Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

" G ood morning, Duchess. I trust you slept well?" Kenneth looked up from his newspaper, a small smile playing on his lips as he greeted her.

Beatrice felt a blush creep up her neck, memories of their passionate encounter the previous night still fresh in her mind. "Good morning. I did, thank you."

As she took her seat beside him, Kenneth poured her a cup of tea, his eyes meeting hers. "So, what does your day hold?"

Beatrice took a sip of her tea, considering her response. She couldn't very well tell him about her plans to work on her painting for the Dowager Duchess.

"Oh, just the usual. Attending to household matters, perhaps a bit of reading. And yourself?"

Kenneth buttered a piece of toast, his gaze never leaving hers. "I have some estate business to attend to, as usual. Meetings with tenants, reviewing accounts, that sort of thing."

Beatrice nodded, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Sounds riveting, Your Grace. Do try not to overexert yourself."

Kenneth chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. "I shall do my best. Though I must admit, I find myself quite energized this morning."

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers as he stole a piece of fruit from her plate. Beatrice's breath hitched at his touch, a spark of electricity passing between them.

"I can't imagine why," she murmured, her eyes locking onto his.

Kenneth's gaze darkened, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths. "Can't you? I seem to recall a rather invigorating evening."

Beatrice felt her cheeks heat up, but she held his gaze, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Ah, yes. It's all coming back to me now."

Kenneth's expression grew more serious. "Just remember, Beatrice, you are my wife and the Duchess of Dunford. Your attentions should be directed accordingly."

Her playful demeanor faltered slightly at his words, the reminder of their discussion about Lord Eastfold still fresh.

"Of course, Your Grace," she replied, her tone softer.

They continued their breakfast, the air between them charged with a subtle tension. As Kenneth rose to leave, he paused behind her chair, his fingers tracing along her collarbone.

"Have a pleasant day, Duchess," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "I look forward to hearing about your adventures this evening."

With a final, lingering touch, he brushed past her, leaving Beatrice breathless and yearning for more. As she watched him leave the room, she couldn't help but marvel at the growing attraction between them and the way her body responded to his every touch and word.

"Mrs. Whitfield, I've finished the Dowager Duchess's painting," Beatrice said, setting down her brush. "Could you help me wrap it carefully and get a footman to take it to London? It must arrive safely."

"Of course, Your Grace," Mrs. Whitfield replied with a nod. "I'll see to it right away."

Beatrice wrote a letter to her dealer, her pen moving quickly over the paper. Her thoughts were clouded with concern about Lord Eastfold's increasing interest in discovering Westback's identity.

Once she had sealed the letter, she handed it to Mrs. Whitfield along with the painting. "Please, make sure it's someone reliable."

"I will, Your Grace. I'll find someone trustworthy."

A short while later, a young footman arrived. "Your Grace, I've been instructed to take this painting to London," he said, bowing respectfully.

"Thank you," Beatrice replied, watching as he carefully picked up the wrapped painting and exited the room. Once he was out of sight, she moved to the window, her eyes following him as he loaded the painting into a small coach. She continued to watch until the coach disappeared down the drive.

Later that afternoon, a knock sounded at the door to her room.

Anna entered, carrying a large package. "Your Grace, this just arrived for you."

Beatrice frowned in confusion. "I haven't sent for anything. Are you sure it's for me?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Anna replied, setting the package down on the bed.

Beatrice opened it, her breath hitching as she revealed the most gorgeous pastel blue gown she had ever seen. The fabric shimmered in the light, the intricate embroidery catching her eye.

Mrs. Whitfield, who had followed Anna into the room, smiled warmly. "His Grace ordered it for you, Your Grace. He thought you might like to wear it to the ball."

Beatrice's heart skipped a beat. "He did?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Mrs. Whitfield confirmed. "He wanted it to be a surprise."

Beatrice ran her fingers over the delicate fabric, her mind racing. She had not expected this gesture from Kenneth. The gown was beautiful, a symbol of his thoughtfulness, yet she could not forget the tension that still lingered between them.

"Thank you, Mrs. Whitfield," she said, her voice soft. "And thank you, Anna. You both may go now."

As the door closed behind them, Beatrice held the gown against her, admiring the way the light danced across its surface. She couldn't help but smile, a small spark of hope igniting within her.

The next day, Beatrice and Kenneth climbed into the luxurious coach, ready for their journey to London.

As they took off and the countryside rolled past, Beatrice turned to Kenneth, attempting to break the silence.

"How is the estate business going? You seem to be hard at work lately."

Kenneth glanced at her, his expression softening slightly. "Busy as always. There's much to manage."

Beatrice nodded, sensing his reluctance to delve into details. "And the riding stables? I've heard you've acquired a new horse."

He relaxed a bit more, the topic evidently more to his liking. "Yes, a magnificent stallion. Strong and spirited. I think he'll be a great addition."

A small smile played on Beatrice's lips at his obvious passion. "I look forward to seeing him." After a brief pause, she took a deep breath and said, "Thank you for the gown, Kenneth. It's truly beautiful."

He met her gaze, his voice gruff yet sincere. "Do you like it?"

She nodded. "Very much. Did you pick the color?"

He looked away, mumbling, "Yes. Thought it'd go nicely with your eyes."

A hint of a smile touched her lips, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest. The gesture, though small, sparked a glimmer of optimism within her. Maybe they would find common ground in the days to come.

They continued their journey in comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts.

They reached their London townhouse late that night, the streets outside quiet, and the house dimly lit.

Beatrice retired to her room, but as she lay in bed, sleep eluded her. At first, she attributed her restlessness to the excitement of the ball the next day, but deep down, she knew it was something more. She wanted Kenneth.

She tossed and turned, trying to push the thought away, but it was no use. Her mind was filled with the memory of his touch, the sound of his voice, and the way his eyes had softened when he mentioned the gown. Unable to bear the longing any longer, she threw back the covers and slipped out of bed.

She made her way to his door, the plush carpet muting her footsteps. She hesitated for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest, before raising her hand and knocking softly.

The door opened almost immediately, and Kenneth stood before her.

"Beatrice," he said quietly. "Is something the matter? "Don't you want to go to sleep early since we have the ball tomorrow?"

She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. "Actually, I was hoping for something other than sleep tonight."

The intensity of her gaze spoke volumes, and Kenneth's eyes darkened with understanding. Without another word, he reached out and pulled her inside, the door closing softly behind her.

His hand slid down her arm, sending shivers through her body. She stepped closer, feeling the heat of his skin even through his shirt. Kenneth's fingers gently tilted her chin up, their eyes locking in a silent, smoldering exchange. Then his lips crashed against hers, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The outside world faded away as they gave in to their passion in the deepening night.

Kenneth stood in front of the mirror, his valet, Thompson, adding the final touches of his attire. The valet's deft hands worked quickly and efficiently, fastening the buttons and straightening the cravat.

"I've added a touch of blue, Your Grace, to complement Her Grace's gown," Thompson said, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Kenneth glanced at his reflection, noticing the subtle blue accents in his outfit. It was a detail he normally wouldn't have bothered with. He dismissed himself as ridiculous for even caring about such things. Typically, he never gave two thoughts about matching colors with anyone else.

Why am I even thinking about this?

"Thank you, Thompson," he said, his tone gruff. "That will be all."

The valet bowed and left the room, leaving Kenneth alone with his thoughts. He took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervous energy that had settled in his chest. He made his way downstairs to the drawing room where he waited for Beatrice.

Kenneth paced near the fireplace, his thoughts racing. He was used to handling business negotiations and estate matters, but tonight felt different. There was a tension in the air that he couldn't quite shake.

The soft rustle of fabric alerted him to her presence. He turned around, and the sight of her made his breath catch in his throat.

Beatrice stood in the doorway, her pastel blue gown hugging her curves and dipping dangerously low over her bosom. The color of the dress brought out the rich caramel highlights in her hair which cascaded in loose waves over her shoulders. Her cheeks were a delicate pink, adding to the allure of her appearance.

"You look… stunning," Kenneth said, his voice low and husky. "Though, I must admit, as pretty as that dress is, it makes me want to rip it off you and take you up against the wall."

Beatrice's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Typically, I wouldn't object to that," she replied, her voice teasing, "but we must fulfill our social obligations and arrive to the ball on time."

Kenneth cursed under his breath, his desire for her intensifying. "Damn these obligations," he muttered.

With a resigned sigh, he offered her his arm, and together they made their way to the carriage.