly curtsied and scurried away, casting a quick glance at Beatrice before leaving the room.

Beatrice turned to face him, annoyance evident in her eyes. "You can't just order my maid around like that," she protested.

Kenneth ignored her words, rolling up his sleeves with deliberate slowness. "I'll bathe you myself," he said, his voice low.

Beatrice's eyes widened. "I am perfectly capable of bathing myself…" she retorted, but her words faltered as he picked up the cloth and dipped it into the warm water.

He moved closer to her, his presence overwhelming.

"Let me," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin as he began to slowly wash her back.

Beatrice's protests died on her lips as she felt the gentle pressure of his hand, the cloth moving in slow, soothing circles. Her body responded to his touch, a shiver of pleasure running down her spine. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be lost in the sensation.

Kenneth dipped the cloth into the warm water again then gently ran it down her back, the steam rising around them.

"You were quite friendly with Eastfold earlier," he noted, his voice calm but probing.

Beatrice glanced back at him, confusion in her eyes. "Is that not what is expected of me as a duchess?"

Kenneth's hand stilled for a moment before he continued bathing her. "Polite, yes. But there is a difference between politeness and friendliness."

She frowned slightly. "I don't understand. Was I not supposed to engage him in conversation?"

Kenneth leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "You can be polite, but you should not be friendly with my business associates," he murmured, his voice low and possessive.

Beatrice opened her mouth to protest, but he moved the cloth to her shoulder, his touch both gentle and commanding.

"You are mine," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kenneth continued bathing her, his gaze never leaving her face. He watched as her expression softened, her annoyance melting away, replaced by something else—something deeper, more vulnerable.

As he felt her body slowly relax, he moved his hands further beneath the water.

She let out a small gasp as she felt his hands between her thighs, and he slid two fingers inside her. With unwavering patience, he tenderly massaged her, his thumb circling her bud, sensing its gradual firmness beneath his touch.

As he cautiously slid his two fingers in and out of her, a soft, barely audible sound filled the air. The scent of her arousal lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of her rose-scented soap. But when she arched her back, a symphony of pleasure erupted through her body, and her breathless gasps filled the air, electrifying the moment.

In response, he quickened his movements, his focus sharpening as he sought to amplify her pleasure. His lips danced across her skin, finding all the right spots that made her gasp and moan, leaving a trail of fiery kisses along her neck, her collarbone, down to her breasts.

He could feel her body responding to his touch, her breathing becoming erratic, her hips involuntarily grinding against his hand. He could sense her nearing the edge, and he was determined to take her there, to unleash waves of pleasure that would consume her entirely.

As the rhythm of his fingers inside her reached a crescendo, Beatrice let out a small cry, and her body shuddered, sending water splashing across the floor. When she came down from her climax, she opened her eyes but didn't speak.

Kenneth picked up the soft, plush towel Anna had left next to the tub. Without a word, Beatrice stepped out of the warm water, her skin glistening with droplets that he carefully patted dry. Each stroke sent shivers through her.

When he was done, he took her to the bed and gently laid her down. Her hands flew up to hide her breasts, but he pushed them aside. He cupped the mounds in his hands and squeezed gently.

Beatrice caught hold of his shirt and dragged it up and over his head. She pressed her hands to his chest, her touch a delicate exploration as her fingers traced the contours of his muscles, tentative curiosity and undeniable desire in every caress. She trailed her fingers down his stomach to his erection, and when she was about to pull away, he reached for her hand and held it there.

Her lips curled into a shy smile. "Do you like that?" she whispered.

"Yes," he uttered in a ragged whisper.

He pulled her hand away and shrugged off his trousers, impatience spurring him on. He was holding onto his self-control by a thread, and he was about to explode.

In one swift movement, Kenneth thrust into her, and she let out a little cry.

He stilled, hesitating, and asked softly, "Did I hurt you?"

"No, don't stop," she said breathlessly.

He pushed into her, and he quickly found a rhythm. She lifted her hips and shifted her body to move with him.

Kenneth looked down at her. The sight of her beauty, with her blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure, was almost too much. He lowered his head, and she arched up and kissed him. He held her close as he quickened his thrusts until she reached the crescendo of her pleasure. Only then did he allow himself to climax.

With a roar of pleasure, he thrust into her deep and hard one last time and spilled his seed inside her.

He collapsed next to her, their breaths mingling in the cool night air. Beatrice rolled over onto her side, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on his chest.

Kenneth felt a strange sense of satisfaction as he took in her flushed cheeks and the glow in her eyes. He rose from the bed, his gaze lingering on her as she lay there, her breathing gradually returning to normal.

Pulling on his clothes, he walked to the door, the scent of their shared passion heavy in the air. As he reached for the handle, he glanced back at her.

"You are mine, Duchess," he declared, his voice low and commanding, his eyes locking onto hers. "Never forget that."

With a final, lingering look, he stepped into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him.