Page 22 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “I still expect them to become respectable young men.”

“They will.”

“And disciplined.”

“They will be.”

“And you will not allow them to turn the household into chaos.”

A smile tugged at her lips, breaking the heavy tension between them. “I make no promises regarding the peas.”

Kenneth’s mouth twitched, a genuine, fleeting line of humor. It vanished almost immediately into his usual stern composure, but she saw it.

“You may be right about one thing.”

She waited, her breath catching in her throat.

“I have been… absent.” The admission seemed to cost him dearly, dragged from somewhere deep inside him.

Alice’s heart softened. “You can change that.”

His gaze held hers, wide and unguarded. “I do not know how.”

It was the first honest thing he had said all evening. And suddenly, looking at the formidable duke standing vulnerable in his own grand dining room, Alice understood him a little better.

“You could begin,” she whispered, “by going upstairs and asking Freddie why he has a pocket full of smooth river stones.”

Kenneth blinked, caught off guard. “Stones? In his coat?”

“He thinks they are dragon eggs,” Alice said with a small smile. “He has been carrying them around all afternoon, waiting for them to hatch.”

Kenneth stared at her, the stern lines of his face softening. Then, to her utter surprise, he gave a quiet, breathless huff of laughter that warmed the cool air between them.

“Dragon eggs,” he repeated softly, shaking his head.

“He would be very proud to show them to you.”

He turned toward the doorway, his silhouette blocking the light from the hallway for a brief second, before he paused, his hand resting on the brass door handle.

“Duchess?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

And then he left her alone with the quiet fire and a warmth that lingered long after he was gone.

Chapter Seven

Kenneth set his pen down with force. He could hear a commotion from the ground floor that bore all the hallmarks of someone rearranging furniture without regard for either silence or his schedule.

He closed his eyes briefly, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose where a headache had established itself.

Just on time, Mrs. Finch appeared in the doorway with the expression of a woman delivering news she would rather have delegated to a subordinate.

“Your Grace.” She curtsied. “I thought you should be informed that the Duchess has made some changes to the drawing room.”

He looked up, which she seemingly took as encouragement to continue.