Page 25 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

“I still don’t understand why anyone didn’t give her another shoe, Cecilia. I would have given her another shoe,” Abigail asked, her small voice muffled against the sleeve of Cecilia’s nightdress.

Cecilia shook her head and giggled. “The shoes aren’t the most important aspect of the book, Abigail. Margery had to earn them,” she replied, glancing down at the open book between them. “Not because she wasn’t worthy before, but because life often makes us wait for good things.”

Abigail frowned, clearly unimpressed. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“No,” Cecilia said with a soft smile. “It isn’t always. But Margery didn’t stop being kind, even when things were unfair. She helped people, she worked hard, and she never let the unkindness of others change her.”

Abigail turned fully to look up at her. “Is that why she got two shoes in the end?”

“Yes, love. That’s why. When you show good behavior, there is always a reward. Goodness has a way of finding its way back to us…eventually.”

Cecilia smoothed the edge of the book. The rhythm of reading to Abigail had become oddly comforting, but tonight felt different. Abigail had listened so attentively, as though the story had spoken to something deep within her.

Cecilia found herself strangely moved.

It had been years since she had read the tale herself, and longer still since she’d believed in the promise that virtue would be rewarded simply because it deserved to be.

But tonight, with Abigail tucked against her side, asking questions that seemed oddly mature for a six-year-old, she found she wanted to believe it again.

Perhaps goodness did return. Eventually.

Abigail had gone quiet again, her small fingers now playing with the edge of the bedsheet.

Cecilia watched her for a moment. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

Abigail looked up. “What if someone is good but people still don’t like them?”

A frown instantly knotted Cecilia’s eyebrow.

She stopped to think, noting that the question felt a bit too difficult to answer.

“Sometimes people speak unkindly because they don’t understand others the way they should be understood.

But if someone is truly good, really good in their heart, that goodness has a way of shining through, no matter what others say. ”

“But what if it doesn’t?” Abigail asked. “What if it just stays hidden?”

Cecilia hesitated, then leaned closer. “It still matters,” she said softly.

“Even if no one claps or talks about it, or says 'thank you,' it still means something to be kind to people. I want you to be kind, Abigail, no matter what. Don’t let other people turn you into someone that you cannot be proud of. That’s why I wanted you to have this book that you learn that no matter what, you should be kind to yourself, and to other people. Because that is who you are. Are you kind, Abigail?”

Abigail giggled softly. “Yes.”

Cecilia arched a brow, pretending to study her face with deep suspicion. “Are you quite certain? Because I seem to remember a certain little girl pushing me into the bushes the very first day we met.”

Abigail let out a squeaky laugh and pulled the covers up to her nose. “I am sorry about that,” she mumbled. “That was because I didn’t like you yet. But I like you now.”

Cecilia raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “Ah, so does that makes it perfectly acceptable to do so?”

Abigail shook her head against the pillow. “No… it doesn’t.”

“Why do you think so?”

Abigail squirmed under the covers. “Well, because…even if someone’s not nice or if I don’t like them yet, it’s still not nice to push them.”

“That is a very good answer, Abigail,” Cecilia said with a bright smile on her face. “Good job. Now, enough lessons. Go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Abigail yawned and nodded, eyes already half-closed. “Goodnight, Goody Cecilia.”

With a quiet laugh, Cecilia rose and crossed to the door. She glanced back one last time, her heart inexplicably full at the sight of Abigail curled into sleep. Then, without another sound, she slipped from the room, closing the door gently behind her.

“If you constantly feed Abigail with the notion that kindness solves every problem, she’ll grow up utterly unprepared for the world she’s meant to inherit, you know.”

Cecilia gasped and whirled around, her hand flying to her chest. Valentine stood just beyond the reach of the lamplight, leaning against the wall as though he had been there for some time.

“I – good heavens, you startled me,” she managed, her voice breathless, heart thudding.

Valentine pushed away from the wall with an almost lazy grace, stepping into the glow of the corridor sconce. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze never left hers.

“My apologies,” he said coolly. “I didn’t realize I’d become something to be feared and also avoided like a plague.”

Cecilia straightened, instinctively smoothing the folds of her night robe. “You are not...” She hesitated, aware of how very poorly her day of avoidance now reflected on her. “I simply wasn’t expecting you, Your Grace.”

“No,” he said mildly. “You’ve made a rather dedicated effort to ensure that.”

Her cheeks flushed as she looked away. “I thought you were unwell.”

He stepped a little closer, folding his arms, with the corner of his mouth twitching. “Hm, and is the usual response to such a discovery to vanish entirely from the person in question?”

Cecilia’s spine stiffened. “I did not vanish.”

“You most certainly did.” He said with a faint smile on his face that confused her.

“Breakfast? Missed. Luncheon? Fled. The east corridor? Avoided with military precision. I did not see you cross those hallways once today. At one point, I passed your maid carrying your lunch to the conservatory. The conservatory, Duchess. You ate in the conservatory.”

She glanced at him then, flustered. “I...” She was able to come up with another excuse, but stopped herself, noting that it was no use. “It’s all a misunderstanding, Your Grace. I assure you. Last night, I did not–”

“I know.”

The simplicity and directness of the words made her pause. She looked up at him, startled, only to find his expression unusually open, absent of all the cool detachment he usually wore like armor.

“I remember,” he said, his voice low. “Not everything, mind you. But enough. I remember that I reached for your hand. I remember drawing you down beside me. I must’ve still been half-asleep because I can’t even say why I did it. Only that I did.”

Cecilia didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure she could. It was odd seeing Valentine admit something.

He shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair, eyes dropping for a moment. “I’ve been looking for you all day. Not to confront you, but because I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

His statement made her blink.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he continued. “It was never intentional. I realize it must have been odd. If I made you uncomfortable, I apologize. Truly.”

For a moment, there was only the hush of the hallway between them. Then, without even thinking about her response, Cecilia let out a breath of soft laughter.

“You’re apologizing?”

Valentine arched his eyebrows. “Why do you seem so shocked by that?”

A smile curled at her lips. “It’s extremely shocking, Your Grace. I wasn’t expecting it. The only reason that I have been avoiding you all day is because I thought you would find a way to blame me for finding me in your bed. You don’t strike me as the sort of man who ever apologizes.”

“What kind of man do you think I am, Duchess?”

“A man who refuses to call me by my name,” Cecilia said before she could stop herself. “Except when he is overcome by illness and muttering in his sleep.”

Valentine’s shoulders stilled, the shift in his breathing barely perceptible, but she noticed it. He said nothing, not yet.

She didn’t look away. “You always called Lucy by her name. Every time you speak of her, you use it plainly and easily. But me? Never.”

She took a breath and stepped forward, her hands folding before her, composed.

“You always speak of my cousin Lucy as though you knew her intimately. You called her by her name without hesitation. It slips off your tongue with familiarity and ease. But me?” Her smile was faint, not amused, not bitter, only bewildered.

“You have not once said Cecilia to me. Not while you were awake.”

She paused. “Why is that?”

For a moment, it was as though the house itself held its breath.

Valentine’s eyes remained fixed on hers, unreadable.

Then, slowly...maddeningly, they dipped.

Lower. To her mouth. The weight of his gaze sent a spark down her spine, quick and sharp like the flick of a match.

His eyes stayed on her lips, a little longer than necessary, almost as if he were contemplating something.

She stepped back without thinking. It was the smallest retreat. No more than a few inches, but it was enough. She saw the flicker in his eyes as he noticed. Then, just as carefully, his gaze rose again to meet hers.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Perhaps because I do not feel we are close enough for such familiarity.”

Cecilia blinked. Her chest tightened, though she held herself still.

“I am your wife.”

“Yes,” he said. “But still.”

Cecilia drew in a slow breath, hoping it would temper the burn rising behind her ribs. She had known, hadn’t she? Their union had never promised tenderness. It had not begun in affection or even true acquaintance. She was the answer to a scandal. The solution to his inconvenience.

But something about the entire situation caught like a splinter beneath her skin.

“I see,” she said softly.

But she didn’t see, not truly because she didn’t understand why the mere sound of her name, unspoken, seemed to carve a canyon between them.

Then she sighed, gathering her skirts, every inch of her determined to leave with what remained of her dignity. But she had taken no more than two steps past him when his hand caught her arm. Not harshly. Not to restrain. But enough to stop her.

His touch was warm, far too warm and instant. It startled her. Not because he held her back, but because of the rush of sensation it brought with it, fast and unwelcome. Her breath faltered, and she wondered if he would see how much of an effect his touch had on her in that moment.

He did not release her.

Instead, she felt the gentle pressure of his fingers closing around her arm...tentative, careful. The kind of touch one might give to a fragile thing. She turned to look at him, slowly, standing by her side, uncertain whether it was defiance or hope that pulled her gaze back to his.

Valentine turned his head to her too, his eyes searching hers.

“Did I upset you?”

Cecilia stared at him, unable to pull her hand away, though every nerve in her fingers felt aflame beneath his. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Perhaps.”

Her eyes dropped to where he held her hand, and she felt, quite absurdly, that if he let go now, she might come undone. They were standing too close. She could feel the shape of his fingers through the fine muslin of her sleeve, the warmth of his palm seeping into her skin.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, peering into her eyes.

“I am not,” she whispered, though the words felt unconvincing even to her own ears.

His gaze searched hers. “You are. Do I scare you?”

Before she could gather a reply, before she could summon any words at all, he released her.

The warmth of his hand vanished from her arm, leaving the fabric cool where his touch had been. He stepped back, putting just enough space between them to restore propriety but not quite enough to steady the thunder in her chest.

Cecilia drew in a breath that tasted hollow.

She wanted to tell him that he was mistaken.

That she hadn’t trembled out of fear. That it wasn’t alarm that had crept into her limbs but the echo of something far more treacherous.

That his nearness had undone her in a way she could not explain.

That she had never trembled until he stood close enough to matter.

But she said none of it. Her throat tightened around the words before they could rise.

Valentine’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer, and then, with a faint dip of his head, he cleared his throat. “Goodnight, Duchess,” he said.

Cecilia stood still for half a heartbeat, watching the line of his back retreat into the shadows of the corridor. But something in her refused to let the moment end there.

“Your Grace,” she called softly.

He halted.

She took a breath, heart fluttering against her ribs. “I wasn’t uncomfortable that night.” She swallowed. “It wasn’t unwanted. It was, perhaps, the most at ease I’ve felt since I arrived in Ashbourne.”

Still, he said nothing. He didn’t even look back. She stood there as the words hanging between them, waiting for a response that never came. Then, slowly, he resumed walking. His footsteps faded down the corridor until they were swallowed entirely by silence.

Cecilia remained where she was, her chest tightening. She pressed her fingers lightly to her temple, exhaled, and whispered to herself. “Well done, Cecilia.”

She turned, meaning to head to her chamber, only to pause again. “Oh no,” she murmured aloud, realizing what she’d forgotten. Her brows knit in frustration as she glanced over her shoulder, though the hallway was long since empty. “I never thanked him for the book.”

A sigh escaped her as she continued walking. It was an understatement to say that her relationship with Valentine was too complicated to understand.