Page 15 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

Chapter Thirteen

T he decanter shattered before Mason even realized he’d thrown it.

Glass and amber liquid splashed across the hearth, a sharp burst of noise against the otherwise silent study. He stood in the center of the room, breathing hard, the veins in his forearms taut with restraint.

Control.

He needed to get it back.

He raked a hand through his hair and turned away from the mess.

The fire crackled behind him, indifferent to the wreckage at its feet.

His writing table was covered in correspondence.

There were sealed letters, unsealed ones, an unopened estate report from the steward that he’d already skimmed five times without retaining a word of it.

He could not focus, even if his life depended on it.

Damn him. Damn him for not being able to control his own thoughts!

It was always her, now. In his mind, in the corners of his vision, in the scent of ink and old parchment and lilies that still clung to his library like a ghost. She had been everywhere yesterday, sprawled among his books with her fingers ink-smudged, her eyes wide and gleaming with that strange, wild hunger for knowledge.

She’d spoken of being lost like it was something that had once carved her apart and reshaped her in pieces, and he hadn’t known what to say, only that he’d wanted to say something.

He wanted to tell her she could stay because he wanted to keep her.

But he hadn’t said it. He hadn’t let the words out because letting her stay would mean admitting that her presence meant something, that she meant something. And that was the danger.

Cordelia Brookes was not just a complication.

She was a threat to every inch of control he’d fought to build since his father’s death.

He thought of the structure of his days, the distance he kept, the silence he relied on.

She had walked into Galleon Estate like a storm in silk slippers, and now, he couldn’t go an hour without hearing her voice echo in his head.

And it infuriated him.

Because none of this was about her. It was about Isabelle, about her safety, about keeping the cottage hidden, and lastly, about preserving the quiet, invisible thread of happiness his family had managed to hold onto in the wake of scandal.

That was why Cordelia could not stay, not when she asked too many questions, not when she noticed everything, and certainly not when she was clever enough to follow the cracks in his armor and kind enough not to exploit them.

She was too unpredictable, too alive, too capable of making him forget himself.

And Mason Abernathy, the newly appointed Duke of Galleon, who was also a brother, protector, and keeper of secrets, could not afford to forget who he was.

The knock came just as Mason was telling himself not to smash anything else.

He gritted his teeth. “Yes?”

The door creaked open, and there she was, as if summoned by the sheer power of his thoughts.

Her brows lifted slightly as she took in the sight before her, the shattered glass by the hearth, the wet stain of brandy on the floor, the tension that seemed to vibrate through the room like the aftershock of a storm.

She stepped in gingerly, shutting the door behind her.

“What happened?” she asked, nodding toward the broken decanter.

He didn’t even glance at it.

“What do you need?” His voice was cold.

He didn’t mean for it to be, but she startled him. She always startled him, and he hadn’t had time to put the walls back up.

Cordelia lingered just inside the room. Her gaze dropped again to the mess by the fire then returned to him. She clasped her hands in front of her skirts like she wasn’t entirely sure whether to sit or run.

“I have something to ask you,” she said at last.

He frowned. “Now?”

“If you’re not busy.” Her tone was mild.

He turned his back on the window and crossed his arms. “Fine. Ask.”

Cordelia took a breath and lifted her chin.

“I was hoping… that is, your mother and I were discussing it, and we thought it might be a kindness if Isabelle might spend some time with us tomorrow. My friends are coming to visit, and it will be very informal. A luncheon, some music, nothing that would raise suspicion. I would introduce her only as a local acquaintance I’ve come to know during my stay. ”

The words hit like a slap,m and his jaw locked as he turned back to her.

“No,” he said flatly.

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because it isn’t safe.” His voice was steel now. “Because this is precisely the sort of casual exposure that risks unravelling everything.”

“I won’t tell anyone who she is,” Cordelia said softly. “I wouldn’t?—”

“It’s not about you ,” he snapped, more harshly than he intended. “It’s about risk, about her children, and about the life she’s built. One mistake, just one slip, and it’s all gone.”

Much to his surprise, Cordelia didn’t flinch, not even a little. Instead, she simply stepped closer, past the broken glass.

“I understand,” she said calmly. “Truly, I do. But may I ask you something?”

He didn’t answer, so she asked anyway. “Do you ever think about how lonely it must be for her?”

Mason said nothing.

“All those years, hidden away,” she continued. “No real friends, no visitors, no invitations. A lady must have friends.”

“She survived,” he bit out.

“Yes,” Cordelia said quietly but without backing down. “But surviving isn’t the same as living.”

He turned from her, unable to bear the way her voice softened on those words.

Surviving isn’t living.

Because it hit somewhere too close, somewhere he didn’t want her reaching. He couldn’t stand that she might be right. Still, he said nothing.

Cordelia took another step forward. “I’m not asking to parade her about or to force her into anything she doesn’t wish. I only thought she might enjoy a few hours of company and laughter. That’s all. I will protect her secret as fiercely as you do.”

He wanted to shout, to rage, to shake sense into her, to demand how she could possibly understand what was at stake. How one wrong word could unravel the careful illusion he’d constructed, how easily the world devoured women like Isabelle.

But he couldn’t because she wasn’t fighting him. She was asking, and she was doing so with all the patience and kindness he didn’t deserve, as if she believed he could still say yes, as if she trusted him to.

And God help him, he found himself nodding.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But she’s introduced as a local widow. No names, no titles. And if anything feels wrong, and I do mean anything, Cordelia, she leaves.”

Cordelia’s expression softened into something that nearly shattered him. “Of course.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, drinking in the sight of her. He hated how easily she calmed him, how her gentleness crept past his defenses when nothing else ever had. Anger was the only thing his father had ever taught him well, and yet, with her, it always ended up feeling small.

He cleared his throat.

“I expect you’ll inform her?”

Cordelia smiled faintly. “If I may?”

He gave a stiff nod.

She turned to go, pausing once at the door, and when she looked back, her eyes weren’t triumphant or smug. They were grateful which was somehow worse.

“You… are inviting me to come?” Isabelle’s voice was breathless and her eyes fragile and full of hope.

Cordelia smiled. “Yes, if you wish to of course.”

Isabelle clutched her hands to her chest, as if to steady herself. Then she hesitated. “Wait… did you ask Mason?”

“I did,” Cordelia replied, still slightly pink in the cheeks from their encounter. “He was… reluctant at first, but he agreed.”

“Oh.” Isabelle’s smile returned slowly then bloomed fully, like a flower that had been waiting years for a bit of sun. “Then I’m coming.”

Cordelia grinned. “I hoped you’d say that.”

Isabelle gave a small laugh, her hand rising instinctively to fix the loose plait over her shoulder.

“Oh heavens,” she murmured. “I’ll need to ask Robert to mind the children.

Only for a few hours. He won’t mind of course, but—” she paused as a new thought dawned on her face.

“Oh dear, I haven’t been in ladies’ company in such a long time. What if I’ve forgotten how to behave?”

Cordelia let out a soft, delighted laugh. “You are charming and warm and entirely lovely, My Lady. You’ll do marvelously.”

“I’m no Lady anymore, and Isabelle will do just fine, Cordelia,” Isabelle said, shaking her head, but the words weren’t bitter.

She looked around the small, cozy room as if trying to see herself from the outside.

Then, quite suddenly, she twirled in place, skirts flaring gently, a little squeak of giddy laughter escaping her.

“Gracious, I haven’t worn anything truly pretty in so long! I wonder if my blue muslin still fits.”

Cordelia watched her, a hand resting lightly over her heart. “Wear whatever you like. You’ll outshine all of us.”

“Oh stop,” Isabelle said, blushing. “I’m a mother of three. I’m permanently jam-stained somewhere, and my hair never does what I ask it to anymore.”

Cordelia stepped forward and took her hand gently. “You are radiant. And my friends will see you just as I do.”

Isabelle squeezed her fingers. “I haven’t been invited to anything in years,” she said, almost a whisper. “No one even knows I exist, not properly. Some days I forget what it feels like to be seen.”

Cordelia felt something knot in her throat. She reached out and embraced her then without hesitation—just pulled her in and held her tightly.

“I see you,” she murmured into Isabelle’s shoulder. “And I’m so glad I do.”

Isabelle clutched her back just as fiercely. “You are a storm in slippers, Cordelia Brookes,” she said tearfully. “Mason never stood a chance.”

Cordelia gave a soft, breathless laugh and stepped back. “Please don’t tell him that. He already thinks I’m meddling.”

“Because you are ,” Isabelle said with a grin. “But it’s the good kind. The kind that changes things.”

Isabelle was still smiling when she sat on the edge of the worn little armchair by the hearth while her fingers brushed absently against the embroidery on the cushion.

The fire snapped softly beside her, casting golden light over the curve of her cheek.

Her joy hadn’t faded; it had only settled into something gentler.

“I don’t think Mason even realize how lucky he is,” she said at last, “to have you here.”

Cordelia looked down, her fingers twisting in the edge of her shawl. The compliment landed too squarely in her chest, like a coin dropped into a well that never quite filled. She bit her lip.

The truth hovered dangerously on the tip of her tongue, that her stay at Galleon Estate was anything but certain and that every time she so much as glanced at the Duke, she felt like she was walking on eggshells made of glass.

“I’m not sure he wants me here,” she murmured. “At least… not entirely.”

Isabelle tilted her head, her expression thoughtful.

Cordelia continued, trying for lightness though it didn’t quite reach her voice. “He said I could borrow books after I leave, so I imagine that’s his way of saying he’s counting the days.”

Isabelle didn’t respond right away, but she eventually did. “I’ve noticed a change in him.”

Cordelia glanced up.

Isabelle’s eyes were clear and steady. “Since you arrived. It’s in the way he speaks or maybe the way he doesn’t speak. He’s always been careful, quiet. But there’s something looser around the edges now, like… like something in him is waking up.”

Cordelia blinked, caught entirely off guard. “It’s not me,” she said quickly. “I haven’t done anything.”

Isabelle gave a knowing smile. “It’s not what we do , Cordelia. It’s who we are that changes those around us.”

Cordelia opened her mouth to protest, to deny, to explain away the hope that curled warm and traitorous in her stomach. But nothing came because Isabelle’s words wrapped around her too tightly, like a lullaby or a truth she hadn’t yet let herself believe.

Was that even possible? That simply being , with all her faults, her chaotic moods, her fumbling attempts to be helpful, that she could matter ?

“You speak of him with such care,” Isabelle said, gentler now. “Even when you think he doesn’t deserve it.”

Cordelia let out a breath, her smile barely there. “He… makes it difficult not to care.”

Isabelle grinned. “Then I suppose neither of you truly ever stood a chance.”

Cordelia laughed in a quiet sound, caught between joy and ache.

She turned to the fire, letting the warmth reach her fingertips, but her heart was somewhere else entirely…

with a man in a shadowed manor, who never smiled the same way twice and who made her feel like being herself might one day be enough.