Free The Duke's Disaster (R) by Grace Burrowes

enough to put him back into a state. Two states, actually, for he was still unhappy with his new duchess, even as he inconveniently desired her.
    When had brushing a woman’s hair become arousing; when had it graduated from a step in a well-planned seduction to a step in a man’s own downfall?
    The trouble was, Noah wasn’t used to sleeping with females. Occasionally, his house cat might steal into his bedchamber, but other than her, he knew better than to sleep with his passing fancies. They got Ideas if a fellow allowed that type of nonsense, especially a wealthy, titled fellow. Thank all the gods, wives were a more sensible breed.
    “You have lovely grounds,” his duchess observed, stopping to sniff a bloodred rose. “Not a subtle fragrance, but very pretty.”
    Thea’s comment reminded Noah of Henny Whitlow, to whom he’d sent more than one bouquet of showy red roses with their cloying fragrance. This peculiar marriage of his was bringing out all the less worthy qualities of the typical Winters adult male, and he liked that not one bit.
    “You’re free to do with the grounds as you wish,” Noah said. “We’ll assemble the outside staff when we return later this morning, and I’ll introduce you to our head gardener. He’s a temperamental Dutchman who insists on being referred to as a botanist. I like him, because he doesn’t bow and scrape, except before his flowers.”
    Thea made no reply, for they were approaching the stables. Although Wellspring was one of Noah’s smallest holdings, it was also one of his favorites. Every detail, every building, flower bed, and window trim was finely wrought and well maintained. Wellspring was a retreat of sorts, though Noah doubted his associations with the place would be quite as restful in future.
    “I haven’t ridden to speak of since I was much younger,” Thea said. “Papa had a weakness for horses and ended up letting out the estate houses by the time I was twelve to generate income for the sake of his hunters.”
    “So you’ll need a gentle mount.” Noah would not allow himself to be disappointed—not over such a detail, not again, not with her, so soon.
    Thea smiled the very cat-in-the-cream-pot smile he’d dreamed of.
    “Let’s see what you have in here, Your Grace, and I’m sure we can find someone with whom I’ll get along.”
    Someone other than him , Noah supposed, but had Thea been cowering and obsequious this morning, he’d have disliked that more than her serene equanimity and tidily braided hair.
    Noah escorted his duchess down the barn aisle, introducing her to this hunter, that hack, these coach horses, and even a pair of enormous draft horses, visiting from the home farm because the roof to their stable was being repaired.
    “They’re happy to laze about.” Noah stroked a bare hand over a large, velvety nose. “Planting only recently ended, and haying will start at the end of the week, then comes the clearing of ditches, and cleaning up the home wood. If we’ve time, we might dig a new irrigation ditch or dredge the ponds, and then the harvests start, and the wood hauling, and sometimes they must scrape snow off the drive, and life is endless work, isn’t it?”
    The gelding weighed easily a ton, likely nineteen hands plus at the withers, but his big lips nibbled delicately at Noah’s hand, while his mate watched intently from the next stall.
    “Shameless little beggar.” Noah produced a lump of sugar purloined from breakfast, and let it disappear, then fed another to the second gelding.
    His wife was watching him, no evidence of her smile to be found.
    “Come, Duchess,” Noah said, dusting grains of sugar from his palms. “Your morning gift awaits.” Please will you come, rather. He’d have to practice that.
    He took Thea’s hand and towed her past a couple more stalls, stopping before a loose box housing a sleek chestnut with four matching white socks.
    “This is your idea of a token offering?” Thea asked.
    “Her