Page 18 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

Chapter Sixteen

C ordelia stepped in, shut the door behind herself quietly, and gave him what she hoped was a collected smile, even though her stomach felt like it had been twisted into a knot by a particularly overzealous sailor.

“I… wanted to thank you,” she said, carefully stepping over the threshold as if she might break something. “For earlier, you know? With Lord Vernon.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he replied flatly, not looking at her yet. “He was disturbing the peace in my house.”

“Still,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her, her voice wobbling a bit at the edges. “You could have let him drag me off like a badly-behaved stray, and I would’ve been halfway to Surrey by now.”

He finally looked at her.

“I don’t make a habit of allowing other men to dictate what happens under my roof,” he said coolly.

“No, I gathered that when you nearly combusted,” she said and then immediately winced. “I mean that in a very complimentary sense. I’ve never seen anyone combust so handsomely.”

He blinked, once. Then very slowly, one brow rose.

She pressed a hand to her face. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Please don’t,” he said dryly. “This is… illuminating.”

Cordelia tried to laugh, but it came out more like a hiccup. “Well, you’ve always struck me as someone who could benefit from a little illumination.”

Something flickered behind his eyes. He moved, slowly, stepping closer to the writing table, and her heart picked up its pace as if preparing to escape out of sheer embarrassment.

“I protected you,” he said, “because I would not have that man threaten anyone in this house… least of all you.”

Cordelia looked up at him then, startled by the weight behind the words. “Least of all me?”

He stared at her as if trying to decide whether to keep speaking or end this conversation right here.

And then, almost reluctantly, he confirmed, “Yes, least of all you.”

She took a step toward him before she realized she’d done it. “You’re not nearly as aloof as you pretend to be, you know.”

He gave a short breath that might have been a laugh or a scoff or something in between. “You’re not nearly as quiet as I think you keep trying to be.”

“I’m never trying to be quiet,” she said indignantly.

“I’m aware.”

They were close now, almost too close. She hadn’t intended to be, but he hadn’t moved back either. And something strange had entered the air between them: warmer than tension, heavier than comfort.

“You didn’t have to do what you did,” she said softly.

“And yet I did,” he said, just as softly.

His gaze dropped to her lips, just for a moment.

Her breath caught. Cordelia could feel the blush bloom at the base of her throat and race up to her cheeks like it was in a rush to humiliate her thoroughly.

“You know, you should be more careful,” he pointed out in a deep murmur that stirred the very center of her being.

“Of what, Your Grace?”

“One might think you enjoy being helpless in my company,” he teased.

Her eyes widened in shock, and she nearly stumbled back onto a chair that somehow managed to sneak up behind her. “Oh, you are utterly insufferable!”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall with maddening ease, arms crossed over his chest, that half-smile playing on his lips. It was one of his many smiles, this one smug and unrepentantly rakish.

“Only around you,” he said. “You bring it out in me.”

“Because you insist on behaving like a rake,” she huffed, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You flirt constantly.”

He blinked innocently. “You think this is flirting?”

She stared at him. “Of course, it is!”

He gave her a pitying look. “Cordelia… you wouldn’t recognize real flirting if it stood in front of you and gave you daisies.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“That’s absurd. I… I did flirt. I tried to seduce you!”

He barked a laugh. “Is that what that was?”

“Yes!” she said, stomping her foot on the floor like a spoiled child. “I kissed you, you absolute beast.”

“And it was a very noble attempt,” he said gravely, “for someone clearly not trained in combat.”

“Still, I kissed you, and what did you do? Push me away? Ha! You kissed me back, so what does that make you?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “A man.”

“A rake!”

“A grateful rake,” he murmured, eyes glinting.

She flung her hands up. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he said, straightening now, stepping closer, “are entirely too determined to not be an amateur.”

She took a step back into the writing table again… of course. “Well, I had to try something. I couldn’t be terrible at it forever!”

“Forever?” He was grinning now, full and shameless. “My dear spinster, how many poor unsuspecting victims were you planning to ambush after me?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I was going to stop after I perfected it on you.”

“You were that confident in your ability to improve?”

Cordelia wasn’t entirely sure whether she wanted to slap him, kiss him again, or curl up on the floor and vanish like fog.

So, she settled for folding her arms and saying primly. “I suppose next time I’ll prepare more thoroughly. Perhaps bring diagrams and some grapes for snacks.”

Mason’s eyes darkened. “Cordelia,” he said, her name nearly a sigh.

She blinked up at him.

“Maybe don’t practice kissing on anyone else.”

The air left her lungs. It was the first real thing he’d said. Her heart gave a reckless little lurch.

“Well,” she whispered, “that wouldn’t be very spinster-like of me, would it?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and for one suspended breath, she thought he might kiss her again.

His voice dipped low, warm against the shell of her ear, barely more than a ghost of sound. “If you’re still curious about how it’s actually done… I could help you out.”

The words crashed into her spine like lightning. She went completely still. Her breath hitched. Her heart did something stupid and traitorous, like fluttering, which was absolutely not the sort of thing a serious-minded spinster should allow to happen near the Duke of Galleon.

There was a single heartbeat, albeit just one, where she considered saying something clever, something bold or even wicked. And then her hand shot up and smacked him squarely in the shoulder.

“You absolute cad!” she gasped.

He grinned, looking pleased and so infuriatingly handsome.

“Ah,” he said, rubbing his arm with an exaggerated wince. “There she is.”

“You—You—! I should throw my slipper at your head!”

“I rather think that would only encourage me.”

She narrowed her eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. Her cheeks were burning. Her lips couldn’t quite decide whether to stay firmly pursed or tremble into a smile.

“You are awful,” she managed, fighting her own laughter. “You can’t just go around whispering things like that to innocent women.”

“Innocent?” he echoed, feigning shock. “This from the woman who launched herself at me in a dark library?”

“That was weeks ago!”

“Still counts.”

“You are absolutely, positively the worst man I have ever met.”

“And yet you keep finding your way back into my study.”

Cordelia groaned and covered her face with both hands. “You are insufferable.”

“Only for you.”

Her hands dropped just enough to peek through her fingers, and when she did, she saw it… that smile again. It wasn’t the smug one nor the wicked one, but rather, it was the smallest version of something unguarded and therefore, dangerous.

And the worst part? She liked it. No. She loved it.

“I need air,” she muttered, whirling toward the door once more.

“Careful not to trip on your dignity,” he called after her.

She pouted instead of replying. Not that she knew what she would say anyway because her entire body felt like a teacup someone had poured a boiling kettle into.

Outside the study, she leaned against the cool wall and let her head tip back.

“Oh. Oh, no,” she whispered.

She was in real trouble.

He just stood there, staring at the empty space she had left behind. Her scent, some combination of lavender and chaos, still lingered, and his shoulder still stung faintly from where she’d struck him.

He let out a slow breath, ran a hand through his hair, and muttered to the empty room. “Damn.”

He wasn’t entirely sure whether he regretted that flirtation wrapped in innuendo and whispered far too close to her ear.

It had been too much and at the same time, not enough because the truth was that he hadn’t meant it as a jest. He had meant it in that reckless, foolish way men did when they were falling apart and falling in love at the same time.

She was going to be the end of him. No woman had ever rattled him like this, no one had ever made his control slip so easily, so naturally . One moment she was calling him a beast, the next she was biting her lip like she didn’t know whether to scream at him or kiss him again.

A knock came at the study door just as Mason was preparing to stand again, to pace, to do anything at all but sit with the mess of his thoughts. He didn’t look up.

“Come in.”

His mother entered with her usual graceful determination, with her eyes already assessing him as only a mother could.

“I thought I might find you brooding,” she said by way of greeting.

“I am not brooding,” Mason muttered.

She looked at the ink blot on his desk and the scowl on his face and tilted her head. “Very well. You’re… contemplative with flair.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “What is it?”

She stepped further into the room and sat in the armchair across from his desk, smoothing her skirts. “I wanted to speak to you about Cordelia’s birthday. It’s only a few days away, and I thought it might be nice to do something for her, something special.”

He flinched before he could stop himself, and his mother noticed. Of course, she did.

“Mason?”

He shook his head quickly, brushing it off. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe him, but she let it slide. “We’ll have the cake made in the morning. Her favorite—I asked Matilda. There will be decorations in the blue salon, flowers, small gifts. Something gentle, something quiet. I thought it might be a comfort, her first birthday truly free.”

He nodded, barely hearing her.

Free.

That was the word. She would be free and that meant she would be gone.

He wanted to be happy for her. She had earned that freedom with every kind word, every stitched smile, every moment of resilience.

He knew what Vernon had tried to take from her, and now, she was stepping into her own future, her own name, her own life.

“Mason, darling,” his mother said softly. “Are you sure you’re?—”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted, sharper than intended. “Truly. Go on.”

She paused, studying him for a long moment, but eventually, she nodded. “Isabelle will be coming of course. She insisted.”

That struck something deep in his chest. Cordelia had burrowed her way into all their lives, hadn’t she?

His mother lit up when she entered a room. Isabelle laughed more. Her children adored her. The kitchen staff had taken to sending up sweets for her at odd hours. The footmen had begun to greet her like family. And he didn’t remember what the house had felt like before her anymore.

His mother smiled now, looking off distantly as she imagined the celebration. “It’s been a long time since this house has felt so warm.”

Mason didn’t speak because the truth was Cordelia Brookes had come into their lives like light through a long-closed window, and in just a few days, she would be gone.

“Would you come with me to the kitchen?” his mother asked, standing. “We must make sure the cake is done properly. You know how particular you are.”

He gave her a smile which was small, practiced, and not entirely convincing. “Yes. I’ll be along in a moment.”

She hesitated in the doorway, glancing back, but then she nodded once and left. And Mason remained seated, alone again.

He inhaled deeply, for he had a birthday gift of his own to give, and he needed to prepare it.