"Ramsay would have murdered me in my sleep." Andrew moved closer. "Though I confess, I'm rather fond of this little menace."
"Are you?" She looked up at him, amber eyes reflecting the late afternoon light streaming through the windows. "You didn't seem particularly enthused when Eleanor first revealed him."
"I've grown attached in the last few hours." He crouched down beside her, reaching out to scratch behind the dog’s ears. "He has good taste in people."
Their fingers brushed as they both petted the puppy, and Andrew felt that familiar spark, the one that made his blood warm and his thoughts scatter.
The puppy chose that moment to wriggle free, springing away from them with a delighted bark. It scampered toward the tall windows and began worrying the long ends of the curtains, tail wagging furiously.
"Here, boy," Isobel called softly, moving back a few steps. "Come here."
The dog tilted his head, considering, then trotted over to her.
The puppy abandoned the curtains at once and bounded back—not to Andrew, but to Isobel. It placed its paws on her skirts and made an earnest, clumsy attempt to climb into her lap.
Andrew felt his competitive instincts flare. "That's hardly fair. You moved first."
"I wasn't aware there were rules." But her smile was mischievous as she watched him.
"Everything has rules, Duchess." He shifted to the opposite side of the hall. "Here boy."
The puppy looked at him, then back at Isobel, then promptly sat down exactly halfway between them.
"Clever creature," Isobel murmured. "He's already learned not to take sides."
"Nonsense. He simply hasn't realized yet that I'm the superior choice." Andrew clicked his tongue. "Come on, boy. I'll give you the best scraps from dinner. Prime cuts of beef. Perhaps even some of Cook's famous kidney pie."
"You're trying to bribe a puppy?" Isobel laughed, the sound lighting something warm in Andrew's chest. "How very like you."
"I prefer to think of it as strategic negotiation." He patted his knee. "What do you say, boy? Surely a duke's company is worth something?"
"I'll read to you," Isobel countered, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Every evening. Whatever book you like. Well, whatever book I can convince you to sit still for."
"Books," Andrew scoffed. "The puppy wants adventure, not stories."
"Storiesareadventures."
"Not the same at all."
The dog yawned, apparently unimpressed with both their arguments, and laid down with his head on his paws.
"I believe that's his vote of confidence in both of us," Isobel said dryly.
"Or he's just tired from terrorizing my household for the past three hours." Andrew moved closer, unable to help himself. "Though I notice he's positioned himself closer to you."
"Perhaps he has excellent judgement."
"Perhaps he's been swayed by a pretty face and doesn't yet understand the value of consistency and reliability."
Isobel's eyebrow arched. "Are you comparing yourself to a reliable puppy?"
"I'm comparing myself to the obviously superior choice that is being unfairly overlooked in favor of—" He stopped, realizing how absurd he sounded. "Good God, I'm arguing with my wife over a dog's affections."
"Why do you have to turn everything into a wager?" But there was no heat in her words, only fondness that made his chest tight.
"It's not a wager. It's a friendly competition."
"Those are the same thing."
