Stolen by the Ruthless Duke (Stolen by the Duke #2)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

“ M rs. Hesketh, have a glass of wine prepared for me in my room,” Maxwell ordered, rubbing his temples.

His housekeeper eyed him with concern, even as she nodded. “Are you well, Your Grace?”

“I am,” he sighed. “It has merely been a long day. In fact, it has been a long week.”

“You have been fighting again, Your Grace.” It was not a question. He nodded. “Her Grace does not know?”

“I have not told her, nor is it any of her business.”

“And if she sees your bruises?”

Maxwell laughed bitterly. “My wife and I do not care to look at one another for very long. I do not think she will notice a bruise or two.” Not wanting to drag the conversation, he stood up abruptly. “The wine, Mrs. Hesketh.”

He left his study and went upstairs to his chambers, but as he did, he was stopped by a clattering noise.

“Oh, Heavens above, be quiet, will you?”

The feminine voice was slurred, followed by a giggle, and then the scuffing of shoes on the rug. In the hallway, Maxwell paused, slowly coming around the banister.

He found his wife clinging to a small ornament table atop which sat a bust of an old Roman emperor. She had a finger pressed to her lips, and her body swayed.

“I told you to be quiet!” she hissed at the statue, and Maxwell blinked, raising his eyebrows.

Maybe it was the long day, or maybe he’d received one too many blows to the head, but it took him a moment longer to realize that Ophelia was drunk.

It came back to him—her request to accompany her to the village that morning.

He had refused her outright and rode hard through the cliffs of Sussex instead, losing himself in the fresh air and sound of the sea below, before burying himself in ledgers and tenant paperwork all afternoon.

It seemed Ophelia had gone out to enjoy the delights of the village, and had very much indulged. She was as drunk as David’s sow.

He took a step closer, careful not to make any of the floorboards creak. He could smell the wine on her.

It should not have made his mouth water, but it did, and he could not help but run his eyes over her—a pretty pink gown clung to curves that generously pushed at the seams of her dress, as if it was almost too small for her—and noticed how generously the tighter fabric emphasized her breasts. With her labored breaths from the wine, they pushed against her neckline, and he could not avert his gaze for a moment.

Her upper back was bare too, and Maxwell could not help but imagine how her skin would feel if he trailed his knuckles down her spine.

Would she pull away or shiver, wanting more?

The way she hovered, he could imagine how he might press her up against the table, tell her to hold onto its edge, how the bust of the emperor might shake with actions that he did not dare to think about—not where she was concerned.

She irked him endlessly. He did not wish to bury himself in her nor touch her.

He did not.

Yet, he moved closer to her.

“I see you are deep in your cups, Duchess.”

She whirled around, her eyes owlishly wide.

He stalked towards her. “Are you not?”

“I am not,” she answered.

He looked coolly at the bust. “Do you often tell inanimate objects to be quiet, Duchess?”

“No.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

Maxwell let his eyes roam over where her breasts pushed together, feigning shameless desire, just so he might unnerve her a bit further. But he was surprised when a bolt of desire shot through him at the way her breath hitched.

He looked away. “Did you have a good time?” he asked.

Ophelia hiccupped in surprise. “What?”

“Did you have a good time at the fair, Duchess?” he reiterated.

“Yes. Quite a good time, actually,” she replied, lifting her chin and putting her hands on her waist emphatically.

It was rather amusing.

“I do not need you to have a good time,” she added.

He snorted. “That is true, Madam. Nevertheless, I am glad you had a good time.”

“Are you? I didn’t know rocks could be glad.”

Maxwell couldn’t help but chuckle at her words. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow.

“A rock, you say?” he drawled, a playful glint in his eyes. “And here I thought I had the temperament of a raging storm.”

Ophelia, her cheeks flushed from the wine, shot him a defiant look, though her unsteady legs betrayed her. She wasn’t quite as sharp as usual, but that didn’t stop her from delivering her next line with a quick wit.

“No, no, more like a rock at the bottom of the sea,” she said, swaying slightly as she put her hands on her hips again. “Solid, unmoving, and completely incapable of enjoying anything.”

Maxwell’s lips twitched. “So, you do think I’m rather stony, then? I must be a statue to you, Duchess.”

“Yes,” she shot back with a dramatic sigh. “I’ve always wanted to carve you into a lifelike figure, but I’m afraid you would be much too stiff.”

He grinned, genuinely entertained by her cheek. “I’ve never been described as stiff before. I must admit, I’m a bit insulted.”

“Good,” Ophelia quipped, her lips curling into a playful smile. “Maybe it’ll loosen that tightness in your chest.”

“Perhaps if I had more wine, it might,” he said with mock seriousness, taking a step closer.

Ophelia hiccupped again, clearly trying to hold back a giggle. “Oh, you’d never drink with me. You’re far too respectable for such indulgence.”

“Am I?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What makes you think I’m so proper?”

“Because you don’t know how to have fun,” she said, tapping her finger on his chest as if testing whether he might move.

Maxwell caught her wrist gently, keeping her from swaying too much. “And yet, you have me cornered in a hallway, making fun of me, while I stand here watching you… well, making a fool of yourself.”

“I’m not making a fool of myself!” Ophelia protested, though her voice was filled with laughter. “I’m having fun! I’m free, Your Grace, for once. I can’t even remember the last time I had a drink without being told I must be proper. ”

Maxwell’s gaze softened as he looked at her flushed face. It was almost endearing, the way she was unrestrained now, a side of her that rarely came out.

Then, her eyes narrowed slightly, her playful grin fading into something more serious.

“You may not want to admit it, but I think you’re beginning to care for me, Your Grace. Despite how much you like pretending you don’t.”

Maxwell let go of her wrist, stepping back, his expression unreadable. “I care enough to leave you alone when you’re in this state,” he muttered, trying to mask the emotion that stirred within him.

She smiled, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “You do, don’t you? But if you care so much, perhaps you could let me have more wine.”

“A warning for the future. The wine they serve at those fairs is double the strength of the wine served at the average tavern.”

“And how do you know that was where I drank? Maybe I did go to a tavern.”

His eyes flicked back to hers, finding that stubborn but pretty face of hers tight. “I am the Duke of Stormcliff, and I know about everything happening in my land. Like your dance around the maypole and your visit to Stormcliff’s Bakery .”

The Duchess stared back at him, appalled. “I would like my privacy on occasion, Your Grace. Now, I am second-guessing everybody I spoke with today. Are they all under your orders to watch me?”

He did not answer her, only let her stew in silence, questioning herself, questioning him.

He cleared his throat. “I would like my privacy, too, Duchess.”

Her head snapped up from where she had ducked it in thought, her brow furrowing. “I have kept my distance?—”

“Your distance? You have watched me,” he said, his voice low. “I saw you on the beach. I saw you watching me come out of the water.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened.