Page 27 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

“I might regret telling you this,” Cecilia said, breaking the awkward silence between them. “I once tried to trap my sister’s husband into a scandal.”

His brows rose, and he inhaled sharply to steady himself. “Did you now? Emma, your sister?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I was young and quite desperate to rescue my family from complete financial ruin. But I couldn’t do it back then. Emma saved me. In fact, the only reason they met was because of me. Emma caught me trying and failing to seduce His Grace in the garden that day.”

“What have you not done for your family?” Valentine asked. His tone had a hint of amusement to it, but he was serious.

Cecilia’s smile faltered just slightly. “Well, I like to think that anyone in my shoes then would have done the same thing.”

A pause passed between them. Then he nodded slowly. “Well, technically, you did succeed in the long run. You managed to trap another duke.”

Her eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard. “Have I?” she asked, amused

“Certainly,” he said, affecting a serious nod. “Heaven only knows how far you would have gone if I had let you undress completely that day.”

Cecilia giggled loudly. “This is what I get for confiding in you.”

“Oh, that was a terrible miscalculation on your part,” he said gravely, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You should never confess your wicked schemes to a man who is not afraid to leverage every trick in his book to get what he wants.”

Cecilia gave him a look of mock horror and then scoffed. “I think it’d be best if you slept with one eye open from now on, Your Grace.”

Valentine couldn’t help but laugh, so unrestrained that it surprised him. “What could you possibly be planning to do to me in my sleep?”

“You never know,” she answered. “Perhaps I’ll sneak into your chamber and rearrange all your ledgers by color. Or worse, I’ll leave a trail of scandalous French novels beneath your pillow.”

Valentine’s hand on her back instinctively tightened. “You wound me.”

“Oh, not yet. I’m saving that for next week.”

He chuckled again, less sharply this time. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly with a crooked grin. “You’re in rare form tonight.”

“I think the waltz is to blame, Your Grace,” she replied airily. “It brings out all my worst instincts.”

“Then perhaps I should keep you off the dance floor entirely.”

“But then how would I continue seducing you, Your Grace?”

“Oh, please. You couldn’t possibly seduce me,” he said, lifting a brow, his tone smooth with practiced disbelief. But the moment the words left his lips, a strange thought flickered. He wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but he brushed it aside.

“If you continue with these tactics,” he added breezily, “I’d say you’re more likely to frighten me into submission.”

Cecilia let out a laugh. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

“Do, if you must,” he replied, smirking. “But I warn you, I’m not easily undone.”

She gave him a look that tickled something inside him. “We’ll see, Your Grace.”

Valentine’s gaze lingered on her face longer than necessary, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the slight curve of her lips, the light still dancing in her eyes.

It struck him, quietly, how oddly at ease he felt beside her now.

It wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had thought it would be to be close to her. To even try to get along with her.

Not because they had shared something profound. But because, for the first time it hadn’t felt like he was duty-bound.

“I don’t like that it bothers you,” he said at last, voice quieter now. “The rumors, I mean.”

Cecilia looked up at him, uncertain.

“I know I told you not to care,” he went on. “But I realize that was dismissive. If this dance does anything at all, I hope it’s enough to still their tongues. Or at least redirect them.” He hesitated. “If they see us together, perhaps they’ll stop speaking about you and your family.”

Cecilia looked up at him with that maddening expression she wore whenever she was trying to decide whether to trust him or scold him. He never knew what to expect.

Before she could answer, he added with a small, crooked smile, “Also, I might have misjudged you a bit. I’m sorry if I gave you a hard time. You clearly are a good influence on Abigail, and it’s comforting to see her warm up to someone else. So...thank you, Goody Cecilia.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and then she laughed, a soft, surprised sound that pulled something tight in his chest. “Oh! That reminds me,” she said, voice brightening as though the thought had just returned to her. “The book. I meant to thank you.”

Valentine blinked. “Did you?”

“Yes. It was,” She paused, biting her lip as if embarrassed. “It was very thoughtful. Abigail loved it. We read it together. I know you didn’t want to read her the book, but I am glad that you trusted my judgment on it and got it. Thank you.”

He said nothing at first. The word settled somewhere unfamiliar inside him. “I’m glad,” he said, perhaps more quietly than intended.

For a moment, they just danced. Her hand was warm in his, her gaze steady when it met his.

Valentine didn’t believe in comfort. He had spent too long keeping the world at a measured distance to want it.

But there, in the tranquillity of the ballroom, and the hush between notes, with Cecilia smiling up at him, he began to wonder. ..

Would it be so terrible to let his guard down? Just a little. Would it be so dangerous to let her close?

It would certainly make the house feel far less lonely.

Don’t touch her, Valentine. It would not be wise to do so.

But the warning rang hollow in Valentine’s mind as he sat at the edge of the bed, watching the two figures curled up together beneath the covers. Abigail was tangled in sleep, and Cecilia was asleep and breathing softly beside her.

He had gone to Abigail’s room first, hoping to wake her up that morning, but to his surprise, she had not spent the night in her own bed. It had been Miss Flaxman who had informed him that Abigail had spent the night in Cecilia’s room.

They looked impossibly peaceful, and all Valentine wanted to do in that moment was caress Cecilia’s face.

Abigail’s hand was clutched in the fabric of Cecilia’s nightdress, her dark curls resting against Cecilia’s arm.

Cecilia, on the other hand, looked so natural there beside Abigail on the bed that it unmoored him.

His fingers hovered for a beat longer than necessary before he reached forward, gently brushing the backs of his knuckles against Cecilia’s cheek.

Her skin was soft, impossibly so, and warm from sleep.

The caress was featherlight, barely there.

But it was the first time he’d touched her like that. Touched her face.

“Cecilia,” he murmured, his voice a low hush meant not to startle.

Her lashes fluttered. She shifted slightly.

“Cecilia, it’s morning,” he whispered. “How late did both of you stay up last night?”

As he began to withdraw his hand, she stirred.

Her fingers still reached up slowly, brushing along his wrist before curling gently around his hand.

It wasn’t a conscious grasp, not at first, more like instinct.

A quiet, vulnerable response to the touch that had woken her.

But it was enough to stop him. Enough to root him where he sat.

Then, as if time caught up all at once, her eyes opened.

For a breathless moment, she didn’t say a word. Neither did he.

They simply stared at each other, her hand still holding on to his against her cheek, his body frozen in a posture he hadn’t meant to hold. She looked like she wasn’t certain if she was dreaming, and he felt like perhaps he’d stepped into one.

Valentine’s throat tightened.

What in God’s name am I doing?

He hadn’t thought this through. Hadn’t planned to wake her with his hand like a man who had the right. Hadn’t expected the ache that stirred at the sight of her curled up next to Abigail like that. Now, there he was, caught in this still, aching moment, while her fingers remained closed over his.

She blinked slowly. Her gaze dipped from his eyes to his mouth, then back again, and something in his chest stuttered. He wasn’t supposed to touch her. That had been the rule, the line he’d drawn for himself the moment they married. No affection. No closeness. No risk.

He didn’t understand himself anymore. Not these days. Not when he was beginning to forget why he’d built all those walls. Cecilia was starting to do something to him, and he was afraid they were moving so fast that he couldn’t pause to assess anything.

Cecilia parted her lips, as if to speak, but the words never came. A soft sound interrupted the moment. Abigail stirred beside her, letting out a small, sleepy sigh as she rolled over and blinked groggily up at them.

Valentine’s composure snapped back in an instant. He gently eased his hand from Cecilia’s grasp, though her fingers lingered, reluctant to let go, as he rose swiftly to his feet just as Abigail reached out for him with a grin.

“Papa,” she said, still half-dreaming, holding her arms up to him.

He scooped her into his arms, grateful for the sudden distraction, for something to tether him back to solid ground. Her small arms wrapped around his neck, and he held her close, pressing a kiss to her hair as he turned back to Cecilia.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” Cecilia greeted him with a smile. She was sitting upright now, her hands in her lap.

“Good morning, Cecilia,” he responded. “I’ll take Abigail to her room so she can dress for the day. You may take your time. Come down when you’re ready. Breakfast will be waiting.”

With that, he was gone, carrying Abigail out the door.

Valentine took Abigail down the hall, her head resting on his shoulder, and her soft curls tickling his jaw.

She was murmuring something unintelligible about ribbons still halfway in a dream, and the sheer innocence of it cooled the heat that lingered in his veins.