Page 18 of Stolen By the Duke of Stone

“Perfectly well, thank you.” Her nostrils flared, and he had the impression she was fighting herself for something before she said, “Mrs. Bragg said you had asked for the nursery to be placed beside my bedchamber. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it.” That had been a practical arrangement that had just made sense to establish. “It will be easier for you to establish a meaningful routine with him if you are closer.”

“A meaningful routine?” Jessamine paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and stared at him. “He is a baby. His needs dictate the routine.”

“Perhaps now, but that will change over the coming weeks and months.” Andrew laced his fingers together. “I expect we shall have many conversations about the best practices to raise a child as we learn more, but while you may have anything you desire, William will receive what he needs here. This household is one of order. I like things to happen according to a schedule, and I will teach my second cousin these things. That schedule begins now, with a strict routine of feeding and napping. At six months of age, his lessons will begin. At first, we will focus on talking, and when he can hold a pen, handwriting and arithmetic will follow. I have an itemized list.”

“Naturally.” Her mouth twitched down. “And where in that list is ‘fun?’ Or ‘freedom?’”

“Fun and freedom do not teach a boy the things he needs to know.”

“I disagree. What he needs more than anything, now and in the future, is love and freedom. Do you not want him to be happy?”

Now it was Andrew’s turn to stare at her in frustration. Freedom did not broker happiness; his brother was a perfect illustration of that. George had been a wild boy, hardly handled by his father, given all the freedom to make the mistakes he would, and he had made vast collections of them.

As the younger son, Andrew had been given far less leave to make mistakes, and he was grateful for that. It allowed his character to be built, and George had just stepped from one misery of his own creation to another.

Of course, George was his father’s golden child, capable of doing no wrong in his eyes, but that had not made either of them happy. Happiness, Andrew had long ago decided, was something no man could ever fully obtain, and it was foolish to try.

He would do his duty. And he would do said duty in far better ways than his father had ever achieved. Perhaps he would not be what the world expected of him—nor did he care to be—but he would be fair to the people who relied on him, and he would be a guiding hand in William’s life.

That was all he could ever hope for. Wanting more had been systematically forced from his system; he could not remember how it felt to want something utterly forbidden to him.

Aside from Jessamine, of course. But matters of the flesh were not the same thing as matters of the heart.

“You perhaps do not understand,” he said, but her eyes flashed, and she placed her fork down with a clatter.

“I understand perfectly. Do you think I was never a child, or I never grew up around children? I daresay I saw more children in their formative years than you have.”

“While sojourning in Scotland?”

“Don’t make it sound as though it was a charming little trip when I was essentially exiled there. I regret nothing about my life, but it was not easy.” She pushed up from her chair, and once again he stood out of habit, anger igniting in his chest.

“I never implied it was easy, but I will not have my suggestions dismissed so readily.”

“Will you not?” She stormed over to him, planting a hand on the table and leaning up to him.

If it was an attempt to intimidate, she had a lot to learn. Perhaps it wasn’t an attempt to seduce, but she was certainly enticing enough to make the success of that venture immediate.

Her lips parted, presumably in outrage, but the sight of them sent a bolt of lust right through him. She was pretty at all times, but especially now, with this new rage running through her.

“Your suggestions are a recipe for making him miserable,” she continued, magnificent in her anger, and prodded his chest with her free hand. “And I will not allow you to suffocate the poor child as he grows.”

Andrew caught her wrist, her bones so fragile in his fingers. Life in the army did not make anyone soft. And for Andrew, it had hardened him into a dozen different diamond edges, and the feel of her soft skin under his made his pulse quicken, and his mind wander to far darker and forbidden places…

Such as her lips parting, and her breath coming faster⁠—

Andrew firmly halted that thought.

“He will not be suffocated,” Andrew said, clearly and distinctly. “The duty and privilege of parents, as we have now become, is to shape the new generation into being the best for the Dukedom we can. I will have an heir who will do right by the people he manages. Do you suppose an estate like this is easy to handle? He must have discipline, and it will make him happier, too, in time. The happiest soldiers are the ones for whom discipline comes easily.”

“He is not a soldier,” she cried. “He is a baby.”

“Babies grow into boys, and boys grow into men.”

“What of fun, then?” she demanded, looking straight up at him.

He had the temptation to grab her chin and crush her lips with his. Would she use that bold mouth of hers to protest him then, or did she feel this same pull?