Page 26 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

He shifted just a little, and the floorboards creaked beneath his boots.

Alice started. She snapped the book shut and shoved it behind her back against the chair cushion, almost like a child caught with stolen sweets.

He found it rather endearing.

“Your Grace.” Her voice was higher than usual.

She straightened, attempting dignity while half-concealing a book behind her back. The image should have been comical. It was not. The firelight caught the flush that spread from her throat to her cheeks, and Kenneth felt his own skin warm in response.

“Duchess.” He stepped into the parlor, and the door swung shut behind him with a soft click that seemed to seal the room into its own pocket of warmth and privacy. “I did not expect to find you awake.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She adjusted her position, the book still firmly lodged behind her. “So, I thought I might read for a while.”

“What are you reading?”

Alice’s eyes darted to the side, then back to his face with the transparent calculation of a woman formulating a lie.

“Mrs. Beeton’s treatise on household management.” She spoke quickly. Too quickly. “Fascinating material, truly. The chapter on spring cleaning is particularly… thorough.”

Kenneth narrowed his eyes at her. “Mrs. Beeton.” He took a step toward her. “Funny, I have never seen household management make anyone look quite so… alive.”

Alice’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her flush deepened, spreading all the way down to the soft swell of her breasts.

He stepped closer. “Show me the book, Alice.”

She shook her head. “I… Maybe not, Your Grace. I’m certain you’ll find it terribly dull.”

“I think not.” He took another step towards her. “A duchess reading in secret by firelight. The possibilities are endlessly entertaining.”

She pressed herself deeper into the chair and shook her head. “Please.”

The pleading did something to him. It was soft, genuine, carrying a note of vulnerability that cut through the warm haze of the room and reached something deeper.

For a moment, he almost relented. Then his hand moved.

He reached behind her, his fingers brushing against the small of her back where the cotton had warmed from her body, and grabbed the book. She gasped.

He withdrew it, holding it up between them.

Alice was on her feet in an instant. “Give it back.”

Kenneth stepped back and raised the volume above his head, out of her reach.

The gilded lettering on the spine gleamed in the low firelight: The Chronicles of the Ten Realms. It was a thick book bound in faded navy leather, its spine cracked from relentless reading, its pages dog-eared at intervals that suggested a long friendship with its owner.

Alice jumped, reaching for it with both hands, the soft cotton of her nightgown swaying with the motion. She missed by several inches.

A slow smile tugged at Kenneth’s mouth.

“The Ten Realms,” he murmured, turning the volume in his hand with mock solemnity. He knew the cover before he even read the title; he had spent dozens of lonely childhood evenings tracing those very gold-leaf letters in the quiet corner of the library. “A bit fanciful for a duchess. Enchanted kingdoms, lost princes, impossible quests. All those grand tales about magic and adventure.”

“It is not fanciful.” Alice jumped again, her cheeks flushed, her fingers grazing the bottom edge of the binding without securing a grip. “It is wonderful literature. It is⁠—”

“Escapism,” Kenneth supplied smoothly.

He was enjoying this far more than he ought to—the warmth of the ale in his veins, the crackle of the fire, and the sight of his wife in her nightgown, determined, breathless, and entirely unaware of the effect she was having on him.

“The fantasies of a lady who would rather dream of mythical realms than review the household ledgers. I am utterly scandalized.” He paused, his gaze softening as he looked down at the frayed leather. “Though I confess I used to read it as a boy. It kept me company on more than a few cold nights.”