Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

K enneth watched as Beatrice and Catherine moved away, feeling a pang of something he couldn't quite name. Just as he was about to follow, Thomas approached him, drawing him into a conversation.

"How are you faring, Kenneth?" Thomas asked, his tone casual yet laced with concern.

Kenneth's instinct was to deflect, to focus on the familiar territory of business. "The estate is doing well. We've managed to?—"

Thomas raised a hand to stop him, shaking his head with a wry smile. "I didn't mean business-wise. How are you really?"

Kenneth clenched his jaw, a brief flash of irritation crossing his features. "Good," he replied curtly, not willing to delve into the complexities of his emotions.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Is that so? You know, my friend, you're a terrible liar."

Before Kenneth could respond, Lady Featherwell approached them, her presence commanding attention.

"Gentlemen," she purred, her eyes lingering on Kenneth, "what a pleasure to see you both."

Kenneth barely mustered a polite nod, his interest waning as Lady Featherwell began her flirtations. She directed most of her attention towards him, her tone becoming more intimate with each word.

She leaned in slightly, her smile coy. "Your Grace, I couldn't help but notice your wife is quite taken with Lord Eastfold. They make a charming pair on the dance floor, don't they?"

Kenneth's gaze snapped to where Beatrice and Eastfold were dancing, a surge of jealousy hitting him like a punch to the gut. The sight of the Viscount's hand on Beatrice's waist, the way she smiled at him—it was unbearable.

Lady Featherwell touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention back to her. "Your Grace, it's been ages since we last danced. Perhaps later, you might spare a dance for an old friend?"

Kenneth forced a smile, his eyes still flickering to Beatrice and Eastfold. "Of course, Lady Featherwell. It would be my pleasure."

As he watched Beatrice and Eastfold glide across the dance floor, Kenneth's thoughts were a chaos of frustration and desire. The ease with which they conversed, the genuine laughter they shared—it gnawed at him.

Lady Featherwell continued to chatter beside him, but her words barely registered. His focus was solely on Beatrice, his mind replaying the night they had spent together, mingling with the jealousy that the sight of her with another man stirred within him.

When the dance ended, Kenneth watched as Beatrice and Eastfold parted, exchanging polite smiles. Beatrice turned and began to leave the ballroom, her movements graceful yet hurried.

Lady Featherwell leaned in closer to Kenneth, her voice dripping with suggestion. "Your Grace, I do believe you promised me a dance. Shall we?"

Kenneth barely registered her words, his attention still on Beatrice's retreating form. "Forgive me, Lady Featherwell. I have an urgent matter to attend to. If you'll excuse me."

Without waiting for a response, he strode away, leaving a pouting Lady Featherwell in his wake. His eyes never left Beatrice as he watched her disappear through the doorway.

He quickened his pace, determined to catch up with her. The sight of her in another man's arms, the way Eastfold had looked at her, had stirred a possessiveness within him that he couldn't ignore.

As he exited the ballroom, he caught a glimpse of Beatrice turning down a quiet corridor. With purposeful strides, he followed her, his heart pounding in his chest. They needed to talk, to clear the air between them.

And perhaps, he admitted to himself, he needed to stake his claim, to remind her that she was his wife and his alone.

He managed to reach her just as she stepped into a quiet corridor, her expression tight with frustration. His hand shot out, gently grabbing her arm to stop her.

"Beatrice," he began, his voice low and tense, "what was all that with Lord Eastfold?"

"Why don't you return to Lady Featherwell?" Beatrice hissed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "She must feel terribly lonely without you."

Kenneth barely processed her words, his jealousy bubbling up his chest. "Lord Eastfold, Beatrice? You seemed very eager to talk to him. Did he charm you when he came to our house?"

Beatrice scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "Why do you care, Kenneth? Are you jealous?"

Kenneth stepped closer, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Yes, I'm jealous. It drove me mad seeing you dance with Lord Eastfold. I want you, Beatrice. Desperately. You are mine and mine alone."

She stared at him. "You have no right to be jealous. You made it clear you only want me for my body. So why this sudden possessiveness?"

Their voices were low, but the intensity of their argument was palpable. The sound of laughter and music from the ballroom echoed faintly in the background, contrasting sharply with their heated exchange.

Kenneth's jaw clenched. "Because I can't stand the thought of another man touching you."

"Why? Because it bruises your ego?" Beatrice shot back, stepping closer to him, her breath hot against his skin. "Or is it because you actually care more than you're willing to admit?"

"You drive me mad," he growled. The scent of leather and something uniquely him filled her senses.

Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into a nearby library, closing the door behind them and locking it.

"Enough games," he said, his voice husky. "I want you now."

Beatrice's heart raced as she met his intense gaze.

Kenneth's lips crashed onto hers in a fierce, possessive kiss. The intensity of his kiss sent a wave of heat through her, and she found herself responding despite her anger. His hands roamed over her back, pulling her even closer, while her fingers tangled in his hair.

Their breaths mingled, the heat between them growing unbearable. Kenneth's hands explored her body, and she felt a shiver of anticipation. Their world narrowed down to just the two of them, lost in the overwhelming desire that consumed them both.

His fingers delicately traced the curve of her spine, eliciting a shiver from her. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with hers. A silent understanding passed between them, filled with promises and a smoldering desire.

He traced a line down her neck, his lips following the path his fingers had drawn moments later. As Beatrice gasped, her hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, and she threw her head back, baring her throat to him without reservation.

Every sound she made, every shiver that coursed through her, egged him on. His touch became bolder, more possessive, as he explored her body, relishing the sensation of her skin beneath his fingertips.

He bit her lips gently, then used his tongue to tease her lips apart. With no hesitation, he eagerly explored the depths of her mouth. Their kiss deepened, and he could feel her knees wobble. Her breath hitched in anticipation as his hands skillfully maneuvered the fabric of her gown, exposing the soft skin of her shoulders and the gentle swell of her breasts.

A surge of desire shot through him as he beheld her exposed form, his lips hungrily descending on the swell of her breasts. The warmth of his breath against her sensitive skin sent shivers of pleasure down her spine, eliciting a gasp of delight from her parted lips. The intimate connection between them intensified as he tenderly caressed her bare flesh, his touch igniting a fire within her that could not be quelled.

Kenneth gazed down at her rosebud nipples. Leaning down, he captured a perfect nipple in his mouth. He could feel it harden, the pulsating warmth sending shivers down his spine while the sound of his own heartbeat echoed in his ears.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the nearby chaise. Lying next to her, he parted her legs with his own and reached down to the hem of her dress.

Beatrice shifted as his hand explored the softness of her thighs. With each gentle stroke, her breathing quickened, and her heart raced. With each gasp, his hands became bolder, gliding over her skin until his fingers discovered the damp, tender place between her legs. The intensity of the sensation caused her to moan, her lips parting, her back arching ever so slightly. As she succumbed to the pleasure, her legs fell open, allowing him to explore more deeply, each touch causing sparks to course through her body.

He guided her hand downward to his erection. "Touch me."

Beatrice reached out, clasped the top of his breeches and yanked them open. Her fingers found his hard shaft, circling it.

"Do you want me, Kenneth?"

"Yes." Kenneth bit back a groan and plunged his fingers into her.

As he gently pumped his fingers in and out of her, she mimicked his movements with her own fingers, pumping his shaft. A soft hiss erupted from his throat as his pleasure heightened.

He kissed down her chest as his fingers swirled around the center of her pleasure. She threw her head back and moaned, pushing her breasts up into his mouth.

Growing impatient, he proceeded to lift her up and place her gently on his lap where she could feel his arousal. Despite the surprise that flashed in her eyes, she did not hesitate to take action. With a rocking motion, she sank down onto him, her chest becoming flushed with pleasure.

Kenneth watched her with half-lidded eyes, waiting for her to climax. When her movements quickened, and he felt her insides begin to pulse around his shaft, he spilled into her.

The world narrowed down to this single moment where their bodies moved in perfect synchrony in that perfect, delicious dance.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, Kenneth pulled Beatrice close, his arms wrapping around her in a tender embrace. She sighed contentedly, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

For a few moments, they simply held each other, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Kenneth's hand traced lazy patterns on Beatrice's back, his touch gentle and soothing. Beatrice nuzzled closer, her own hand resting over his heart, feeling the strong, steady beat beneath her palm.

"That was…" Kenneth murmured, his voice low and intimate, "incredible."

Beatrice smiled against his chest, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with their physical exertion.

"It was," she agreed softly, tilting her head to look up at him.

Kenneth's gaze met hers, and in that moment, something shifted between them. The usual intensity in his eyes was tempered by a softness, a vulnerability that Beatrice had never seen before.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over her lips.

"You're amazing, Beatrice," he whispered, his words filled with a quiet reverence. "I must admit… I've felt nothing like this before."

Beatrice's heart swelled, a lump forming in her throat. She leaned into his touch, her own hand coming up to cover his.

"Neither have I," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, their eyes saying what their words could not.

Finally, Kenneth leaned in, his lips brushing against Beatrice's in a soft, tender kiss. It was different from the passionate, hungry kisses they had shared before. This was a kiss of affection.

As they parted, Beatrice settled back into his arms, her body molding perfectly to his. Kenneth pulled her into his strong arms, cocooning them in warmth and comfort. They lay there, limbs entwined as a peaceful silence settled over the room.

"We should return soon," Beatrice murmured as she nuzzled into Kenneth's neck.

"Mmhm. In a bit," Kenneth mumbled back and she nodded; she wanted to revel in the moment just as much.

Right there, as she lay secure in her husband's embrace, Beatrice felt a flicker of hope in her heart.

Perhaps, just perhaps, their marriage could be something more than just a practical arrangement.

The next afternoon, Kenneth took Beatrice to the gallery, a place she had been eager to see since her arrival at Dunford Castle. As they reached the grand doors, Kenneth paused, his hand resting on the ornate handle.

"This is where I keep my collection. Some of these pieces have been in the family for generations."

He pushed open the doors, revealing a room, bathed in soft light from high, arched windows. The walls were lined with paintings of various sizes, each one meticulously framed. Beatrice's eyes widened as she took in the sheer number of artworks.

Kenneth led her through the gallery, stopping occasionally to point out a piece of particular significance. His knowledge of art was evident in the way he spoke, his passion shining through despite his usually stoic demeanor.

As they paused in front of a particularly striking landscape, Kenneth turned to her. "The brushstrokes convey such movement and depth."

Beatrice nodded, her eyes tracing the lines of the painting. "It's the way the strokes blend together, creating a sense of fluidity. Each one is deliberate yet effortless."

As they stopped in front of another painting, Kenneth leaned in closer.

"Do you remember when we argued about brushstrokes?" he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

Beatrice laughed softly, the memory bringing a warm flush to her cheeks. "Yes, I remember. You were quite insistent that without shadow, the light loses its meaning."

"And you were adamant that light emphasizes hope and beauty even in the face of darkness," he countered, his tone light. "I must admit, your words have made me appreciate the beauty in both."

Beatrice felt a thrill at his words. "Thank you, Kenneth. That means a lot coming from you."

They continued their tour, the conversation flowing easily between them. Kenneth pointed out a portrait of a woman with a serene expression, her eyes seeming to follow them as they moved.

"She was a distant relative," he explained. "The artist captured her elegance perfectly. What do you think about this one?"

Beatrice tilted her head, studying the portrait. "Hmmm. I would add a bit more light to it to bring out the depth of her eyes."

Kenneth's hand tightened around hers. "I have no doubt you could. You have an incredible eye for detail."

As they reached the end of the gallery, Beatrice turned to Kenneth, her eyes shining with admiration. "Thank you for showing me this, Kenneth. It's incredible."

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm glad you appreciate it."

They stood there, surrounded by the timeless beauty of the paintings, a new understanding forming between them.

An understanding that something deeper was blossoming.