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Page 5 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

The woman, who had just been offered a second biscuit, let out a small squeak and nearly dropped her tea.

The Dowager Duchess did not so much as flinch.

She sipped her cup with the practiced elegance of a woman who had witnessed thirty-seven balls, two revolutions, and the cruelty of a man she had married.

“Tea, I should think,” she replied calmly. “And conversation. You might try it sometime, Mason.”

His gaze flicked immediately to the woman, who was now very upright, very composed, and very clearly trying to appear as though she had not broken into a cold sweat.

“She is supposed to be—” Mason began, only to be cut off by his mother’s gentle voice.

“—my companion,” the Dowager finished, as though they were discussing the weather. “Miss Cordelia Brookes has agreed to stay here. She is in need of a quiet place to rest, and I am in need of company. A simple arrangement, really.”

So, he’d found out her name, but that was the least of his concerns now.

“You don’t need a companion, Mother.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You hate having company.”

“I hate having boring company,” she corrected. “Cordelia, at least, is entertaining.”

Cordelia almost chuckled. “That may be the kindest insult I’ve ever received.”

Mason ignored her. “Mother, this is absurd. There are other… more suitable places for her to stay. Somewhere far less complicated. Farther , ideally, for need I remind you what happened the last time she was here?”

“I know the story,” his mother confirmed. “And so do you. Besides, the man was bandaged and taken home rather tenderly, I might add.”

Mason raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think is a good idea, Mother.”

The Dowager Duchess gave him a look that communicated very clearly she’d be able to tame a lion, if need be, which was very much unlike her. He couldn’t understand where this sudden desire to keep Cordelia by her side had sprung from. “The matter is settled, dear.”

Cordelia placed her teacup on its saucer and rose slowly. She turned to him with all the affected calm of a governess correcting an unruly child.

“If His Grace believes me an unsuitable guest,” she said in a sweet voice, “I will, of course, take my leave at once. I understand it must be… distressing… to receive unexpected news.”

It was something about that tone he didn’t like. It was overly polite, perfectly measured, so very ladylike that it could not be anything but sarcasm in disguise. It grated at him more than outright defiance.

“Mason, darling,” his mother urged, “she has nowhere else to go.”

The tension in his spine stilled into something more reluctant.

“I found her by accident, quite literally,” she added with a faint lift of her brow.

“On the road, mud-slicked and wild-eyed. She was ready to disappear into the night with no plan at all. Tell me, Mason, what woman throws herself in front of a carriage unless she truly believes she has nowhere to go?”

That was when he understood his mother. She could not save Isabelle, her own daughter, her own flesh and blood, but she was trying to help someone else instead. That stilled him like a cold slap to the face.

His mother approached him and placed a hand briefly on his arm. “You need not like her,” she whispered. “But you are a man who values peace. And you must admit, it is difficult to find peace knowing a young woman in your house has had to raise a fire poker in her own defense.”

Cordelia’s eyes flickered to his instantly.

“If Your Grace is concerned about my prolonged presence,” she began with careful courtesy, “I would like to reassure you it is not intended to last.”

He only lifted an eyebrow, a sign for her to continue, which she did.

“My birthday is in a month’s time. When I turn seven and twenty, my father’s inheritance will come directly to me, no longer held as a dowry nor overseen by any guardian.

I will be free to do with it as I please.

And I please to disappear somewhere where guardians, balls, and ducal tempers are not a daily concern. ”

“What a loss to society that will be,” he scoffed.

“I rather thought so, too,” she replied, with a flash of dry humor, then looked away. “It is only until then. A month. After that, I shall vanish. I do promise not to clutter your house with any further bodies.”

He exhaled slowly. “Mother, would you give us the room?”

The Dowager Duchess paused, one brow arched in polite incredulity, almost as if apprehensive to leave them alone, even for a moment. “Why?”

He turned his head then and gave her a look he had learned from his own father. The Duchess sighed.

“Very well,” she said, rising with unhurried grace. “But if you make her cry, I shall undo you with a single letter to Lady Marguerite Entwhistle.”

Mason winced. “That woman keeps pet ferrets in her muff.”

“I’m aware,” said his mother with dangerous serenity. “One of them is named after you.”

With that, she swept from the room. Mason turned back to Cordelia.

She looked at him warily. “Is this the part where you sentence me to the dungeons?”

“Not quite,” he said, taking a slow step forward. “First, I want you to explain to me in detail what exactly happened in the library. And no funny business.”

“The library?” she echoed, innocently. “I simply had to kiss you, and I couldn’t?—”

“Miss Brookes, I warn you…” he growled softly, but that was enough to point her back in the right direction. “I believe you told the truth until the powder room. And perhaps the bird.”

She hesitated then admitted, “There was no bird.”

“I figured as much. Please, continue.” Regardless of all common sense, he found himself intrigued by her. There was something about her voice, the way she was able to draw him into her whimsical interpretation of events, which kept him constantly asking and then what.

“On my way back from the powder room…” She paused as her face colored violently. “Well, Lord Vernon was waiting for me in the corridor, which was odd, I thought… very odd. Because I’d only excused myself for a moment, and there he was, just… lurking .”

He nodded just once, urging her to continue.

“And then,” she continued, “he said something most improper. I thought perhaps I’d misunderstood. He’s older, you know, and his compliments always have that sort of musty edge, like they’ve been in a drawer too long and picked up the scent of camphor and poor decisions. But then he tried to?—”

She made a vague, flailing gesture. “ Touch me . Not fatherly, not in the way of guardianly concern, but in the way of very unwelcome suitors in bad novels.”

His posture changed at once.

“You are telling me,” he said, low and sharp now, “that Lord Vernon, who is your legal guardian, attempted to seduce you?”

“Oh, well… I wouldn’t call it a seduction,” Cordelia said hurriedly. “Seduction implies candlelight and violins and maybe a chaise lounge, not surprise corridor encounters and commentary on one’s budding ripeness which, I must say, is the single worst phrase anyone has ever used about my person.”

His expression turned stormy. It never crossed his mind that a man could act so dishonorably as to make a young lady feel like that.

The reasons behind such behavior seemed dark…

too dark to fathom, although he knew that there was malice in the world.

Sometimes, it wore familiar masks in an effort to disguise its evil intentions.

But Cordelia pressed on, the words spilling faster now.

“I told him no. Of course, I told him no as politely as I could because that’s what women do, isn’t it?

We smile and flutter and pretend to find sudden interest in potted plants to avoid being difficult.

And I did try to get away. I even curtsied, which felt wildly inappropriate under the circumstances.

But then he grabbed my wrist and said something vile about my inheritance and how we could cut out the legalities entirely if I would only be sensible. ”

At this, she drew a deep, shaky breath.

“My father trusted him,” she said, much more softly.

“When he died, Lord Vernon was named my guardian until I reached the age of seven-and-twenty. My mother had already passed, and I was told I should be grateful that he had been a friend of the family, that he was doing his duty. I had no reason to doubt him… until tonight.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then, with terrifying calm, he asked, “And he chased you into the library?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I ran. There was a bust. There was shouting. I think I knocked over a tray of biscuits which may have hit a potted fern. And then, I found the poker. And then it found his head.”

“So, you were defending yourself.”

Cordelia looked up at him, and he was unsure what she expected to find on his face: disgust, suspicion, horror. He had to admit that he felt none of it. All he could feel was a growing fury, low and quiet and simmering just beneath the surface of his ever-present smirk.

“Yes,” she said softly. “But even so. If he had died, if he had broken something, if someone had walked in before you, it would have been my word against his. And his word comes with a title and a seat in the Lords and a rather fashionable coat whereas I have only my wit and an ill-timed swing.”

He didn’t say anything to that because he knew that she was telling the truth now about everything.

Cordelia clasped her hands behind her back. “I am not proud of what I did.”

“You should be,” he said coldly.

She blinked.

His amber eyes met hers. “If I had walked in five minutes later, what would have happened?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. He swore under his breath and paced to the hearth. After what seemed like an entire eternity to him, he finally faced her again.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?” she echoed.

“If you are to stay here for the duration of your absurd plan to reach your inheritance without the world devouring you whole, then you will agree to my conditions.”

She blinked. “You have conditions ?”

“Three.” He paused then continued, holding up a single finger for every condition.

“One, you will leave when the month is over. Two, you are not, under any circumstances, to enter the forest beyond the southern edge of the estate. It is steep and overgrown, and if you become lost, I will not go after you.”

Her brow furrowed slightly at that, but she nodded. “Fine. No forest.”

“And three,” he said more quietly, “what happened in the library is not to happen again.”

She blinked. “The… poker?”

He stared at her.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “The other bit.”

He said nothing.

Cordelia cleared her throat. “Of course. Yes… I mean, obviously.”

“Good.”

There was a pause then quite unexpectedly, she crossed the room and threw her arms around him, making him freeze. Her arms were small but fiercely determined. Her cheek pressed briefly against the front of his coat. She was warm and faintly smelled of lavender and misplaced courage.

“Thank you,” she said, all cheer and bright eyes. “You won’t regret this!”

“I already do.”

She grinned, all cheek and mischief. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I plan to follow every rule you’ve set. Precisely .”

Mason narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t sound comforting.”

“Doesn’t it?” she replied sweetly, and before he could speak again, she turned on her heel and skipped out after the Dowager, humming some half-forgotten tune that no doubt contained the spirit of future trouble.

He had meant every word. No kissing. No dramatics. No interference.

And yet, as her voice rang faintly down the corridor and disappeared from earshot, he could not help but wonder what it might take to get her to break that third rule.

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