“Of course, Yer Grace,” she said with a small curtsy.
The conservatory was transformed by late afternoon, just as the sun began to fully set. Tapers on large candelabras glowed everywhere, casting warm reflections off the glass roof, which revealed the dark, star-dusted London sky. A small, intimate table was set for three. Oliver was already there, utterly delighted, pointing at the constellations and making sketches in a notepad with charcoal.
Dinner was a blissfully relaxed affair. Oliver, freed from the strict rules of the main dining room, spoke freely about the phases of the moon and the vastness of the cosmos. Benedict, unaccustomed to such casualness, gradually loosened. He was overcome by the warm light and the sound of Oliver’s frequent giggles, mostly prompted by Isla’s silly jokes.
“Oh Isla, tell a ridiculous story again! You always tell the best stories!”
“Which one? Ye ken I have many,” Isla said as she took a small sip from her wine glass.
“Oh, you had said something once about the one about the farmer and the shooting star,” Oliver demanded, wiping a smudge of chocolate gateau from his chin.
“Nay, nay, lad. That tale is for the carriage ride tomorrow,” Isla said, leaning closer to the boy. “It is a long journey, and we will have plenty of time then.”
“That sounds great!” Oliver said as he polished off the last of his bite. “I am a bit tired, if I am being honest.”
“Which you always must be, young Duke,” Benedict said as he drained the last of his glass.
“Aye, I think it is almost time for ye to go to bed,” Isla said softly. “Although, I think there is one last thing I have to do.”
Suddenly, she reached out and with a swift, playful motion, used her thumb to transfer the smudge of chocolate from Oliver’s chin directly onto the side of Benedict’s hard jaw.
Benedict froze, his eyes widening in pure shock. Isla immediately erupted into a fit of laughter, clutching her ribs. Oliver looked horrified, then started to giggle nervously.
“Isla!” Benedict exclaimed, his tone half-outraged, half-amused. He wiped at the smudge with a napkin, but the attempt only spread the chocolate into a dark streak. “You did that. On purpose!”
“Aye, I did,” she confessed as she roared with laughter, her eyes wet with tears.
“Whatever for?” He rasped as he fought back laughter.
“Ye needed a bit of color, Yer Grace. Ye were looking too serious for the cosmos.”
Before she could plan a retreat, Benedict threw down his napkin and was on his feet. He picked up his fork, scooped a dollop of the rich, dark gateau, and, with the precision of an archer, flicked a large, generous stripe right across the bridge of Isla’s nose.
“There,” he stated, his voice deep with satisfied revenge, a genuine, powerful laugh finally escaping his chest. “We are even, Duchess.”
Oliver burst into delighted, unrestrained laughter, clapping his hands.
“This is better than the theatre, Papa!”
“Perhaps there is a spot for you yet on the stage?” Isla said with a wry smile.
“Perhaps,” Benedict said as he crossed his arms over his wide chest.
Isla, smeared with chocolate, looked at Benedict. She watched him laugh then, a real, chest-shaking, honest sound, for the very first time in their short marriage.
It sent warmth to her heart that trailed lower as her pulse quickened. He looked incredibly handsome when disheveled and completely human.
Hours later, the townhouse was peaceful, calm, and silent. Oliver was likely dreaming of the stars, nestled in his bed. The servants had all retired below, enjoying well-deserved rest.
And, in the master suite, the fire was low, casting shadows that danced across the elegant room. Isla lay naked on the sheets, the lingering scent of chocolate faint on her skin as she looked up at her husband.
Benedict stood at the window, pulling the curtains shut. When he turned, his expression was heavy with desire, yet softer as she took in his full blue eyes.
He has changed so much in such a short time… or perhaps this is who he really was inside all along?
“You, Duchess,” he murmured, walking toward the bed. “You are entirely too much trouble for your own good. You know that, don’t you?”
“And ye are entirely too easily amused by a bit of cake, Yer Grace,” she countered, holding out her arms to him. “Quite childish if ye ask me… but most endearin’. The way to stay young is to be young at heart…or so they say.”
