Page 33 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“You are my wife,” he returned, hearing the sharp note in his voice. There was nothing to be done about that. If she made him angry, then she would have to face the consequences. “If you are actively starving yourself, I think I deserve to know. Don’t you?”

“I’m not starving myself.”

“Then tell me, when was the last time you ate?”

“If not breakfast, then yesterday.”

“During which you barely touched the food I had sent up. If I hadn’t sent anything up, would you have come looking? I doubt it.” He advanced now, taking the babe from her arms.

He stirred, his cry growing ever louder at having been disturbed.

Jessamine had made it plain that nothing she did could soothe him—he was beyond being soothed—so there was no need for her to remain in this stuffy room.

“Lucy,” he ordered, and the door opened, revealing the nursemaid. “You will assume responsibility for William for the next three hours.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She opened her arms for William, whom Andrew handed to her.

“Three hours?” Jessamine protested. “That is far too long. I can’t be separated from him for that long!”

“You can and you will.” He took her hand and attempted to lead her downstairs. “Dinner is waiting, and you will eat, wife.”

She resisted him. “Send a tray up, and I assure you I will eat it all.”

“No. Everyone must have a break from their duties at regular intervals, and you have not been taking your breaks.” He eyed her sternly. “I did not schedule any of my soldiers to be on duty for longer than twelve hours at maximum, and you have been at this tyrant’s beck and call for over a week now.”

“Andrew—”

Unwilling to suffer any further objections, he took hold of her waist and flung her over his shoulder, the way he had carried more than one fallen man in his time. She struggled, protesting, but he ignored her, hooking his arm over her knees to hold her steady. Her hands braced against his lower back.

“Do you intend to carry me around your house like—like some sort of pantomime villain?” she demanded.

“Is that how you see yourself? The distressed damsel?”

“No! But you can hardly protest that your behavior is gentlemanly.”

“Within my walls, I am at liberty to be rather less than a gentleman, if I so choose.” He ignored Foxwell’s slightly startled gaze. “William is precious to us both, but there is nothing you can do for him, and there is plenty you can do for yourself. Eating, for one.” He finally deposited her in the dining room, where dinner still sat, waiting for them. “And then sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”

She swayed a little, proving his point, then placed a hand against his chest, supporting herself. “You are extraordinarily high-handed, Your Grace.”

“If you had adopted sensible practices when it came to caring for William, I would not need to be so.” He took her hand, trying not to think about the smallness of her fingers wrapped in his, or how soft her skin was, and led her to the table. “If the only way you eat is through my high-handedness, then rest assured I will continue to be high-handed. And if you dislike that, there is only one solution.”

Her stomach audibly growled, and she sighed. Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at the spread before them. Her shoulders relaxed, and he knew he had won. “Very well, but let it be known that I will not stand for being thrown over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have taken such care with potatoes,” he assured her, drawing a smile from her.

She sat at the head of the table, serving herself, and he did the same opposite her. This was the first meal they had shared in what felt like weeks, but there was a distinct lack of awkwardness.

Perhaps his kidnapping of her had broken what ice remained between them. She spoke idly in between bites of her food, telling him a little of her life in Scotland. There was affection in her voice, but he had the impression it had been a lonely time.

“I hadn’t wanted to return to London, you know,” she said.

“Why?”

“Well, because I had my life up there, and I was…” She hesitated, her gaze briefly meeting his before glancing away. He suspected she had been about to tell him she’d been happy, but couldn’t quite make herself believe it. “I liked the slow pace of life,” she said, and this was indeed the truth; he could feel her sincerity. “And I loved the people. In London, everyone has something they want and a goal they have in mind, and so they do things specifically to achieve that goal. I always wonder if the things I say will be somehow taken out of proportion and used against me.”

“You have friends here.”

He made no mention of the Minerva Club. He knew of it only tangentially; Rebecca had been a member, and so had Jessamine, although she made no mention of it now. He saw no harm in it, so long as she did nothing to threaten his reputation.