To Desire a Wicked Duke (Courtship Wars 6)

While his footmen proceeded to pour coffee and fill his plate from the sideboard, he politely introduced a neutral topic of conversation.

“Would you care to take a tour of the estate this morning?”

“Thank you, I would,” she replied just as politely. “And I hope to meet the household staff also.”

Ian had little doubt Tess would fill the role of his duchess to perfection. She’d been reared to be mistress of a genteel household, and her dealings with her diverse charitable organizations had only increased her experience in managing large staffs.

Yet he had no desire to add to her obligations. To Ian’s knowledge, Tess allowed little time for herself, devoting most of her waking hours to benefit others. And since his cousin’s death, she’d rarely engaged in any idle, frivolous fun.

She might not welcome the suggestion, however, that she think of herself for a change instead of her numerous responsibilities. Thus, he waited until he’d dismissed the servants before saying casually, “There is no rush for you to take over the management of Bellacourt.”

“I know, but I like to keep busy.”

He could give her more pleasant occupations for her time besides work, Ian reflected, although he refrained from saying so. “We ought to remain at Bellacourt for a few more days, but I have business in London that needs tending. Would you care to accompany me there sometime this week?”

She met his gaze eagerly. “Yes, very much. I will feel at loose ends here with nothing to do.”

“You are welcome to invite any or all of your friends to Bellacourt, of course. Their visits might make your exile in purgatory a bit less onerous.”

At the reminder of her complaint, Tess blushed again, yet there was a hint of humor in her reply. “It might at that, your grace.”

“Perhaps you should call me by my given name,” Ian suggested. “You often use ‘your grace’ as an epithet. And when you address me as ‘Rotham’ in that certain tone of voice you reserve strictly for me, I always wonder if you are about to challenge me to a duel.”

Amusement did curve Tess’s mouth then. For a moment as she returned his gaze, her eyes held genuine warmth, not coolness and wariness as they usually did with him.

When she didn’t immediately reply, Ian prodded her. “You can always reserve my title for whenever you are out of sorts with me—which is likely to be often—but perhaps we can call a temporary truce over breakfast.”

She continued smiling at that and relaxed back in her chair, appearing to capitulate for the time being at least. “Very well … Ian. A temporary truce. Although I doubt it will last much past breakfast.”

Ian relaxed as well, and for the next short while, their truce seemed to hold. By tacit agreement, they both made an effort to minimize the level of discord between them.

The moment of harmony ended abruptly and unexpectedly, however, before they were halfway through the meal.

A small boy, little more than a toddler, ran into the breakfast room, heading straight for Ian.

“My grace, my grace … Eee-ahn!” the tot chimed in a singsong voice. “You came back from Lon’on.”

Seeing Tess start in surprise, Ian stifled an oath at the poor timing. He was fiercely glad to see the young boy, but he hadn’t wanted for his new bride to be confronted with this fresh issue quite so soon.

The towheaded child raised his arms, however, asking to be held, so Ian pushed back his chair and scooped Jamie onto his lap.

Just then the boy’s nurse hurried into the room after her charge and halted in consternation upon catching sight of Tess.

Looking harried and flustered, Mrs. Dixon curtsied and began apologizing profusely. “I beg your forgiveness, your grace. Jamie got away from me when my back was turned. We were eating breakfast in the kitchens, but he wanted so badly to see you. He could scarcely sleep last night, knowing you had arrived home.”

“It is all right, Mrs. Dixon. I know what a handful this little scamp can be.”

Grinning, Jamie threw his little arms around Ian’s neck, hugging with all his might, while Ian watched Tess. The resemblance had clearly dawned on her, for a hint of shock flashed in her eyes, followed by an even more fleeting look of hurt.

Yet she quickly masked her reaction and kept her expression carefully neutral, merely raising an eyebrow in question, silently asking for an explanation.

Ian’s attention was promptly claimed by the child, though.

“You bring me present, my grace?”

Jamie was incorrigible, outspoken, and supremely confident of his unshakable place in Ian’s affections.

“Of course. Mrs. Dixon will deliver it to you shortly. But you will have to learn manners, my boy. You know it is bad of you to worry her.”