Given how she handled her last few interactions with the Duke, it was a considerable humiliation to talk to him about these expenses.
“I would like to take my work to the terrace,” she told Lottie, a passing maid. “I need some air.”
“Of course, Your Grace. One must take full advantage of the pleasant weather.”
She gathered her ledgers and found a hidden spot near the east lawn, where the manicured gardens converged with the more rugged servants’ path. There was a stone bench there, and a broad, flat piece of bark that served admirably as a surface for her papers.
“There you go,” she said, feeling pleased with herself.
For a while, the decision seemed like the best one. She found herself immersed in her numbers, happy to see she had made some progress on the problematic sections. The small, clean satisfaction of a number resolving itself into sense was one of life’s more reliable pleasures.
Then, the sound began.
Thwack.
“W-what was that?”
The sound was rhythmic and sharp. As she continued listening, she realized what it was. It was the sound of chopping. Who could be doing that in this part of the garden?
She was no expert, but she thought the sounds were too aggressive for a servant or common laborer. Whoever was doing it was not only chopping wood but was also chopping some dark thoughts away, it seemed.
Her curiosity won out. She stood, smoothed her skirts, and approached the clearing. The sight that welcomed her made her stop in her tracks. It was a good thing she had rested her ledger on the bark, or else it would have slipped from her fingers.
Tristan was there, chopping wood.
He was also doing it half-naked.
Chapter 12
“Is this a new pastime, Your Grace? Or have you always been the one providing us with wood for the hearth all this time? Is there a reason that a household of this size does not employ someone to do that?”
Cathy’s voice was too high. It was hard not to talk that way when the Duke’s powerful forearms were on display. His chest was glistening with sweat, the liquid tracing a path down his muscular lower abdomen and...
How long had he been chopping wood, or was he already doing something else before it?
Cathy could not look away from her husband. The sun shone on those broad shoulders and the way his breeches hugged his thighs. The fact that she knew what he looked like beneath them was even worse.
The Duke did not even respond to her immediately. It was as if he were too intent on slicing everything into small splinters. He swung his axe one more time, burying the blade deep into a log with such ferocity that it took Cathy’s breath away. Then,he drew a long, ragged breath even as he straightened his back. Much to her consternation, he did not even reach for his shirt. The crumpled thing looked neglected on a bench. He could have just pulled it up, but he chose to wipe the sweat from his brow on his forearm. It smeared dirt over his temple, then on his cheek when he lowered his arm. And only then did he face and address her.
“The staff is perfectly capable,” he said, not even breathing hard. However, his voice was raspy, presumably from his manual labor. “You have seen them, Cathy. This? This is personal.”
“So, you like doing this yourself? But why must you do it here? Servants or even guests can easily stumble upon you in this... this, uh, state of undress. I should think this is utterly improper.”
Tristan rested both hands on the axe handle. To Cathy’s horror, a smirk had spread across his face. The Duke looked attractive even when he bordered on predatory. The golden rays of the sun made his eyes catlike.
“I do like this particular spot. You will find that out if you pass here more often. The air is fresh, and the wood is stubborn. It reminds me of someone I know.”
Cathy blushed.
“Why must you, a duke, chop wood like a... a common laborer?” she stammered.
It was not that at all. Perhaps if the duke were chopping wood with clothes on, she would not feel so annoyed.
“It helps with the pent-up energy,” he replied, walking toward her as if to test her. She could not even complain. She was the one who started the conversation. “I must make use of it onsomething that requires more force, or else I might use it on something more reckless. I must admit, it is a pity I had been indefinitely forbidden from using itelsewhere.”
The innuendo was clear. He was implying that the solitude imposed on both of them was causing him undue frustration, and she felt her cheeks grow red.
“Well, then,” she retorted. “I will leave you to your... productive afternoon. I shall return to my own work. I have more accounts to settle, and you have a forest to manage, it seems.”