How hard was it to charm a woman who kept a hedgehog in her pocket? Very hard, as soon Derek discovered for himself over the next five days. Very hard indeed. Especially since Eleanor seemed to be going out of her way to avoid him.

When he ventured outside she snuck back in. When he went in search of her inside the house she slipped back out. The only time he saw her for more than a few minutes was when they dined together, but even then she proved to be completely immune to his attempts at seduction.

He stroked his hand down her arm and she brushed it away as if it were a bothersome gnat. He pulled out her chair before she sat down and she informed in no uncertain terms that she was perfectly capable of pulling out her own chair, thank you very much, and she didn’t need a man to do it for her. She’d fed the bouquet of flowers he picked for her to the goat. When he asked if she wanted to go on a moonlit walk around the pond she said she was too tired, and then two hours later he glanced out the window and caught her scampering around the lawn in the dark catching fireflies.

Which was why he was so surprised when she barged into his office in the middle of the afternoon and demanded his immediate assistance in a matter of life or death…

 

Spring was a busy time for animals, which meant it was a busy time for Eleanor. She’d found not one, not two, but three different nests that had become dislodged from their perch after a rainstorm. They were all filled to the brim with chirping baby birds, and after trying – and failing – to return them to the trees they’d tumbled out of, she’d resorted to caring for the babies herself. Not an easy task, given they had to fed worms every few hours.

And she had to dig the worms up herself.

But she didn’t mind the work. She didn’t even mind the dirt. What she did mind was Derek following her around like a little lost puppy wherever she went. The man was making a damned nuisance of himself. It seemed as if every time she turned around there he was with a flowery compliment (‘you’re looking simply ravishing this evening’ and ‘your hair is the color of a fiery sunset were two of his favorites, even though she knew he abhorred her red hair) or a handful of roses or a shiny piece of jewelry. The worst of it was when he pretended she was an invalid and insisted on pulling out every single chair she tried to sit down in, or rushed to escort her up the stairs, or – in one particularly memorable case – whisked off his jacket and placed it on the ground so she wouldn’t have to step in a teensy tiny puddle of mud. Truth be told she hadn’t minded the last (it had been strangely satisfying to grind her heel into his fancy satin-lined coat), but the first two weren’t to be borne.

It wasn’t that she disliked the attention. He was, after all, her husband. But she absolutely hated that it all seemed so rehearsed, like a play that kept running over and over again even though it was poorly acted and the sets were in complete disrepair.

What she wouldn’t have given for a dash of spontaneity! Like the night he’d appeared in her bedchamber and kissed her positively senseless. That certainly hadn’t been rehearsed. To her disappointment, however, he’d kept his lips to himself…and even though she’d considered kissing him, she hadn’t quite yet managed to gather the courage.

“It’s quite a predicament, isn’t it Henny?” she asked her hedgehog as they strolled leisurely around the pond. Henny waddled cheerfully besides her, stopping every so often to sniff out a grub in the bright green grass.

It was a beautiful spring afternoon, the sky a clear, endless blue with nary a cloud in sight. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun after two gray, gloomy days of rain. Birds sang from the treetops as they busily flitted from branch to branch, their beaks filled with tufts of horse hair and pieces of straw. From one of the pastures came the distant echo of hooves as the young foals frolicked next to their dams, and a cow’s chiding moo as it called out to a calf that had wandered too far. It was a time of renewal and rebirth, of hope and wonder, of confusion and speculation.  

“If only I knew what he wanted,” Eleanor mused as she opened her eyes and resumed walking. “What do you think, Henny?”

But if the hedgehog knew why the duke had suddenly turned from a mocking, arrogant scoundrel into a sweet, doting husband, she kept it to herself.

They rounded the far edge of the pond and started back towards the house. Eleanor slowed her steps to keep pace with Henny’s considerably shorter legs, and even though she was tempted to scoop the hedgehog into her pocket, she knew her beloved pet needed the exercise after a long winter with too little activity and too many crumpets.

Belatedly remembering to put on her hat before they came into view of the manor, she tugged the bothersome bonnet down over her head and was just beginning to tie the strings when the frantic sound of honking filled the air.

“Oh no,” she breathed when the honking was swiftly followed by Mrs. Gibbons’ blustering shout and the unmistakable thwack of something very sharp striking something very hard. “The geese must have gotten out again! Henny, come on. We have to hurry!”

Picking her pet up by her soft underbelly, she dropped the wiggling hedgehog into the pocket of her cornflower blue dress, picked up her skirts, and raced towards the house as fast as her legs would carry her.

She’d just reached the outside door to the kitchen when it flew open and poor Donald, his white wings extended and neck stretched out in alarm, came flapping out followed closely by Mrs. Gibbons yielding a large butcher’s knife.

“I’ll get you this time you damned rascal,” the housekeeper said grimly. “You’ll not evade the pot again!”

“Mrs. Gibbons, what are you doing?” Eleanor cried. “Put that knife down at once! You’re going to hurt someone!””

“Aye,” the housekeeper said grimly. “I’m going hurt this goose! I warned you, Your Grace. If that feathered fiend ever dared enter my household again he would be tossed straight in the stew!” With that dire threat she chased Donald around the corner and out of sight.

Realizing the housekeeper wasn’t going to listen to her, Eleanor dashed into the house and ran straight to her husband’s study. She barged in without knocking, her frantic gaze seeking and immediately finding Derek sitting behind his desk. He half rose when he saw her, dark brow furrowing.

“Eleanor? What–”

“You have to come at once! Mrs. Gibbons is trying to murder Donald!”

His eyes widened. “Mrs. Gibbons is trying to murder the new footman?”

“No!” Grabbing his arm when he came around his desk, she half pulled, half dragged him out of the study. “Donald the goose!”

“I don’t understand–”

“This is no time to argue!” Eleanor yelped. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

They caused quite the spectacle as they ran through the kitchens. The duchess, her cheeks flushed and her bonnet askew, with the duke right on her heels and a hedgehog clinging for dear life to the edge of the duchess’s pocket. Maids dropped whatever they were doing in their haste to jump out of the way, including a large bowl of flour that hit the table with a clatter and sent a cloud of white flying up into the air.

Following the sounds of Mrs. Gibbons’ shouts and Donald’s desperate honking, Eleanor discovered the enraged housekeeper and the terrified goose behind the stone greenhouse. Mrs. Gibbons had managed to pin Donald in a corner and the goose was alternating between hissing and honking, snapping his beak whenever the housekeeper tried to strike him with the butcher’s knife.

“Do something,” Eleanor told her husband desperately.

Only later would she realize it was the first time she had ever asked for his help. And much, much later she would look back at the memory and smile, for – even though she didn’t know it then – it marked a momentous turning point in their relationship. But of course she didn’t think of any of that now. How could she, with Donald’s life hanging in the balance?

“Please,” she whispered, gazing up at Derek imploringly.

He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb across her cheek. It was a glancing touch, but no less powerful for its brevity. Eleanor felt a shiver of awareness ripple down her spine when their eyes met, worried green sinking into steady golden brown. There was a dusting of white flour on his nose and chin, but in that moment – at least to her – he’d never looked more like a duke.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly before he turned and marched up to Mrs. Gibbons.

Helpless to do anything but watch and wait, Eleanor clasped her hands together as he and the housekeeper had a terse exchange. She couldn’t hear what was being said over Donald’s honking, but whatever it was caused Mrs. Gibbons face to drain of all color and the knife to drop from her hand. Eleanor breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the sharp blade sank harmlessly into the ground. Sensing the danger had passed, Donald immediately stopped honking and, with one last hiss at his arch nemesis, ran straight to Eleanor who crouched down and wrapped her arms around his trembling body. 

“You stupid goose,” she said with great affection. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed put? Go on, then. Back to the carriage barn with you.”

Donald lovingly rubbed his head against her knee. Sitting back on her heels, Eleanor watched him waddle away with a faint smile curving her lips. She was going to miss Donald and Ronald when she released them into the pond, but she knew they would be happier there than cooped up in a barn. As soon as their house was finished – a floating apparatus she’d designed herself that would be anchored to the middle of the pond and keep them safe from a prowling fox – they’d be ready to make the transition. She would still visit them every day, and–

“Ahem.”

She turned at the masculine sound of a throat being cleared, and found herself staring at a pair of mud splattered hessians. Tilting her head back, her gaze traveled up across a pair of powerful thighs encased in gray breeches, over a flat abdomen that led to a broad, muscular chest, and finally stopped on her husband’s flour covered face.

Looking down at her with an expression that teetered between amusement and exasperation, he held out his hand. “Sir Donald has officially been pardoned for all crimes against the crown,” he said formally, and Eleanor felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

“I should like it put on the official record that he was never actually found guilty of any of those crimes. He was the victim of wrongful persecution.”

“On what grounds?” the duke asked, lifting a brow.

“On the grounds of his being a goose of course,” she said, as if it were obvious, and now Derek was the one who smiled.

It was a very nice smile. The kind that was neither forced nor practiced, and crinkled the corners of his eyes. Feeling the same flutter in her belly as she had right before he kissed her, Eleanor hesitantly placed her small hand in his larger one and allowed him to lift her to her feet. She waited for him to let her go. To make some snide remark about her appearance. Instead his grip tightened. Their fingers interlocking, he pulled her slowly towards him as their smiles faded away.

“You have flour in your hair,” he said, his voice husky as he picked up a loose curl. Tiny particles of white fell to the ground as he rubbed the auburn lock between his thumb and forefinger, then tucked it behind her ear, the edge of his finger trailing along the sensitive shell. Eleanor’s breath caught.

“So – so do you.” Suddenly overwhelmed by an inexplicable shyness, she lowered her gaze to a silver button on his waistcoat. When Derek was rude and arrogant she knew what to say. How to act. What biting retort to give. But when he was like this…when his guard dropped away and she was given a rare glimpse at the man behind the hard wall of cynicism…she didn’t have the faintest idea what she should do.

“I suppose we could take a bath,” he drawled, and her startled gaze flew up to his countenance.

“T-together?” she stuttered even as heat pooled between her thighs like warm honey that had been left out in the sun. What would he look like naked, she wondered? All those hard lines and lean muscles, slick with water and covered in bubbles… She nibbled her lip and his eyes darkened.

“It might be a tight fit, but you could always sit on my lap. No?” he said when her cheeks pinkened and she gave a short, nervous giggle that sounded nothing at all like herself. “Then I suppose I can settle for a kiss...”

Nothing about the kiss was rehearsed or planned, and it was all the better for it. Eleanor gasped, both in surprise and sheer pleasure as he cupped the back of her head, the palms of his hands molding perfectly to the delicate curve of her skull, and took her mouth with his.

This time he was demanding instead of patient. Hard instead of soft. Fast instead of slow. He plundered her mouth without apology and she clung to him with all of the desperation of a sailor in the midst of a storm, her nails biting into his chest as he bit her lip.

His hands streaked down her back to cup her bottom through the thin fabric of her dress, squeezing the plump flesh until she moaned. The tiny, helpless little sound only seemed to fan the flames of his arousal, and with a feral growl he deepened the kiss, tongue plunging into her mouth as he yanked her against him.  

Her entire body pulsed with heat. His radiated it. They were two suns colliding until suddenly, much like a storm that was there and then gone, leaving nothing but wrecked devastation in its wake, the kiss was over.

“Your pocket is growling at me,” he said darkly.

“I…what?” Dazed and disoriented, it took Eleanor a moment to register what Derek was talking about. “Oh!” she said, her eyes widening when she belatedly remembered that Henny was still in her pocket. “Oh dear, I hope we haven’t squished her!”

She scooped up the grumbling hedgehog, who appeared a tad disgruntled but otherwise unharmed. Sighing with relief, she nestled Henny against her chest and offered her husband an abashed smile. “Sorry about that. I forgot she was in there.”

“Clearly.” On a slow, measured breath he raked a hand through his hair, fingers drawing the ebony locks taut before letting them fall in a disheveled rumple. “Do you always keep an animal on your person?”

“Not always,” she concluded after a pause, her head tilting to the side as she thought it over.

“That’s a relief. I should hate to be poked or bitten in a sensitive area while attempting a passionate overture.”

Eleanor blinked. Had he just…told a joke? To be honest, she didn’t think him capable of humor. At least not the kind that was self-deprecating.

Her gaze softened as she studied him beneath her lashes. She liked him like this. Calm. Relaxed. Warm. After eleven months and ten days of marriage, she felt as if she was finally meeting her husband for the very first time. And he wasn’t at all who she thought he was.

“What did you say to Mrs. Gibbons to make her leave in such a rush?” she asked curiously.

“I told her she was to be immediately relieved of all her duties,” Derek said, speaking with the same air of nonchalance one used to discuss the weather instead of the dismissal of a loyal employee who had served his family for nearly three generations.

“You didn’t,” Eleanor gasped, her mouth dropping open.

“I certainly did.” There wasn’t a single flicker of remorse in the deep, dark depths of his eyes. “She was disrespectful to my wife. I don’t care what that damned goose of yours did. That sort of insolence will not be tolerated.”              

My wife.

She’d never heard him call her that before. It filled her with a secret thrill of delight even as guilt had her chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Mrs. Gibbons and I have had our differences, but I never wanted her to lose her position.”

Derek snorted. “Mrs. Gibbons is an old dragon that has been terrorizing the staff for longer than I’ve been alive. She should have been retired a decade ago. Trust me. This is long overdue. She’ll be more than fairly compensated for her service.”

When he put it that way…

“Donald will certainly be relieved to know she is no longer at Hawkridge.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. It was the same curl Derek had rubbed between his fingers before he’d kissed her senseless.

Again.

She finally had an inkling for why a woman would act so silly over a man. Kissing was very nice. She dared say it was even better than crumpets. And she really loved crumpets.

Up until this moment, she’d always thought of their hasty wedding and the resulting marriage as a burden. After all, she hadn’t become a duchess because she wanted to. The title had been thrust upon her against her wishes, rather like the hideous purple turban her mother had made her wear to a ball once. Yes, Derek had left her alone and yes, she’d gotten everything she had ever wanted: a beautiful home in the country, abundant space for her animals, the freedom to do what she wanted when she wanted to do it. But lately she had begun to feel as if something was…lacking. She didn’t know what it was, only that when Derek kissed her she felt fulfilled, like the something that was missing suddenly wasn’t missing anymore.

“Would you like to meet the rest of them?” she asked.

“The rest of whom?” Using his sleeve, he wiped the remaining layer of flour off his face. 

“My animals. They’re all in the old carriage barn. Well, most of them,” she amended with a glance down at Henny who had fallen asleep nestled against her chest. Derek lifted a brow.

“How many animals do you have?”

“You’ll see,” she said cheerfully. Tucking Henny back into her pocket, she hesitated for only a second before lightly wrapping her fingers around her husband’s forearm when he offered it to her. Side by side, the Duke and Duchess of Hawkridge set off across the lawn towards the carriage barn.