Page 27 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)
Chapter Twenty-Five
T he flicker of the candlelight painted Cordelia’s features in a way that made it nearly impossible to look away.
Her words, spoken with quiet vulnerability, still lingered between them, and for a moment, he simply let the silence sit, a soft and steady thing.
He wanted her to know he was listening, and truly so, not merely waiting for his turn to speak.
When he finally did, his voice was low, almost reflective. “I know what it is like to have one parent that you can never be good enough for. But I suppose fathers were always meant to be stricter. In that respect, you have been most fortunate.”
She smiled, nodding just once. “I truly have.”
He hesitated for a moment but then decided to continue, to open up at least a little.
“My parents’ marriage was… not one I would wish upon anyone,” he said, carefully choosing his words.
“It was a union without kindness, without joy. A house filled with duty but entirely devoid of warmth. I grew up watching two people share a name yet live as strangers… sometimes worse than strangers.”
His gaze drifted briefly to the window where the darkness pressed against the glass. “I swore long ago I would never allow my own marriage to become such a thing. And I will not have that for us, Cordelia.”
Her eyes softened, and she nodded. “Nor would I,” she murmured, the conviction in her tone matching his own.
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, the unspoken agreement settling between them like a gentle promise. Mason found a surprising ease in it, in this small but vital accord. Perhaps they did not yet share all the things that made a true marriage, but on this point, they were united.
Inwardly, he felt a quiet, stubborn determination.
Wholeheartedly, he wished they might find their way to one another in time.
But for now, it was enough, perhaps even more than enough, to know she was safe from that snake of a guardian.
The knowledge settled something restless in him, even as it stirred a desire to protect her that went deeper than he cared to examine just yet.
He allowed himself a small smile, lifting his wine glass slightly. “To safe harbors,” he said.
Her lips curved as she raised hers in return. “To safe harbors.”
The clink of glass between them was a simple thing, but to Mason, it felt like the first stone laid in the foundation of something far greater.
A bit later, as they were finishing their makeshift dinner, Mason rose from the table, setting his napkin aside as Cordelia dabbed delicately at her lips.
The last of the candlelight caught in her hair, lending it a ruddy warmth, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had any idea how dangerously captivating she looked.
“Well,” she said, smoothing her skirts as she stood, “I think I ought to retire. Will you show me to my chamber?”
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation, pushing back his chair. He offered her his arm, and when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, the simple contact sent a ripple of warmth through him.
They made their way up the wide staircase, the faint creak of polished wood underfoot echoing in the stillness. The grand hallway above was bathed in shadows, the sconces unlit, but moonlight spilled in from tall windows, lending the place an oddly peaceful air.
When they reached the door to her chamber, Mason opened it for her and stepped aside.
To his surprise and obvious relief everything inside was in perfect order.
The bed was neatly made, the wardrobe doors shut tight, and when he opened one experimentally, it was stocked with fresh linens, spare blankets, and even a few slippers placed neatly at the bottom.
Cordelia blinked then glanced at him with a small smile. “So… the servants are gone, yet somehow, everything is perfectly in place.”
Mason tilted his head in mock thought. “Clearly, they anticipated our early arrival with supernatural foresight. Perhaps the linens arranged themselves in our absence.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Or perhaps they were simply thorough in their duties before they vanished to the festivities.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, “abandoning us entirely but at least doing so with impeccable housekeeping skills.”
Mason let his gaze sweep over the room one last time, as if ensuring for himself that nothing was amiss before he turned back to her.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked.
Cordelia shook her head. “No, I’m quite all right, thank you. I suspect I’ll fall asleep the moment my head touches the pillow.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “A wise plan. Travel can be more exhausting than one realizes.”
She nodded, already stepping further into the room, her fingers brushing the edge of the bedpost in an absent, almost tender motion.
He lingered in the doorway, the words “good night” sitting on his tongue yet somehow reluctant to cross his lips just yet.
There was something quietly compelling about the sight of her here safe, in his home, after all the days of worry and uncertainty that had preceded this moment.
Finally, he inclined his head. “Then I shall leave you to rest. Good night, Cordelia.”
She turned, offering him a faint but genuine smile. “Good night, Mason.”
For a heartbeat longer than was necessary, he remained there, as though something held him rooted to the spot.
Then, with a silent exhale, he stepped back, closed the door softly behind him, and walked down the hall, carrying with him the unshakable thought that, despite everything, he did not want this night to end.
Cordelia woke to the gentle pull of sunlight spilling across her bed, warm and golden, coaxing her from the last threads of sleep.
She stretched, feeling the rare and delicious sensation of having slept deeply without a single troubled dream.
The quiet murmur of the sea drifted through the open window, a soft, rhythmic call that drew her from the bed.
Slipping to the window, she pulled the curtain aside and caught her breath. The sea spread before her in a shimmering expanse of blue and silver, each wave rolling lazily to the shore before retreating again, leaving a lace of foam upon the sand.
The air was clear and salt-sweet, and her heart lifted at the sight. She wanted to be there, to step into the cool embrace of the water, to wade until the sand shifted under her feet, to feel the wind toss her hair like a child again.
She told herself to speak to Mason about going to the beach as soon as possible. Perhaps they could walk together, perhaps they could?—
Her thoughts stilled. There, in the distance, she saw him. Mason was already walking along the shore, his boots sinking into the damp sand, the morning light gilding the dark waves of his hair. His hands were clasped loosely behind his back, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though deep in thought.
Without another moment’s hesitation, she dressed quickly, her fingers working at the fastenings with a clumsy eagerness. She pulled on her half-boots, not even bothering to fix her hair with the same care as usual, and slipped from her room.
The air outside was fresh and cool, carrying the tang of salt and the faint cries of gulls. The soft crunch of the path gave way to the yielding give of sand, and her pulse thrummed faster with every step. She was going to him, to the sea, to the morning that felt entirely theirs.
Cordelia broke into a run, her skirts gathering in her hands to keep from tangling about her legs. Mason turned at the sound of her approach, and the moment his eyes found her, his face broke into a smile, one of those quiet, unguarded smiles that made her chest feel uncomfortably warm.
She slowed as she reached him, the sand soft and cool beneath her feet. Turning in a slow circle, she drank in the wide, glittering expanse before them.
“It’s wonderful,” she breathed, her voice tinged with awe. “To actually be at the beach…”
“It is,” Mason agreed, his gaze not on the sea but on her, watching her with an amused curl to his lips as she glanced down and began tugging at the laces of her half-boots.
He raised a brow. “You don’t mean to?—”
“Oh yes, I do,” she interrupted, grinning as she slipped her shoes and stockings off, setting them neatly on the sand.
Mason stared as though she had announced she intended to leap straight into the depths. “Cordelia?—”
But she was already picking her way toward the edge of the surf, her skirts lifted just enough to free her stride.
The first wave swept over her feet, cool and tingling, and she let out a delighted laugh.
Another followed, climbing higher, darkening the fabric of her gown at the hem. She didn’t care in the slightest.
“Oh, it’s wonderful!” she called over her shoulder, eyes bright as the sunlight caught them. “It feels like the whole sea belongs to you for a moment.”
He strode closer, shaking his head. “Cordelia, you’ll catch your death, it’s freezing!”
“You need to live a little, Your Grace,” she teased, turning toward him with the faintest of smirks. “Come, enjoy yourself for once.”
He looked at her as though she had just suggested he commit some outrageous breach of propriety, but her laughter danced on the wind, and the glint in her eyes made it difficult for him to protest. He hesitated only a heartbeat longer before tugging off his boots and stepping into the water beside her.
The moment the icy waves rushed over his feet, he made a low, startled sound which was half a growl, half a gasp.
“Good heavens, it’s freezing,” he declared, his voice full of mock outrage.
Cordelia’s laughter rang out bright and unrestrained. “Oh, you’re being dramatic,” she teased, and with a mischievous flick of her fingers, she sent a small spray of seawater in his direction.
He stepped back with a look of exaggerated betrayal. “That’s not fair!”
She only laughed harder, her amusement bubbling over. For a few blissful moments, there was nothing but the splash of waves, the salt air curling between them, and their shared laughter as they waded in the shallows.
Eventually, Mason tilted his head toward the shore. “We ought to go back before you turn completely blue,” he said, though his lips still quirked in a smile.
They made their way up the sand, her skirts heavy with water, his stride easy and unhurried beside hers. Halfway to the house, his tone shifted suddenly to something deep and grave.
“I’m afraid I have some terrible news,” he said.
Cordelia stilled, heart thudding as she turned to look at him. “What is it?”
He met her gaze with the most solemn expression she’d seen from him yet. “We have no food in the house.”
For a beat, she simply blinked at him then the absurdity of it hit, and laughter spilled from her lips in helpless waves.
The image of his earnest expression paired with such a ridiculous declaration was too much, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, still laughing as they continued toward the estate.