A shiver ran through her—heat flaring in places she hadn’t expected. Still, she lifted her chin defiantly. “You’ll never hear me beg.”
His eyes dropped to her lips, a slow, knowing smile curling at one corner. “Oh, you will, wife. And you’ll thank me for it.”
They held each other’s gaze, their breaths mingling, the tension thick between them—raw, electric, and impossible to ignore.
The sharp crack of the driver’s whip shattered the moment. “Windermere Hall, Your Grace.”
Lysander stepped back, his expression unreadable once more, and the spell between them broke as the carriage slowed.
Georgina tried in vain to control her breathing, the proximity of the Duke and his masculine scent overwhelming her senses.
She turned and looked out of the window to see the staff waiting to greet them. A footman approached the coach to open the door for her.
“Welcome, Your Graces,” the footman said as he opened the door.
It took a moment for Georgina to register that he was speaking to both of them, and not just to the Duke.
“Thank you,” she managed and stepped out of the coach.
Windermere Manor was set among the rolling hills of the English countryside. It had a dignified grace, the pale stonework and tall sash windows catching the early afternoon light, except for one spot on the west corner of the front facade where ivy had claimed the brickwork. The faint gurgle of a nearby stream caught her ears but not her eyes.
This will take some getting used to.
“Come.” The Duke’s voice was commanding beside her. “I’ll introduce you to the household.”
The Duke walked over to the line of staff, all silent, still, and straight-backed. Georgina quickly followed him.
The staff was much larger than the one in any of the Ridgewell residences, and Georgina tried her best to memorize all the names of the people to whom she’d been introduced.
“Now,” the Duke announced. “I have important business to attend to, so I shall leave you in the company of Mrs. Kettleworth, our housekeeper.”
Georgina looked over at the stout, smiling, welcoming woman. When she turned back to the Duke, he was already striding off toward the manor.
Her jaw clenched. How could he act so composed after what had happened between them in the carriage?
He must be made of ice.
“Come, Your Grace,” Mrs. Kettleworth said. “I shall give you the tour.”
Georgina quickly followed the housekeeper before she was left behind again. Mrs. Kettleworth was short with small strides, but she still moved quickly, and her forearms looked strong enough to toss around sacks of grain. A bunch of keys jingled on her waist.
“We’ll begin in the main hall, Your Grace. His Grace wishes for you to see everything, so you may grow accustomed to the house without delay.”
Georgina glanced up at the high ceiling in the entranceway, a modest crystal chandelier catching the light as it filtered in through the high windows. The freshness of lavender hung in the air, along with the faint aroma of beeswax.
She followed the housekeeper through the house, trying to keep track of everything, hoping that it would all make sense in time.
“This is the east drawing room,” Mrs. Kettleworth said, gesturing into the large room with practiced ceremony. “More light in the day, but you can see the moon more often from the west drawing room. If you wish to do embroidery, I recommend doing it here, and use the other for entertaining.”
The pair then walked down a long, dimly lit hallway, where Georgina was shown multiple other rooms.
“The kitchens are below, of course. The cook has been here for more than twenty years and makes the best raspberry tarts this side of London.”
“The Duke mentioned that I would be allowed to hire some staff. A maid, perhaps,” Georgina commented.
“We have wonderful staff here,” the housekeeper replied.
“I’m sure that you do, it’s only that I wish to bring a maid from my previous household.”
