THE DUKE AND HIS RELUCTANT BRIDE

Chapter 2

James

Greystone Castle was bustling and in a heavy rush.

Servants run up and down the hall, their steps as fast as possible, their voices laced with urgency. Curtains were polished, furniture cleaned to perfection, and chairs arranged like a military parade waiting for inspection. It was common knowledge among the staff that I hate disorder, and I have little patience when things are not to my liking.

I was returning from a short holiday at my country home.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the house. Sunlight reflected upon the shiny crest. Footmen marched forward at once, and I alighted with measured ease; my expression unreadable, my presence made everyone and everything stand still. The silence was loud; one could almost hear a needle drop.

“Welcome home, Your Grace,” the butler said, bowing deeply.

I responded with a brief nod and crossed the threshold without breaking stride.

Mr. Halston, my accountant, fell into step beside me almost immediately, ledger already in hand. “Your Grace, we have many business matters that need your urgent attention. The report from the tenants and management of Carlson Estate.”

“Not now,” I said calmly.

We continued walking.

“I have just returned from a long journey,” I went on, removing my gloves as I passed through the hall. “I will not attend to any matter until I have rested.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Halston replied at once, snapping the ledger shut. “At your convenience.”

I climbed the stairs, the hall quiet behind me. I did not look back. I never did.

Rest was not an indulgence; it was a necessity I don’t joke with.

And Greystone House, for all its grandeur, knew better than to test my patience on the day of my return.

The bar was dimly lit, heavy with the scent of aged wood and spirits. I sat with my brother, Thomas Ashford, at a table, a glass resting loosely in his hand.

Thomas is that person I have no choice but to keep close. He is my brother. As a teenager, he once went to negotiate an inheritance with our father, asking whether he could split it between us: me inheriting the dukedom, my birthright, and him inheriting the money-lending business. I do not know whether he still harbors such thoughts, or has outgrown them, or is jealous of what I have become. A part of me always feels he is after all I have, and seeks to take it away, to make it his

He had been born an Ashford, too, and had shared the same halls, the same tutors, the exact expectations until one inheritance changed it all. He may think the inheritance made me who I am today, but not rightly so. I have expanded the business, estates, and even the name far more than what was handed to me, except that I have yet to produce an heir.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“London has been making a fuss, you know,” he said lightly. “Your return commands attention worthy of the King and not merely the Duke of Greystone,” Thomas said.

As if he is not jealous of it all, how, when I enter a room, the world rearranges itself around me, respect, fear, and admiration falling neatly into place as though ordained. Even my refusals bore weight. Anyway, I can’t say for sure, he may hold no such thought.

“Spare me,” I said. Without looking up

Thomas continued, " Mothers are getting their daughters prepared. Every sewist in the city is overworked. All because you have confirmed your attendance for a ball.”

I took a measured sip of my drink. “They will be disappointed. I will not attend after all.”

Thomas blinked. “You are joking.”

“I am not.” I dropped the glass. “I have been gone for a while. Accounts have piled up. I have matters far more important than dancing and petty talks to attend to.”

Thomas sighed. “The poor ladies. Their hopes dashed before the first waltz.”

“They will recover,” I said calmly.

“And so will I, I suppose,” Thomas went on. “I had hoped you would find a suitable lady at the ball and surprise us with a wedding this year.”

My expression hardened. “I have no intention of marrying this year.”

“Or any year, it seems,” Thomas teased. “You favor business over matters of the heart.”

I rose, reaching for my coat. “I value responsibility.”

Thomas laughed as I stood. “Hasty to leave? I’m sure one of your mistresses is waiting already. I hear they are eager to welcome you back.”

I paused, my voice even. “Mind your business.”

But there was no anger in it, only finality.

I turned and left without another word.

The laughter lingered only a moment after departure.

Then it faded.

My private chamber is a vast room, draped in beautiful red curtains, exotic furnishings, and a large bed that speaks of wealth. It was a dream to behold. I have eyes for luxury; I have the wealth to get it. As much as I would love to be in that room now, I couldn’t; I had decided to keep the room sacred for the future duchess of Greystone and me. I had chosen other rooms for all my escapades. The firelight flickered across the room as Miss Loraine lounged on the chaise, a sly smile on her lips.

“You are late, Duke,” she teased. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me.”

I removed my gloves, inclining my head slightly. “And what would I do if I did? Leave you to your own amusement?”

“Chatter with the fire?” she laughed. “I call it keeping the room lively for your arrival.”

I let a shadow of a grin cross my face. “I trust my presence does not disappoint?”

“Disappoint? Hardly,” she replied, rising gracefully. “I’ve ensured the room is warm, the sheets inviting…”

“And the wine?” I asked smoothly.

She winked. “Naturally. But you must reward my efforts accordingly.”

I stepped closer, brushing her hand briefly. “Then I suppose I am at your mercy.”

Her laughter filled the room, light and teasing, as the fire danced between us, a private game of charm and wit.