Page 29 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“ O h, come on, Your Grace, it will be fun!”

Cecilia clasped her hands in front of her and leaned ever so slightly toward him, her eyes bright with determination. They stood in the library as Valentine busied himself by searching for ledgers in a corner of the room.

Valentine looked up from the book he had picked out, one brow lifting with weary skepticism. “A village fair?” he repeated, as though the phrase were entirely foreign to him.

“Yes!” she said, stepping closer. “One of your tenants mentioned it while I was walking with Abigail. There will be ribbons and games and gingerbread, and possibly even a goose race. Doesn’t that sound like a splendid way to spend the afternoon?”

“I have far more useful things to do with my time, Cecilia,” he said evenly.

“The estate accounts are due next week. There’s a shipment delayed at the docks.

I’ve received two letters from London requesting my presence.

I think I’ll concern myself with matters that… how shall I put it…actually matter?”

Cecilia gave an exaggerated sigh, stepping further into the room. “Do you even hear yourself, Your Grace? Honestly. You’re like a walking ledger.”

“I happen to like ledgers. They are orderly, consistent, and don’t require goose races.”

“Well, you sound exactly like a man who’s forgotten how to have fun.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, returning the ledger in his hand to the shelf. “I’ve simply chosen to rise above it.”

“That’s a very noble way of admitting you’re no fun at all.”

He looked up again, narrowing his eyes. “Is this how you plan to convince me? By insulting my character?”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

His lips twitched. Just barely. “Not in the way you think.”

She took another step forward, the glint in her eyes positively wicked.

“Your Grace, I know you’d rather drown yourself in estate ledgers and shipping records, but Abigail would adore it, and though I hesitate to say so aloud, so might you.

If you would simply allow yourself to enjoy something without needing to file a report about it afterward. ”

Valentine sighed. “Those fairs are usually damp, overcrowded, and full of children.”

“You say that like it’s a tragedy,” Cecilia replied.

“I don’t like crowded places, Cecilia,” he said and turned to her. Cecilia swallowed, somewhat intimidated by the attention from him.

“You’re terribly dramatic, Your Grace.”

“I am simply cautious,” he countered.

Their eyes met, and something about the corner of his mouth tugging just slightly upward made her stomach flutter. She looked away quickly, cheeks warming.

These days, Valentine wasn’t vexing her anymore. Not really. Not in the way he had in the early days of their marriage, when every word between them had felt like a duel. This was different. This was pleasant. Easy, even. It was strange how quickly that had changed.

She glanced at him again, pretending not to look. He had gone back to searching the shelves, concentrating too much on ransacking the place.

Cecilia’s heart lifted in a way she hadn’t expected as she watched him. She’d once thought it was only scandal that tied them together, that dreadful, awkward arrangement that brought her to his household, to his daughter, and to this strange, quiet man who couldn’t seem to warm up to her. But now…

Perhaps it wasn’t a scandal at all. Perhaps it was providence. Or fate, if she were brave enough to call it that. Perhaps...just perhaps, she didn’t mind the idea of being his wife anymore.

Cecilia followed behind Valentine when he began to walk, undeterred by his evasions. “You know, Your Grace, I’m beginning to suspect you simply don’t know how to enjoy yourself.”

Valentine said nothing, merely rounded the corner toward the library corridor.

“Besides,” she continued cheerfully. “Abigail has never been to a fair. Imagine how delighted she’ll be. We could buy her ribbons. Perhaps a sweetmeat or–”

She hadn’t realized he’d stopped so abruptly until she collided into his back with a soft thud.

The force of it startled her and sent her stumbling backward, tripping on the hem of her dress.

Everything else happened all at once after that.

He spun just in time to catch her, arms locking firmly around her waist as her hands instinctively flew to his chest.

But Valentine didn’t release her even when she had found her balance.

Instead, she found herself gently pinned between his body and the polished edge of a bookshelf.

Her breath caught as her back brushed the cool wood.

One of his hands remained at her waist, the other steadying her arm.

She could feel the strength in his grip, how it made her tense, not in fear, but in something far more electric. Something almost…breathless.

His eyes found hers and then dropped, unhurriedly, to her lips. She heard the breath leave him, heavy and slow, felt the warmth of it against her cheek. Her heart thundered.

She ought to move. Say something clever. Break the tension with one of her usual barbs. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her fingers curled slightly against his sleeve instead, grounding herself against the strange flutter that rose in her chest.

Still, he stared.

A part of her, a reckless, breathless part wondered what might happen if she tilted her face just slightly higher. If she simply rose to meet him. If he would...

Before she could act on her thoughts, Valentine stepped back just enough to sever the moment, even though the imprint of it lingered in the air between them.

“I suppose,” he said quietly, straightening his coat, “a visit to the fair might not be the worst idea.”

Cecilia blinked. For a moment, she couldn’t quite remember what they’d been discussing. Only that his touch had been warm, and that he had looked at her as though...

No .

Cecilia shook her head. Perhaps she had imagined it. Perhaps it was simply the closeness, the surprise. Perhaps she was the only one noticing this shift in their interactions.

But as he turned to walk ahead once more, she remained where she stood, hand still pressed faintly to her waist, recalling the night they had slept together on the same bed. Something had changed then, but she wasn’t entirely sure either of them had noticed just how much.

Later that morning, the household stirred with energy as preparations were made.

Cecilia stood before her looking glass, adjusting the pearls in her hair and smoothing the folds of her soft yellow gown.

Outside, the carriage was being readied, and somewhere down the corridor, she could hear Abigail chattering excitedly, her voice rising in bursts of joy as Miss Flaxman tried her best to keep her in her shoes long enough to brush her hair.

By the time they were seated in the carriage, Abigail was nearly bouncing in her seat.

Valentine, on the other hand, looked a bit too composed.

Cecilia glanced at him from across the coach, noting the way his gaze flicked once toward Abigail, then settled firmly out the window, and it made her wonder if their earlier interaction had unsettled him too much.

When they arrived at the fairgrounds, the scent of baked goods, trampled grass, and warm sugar filled the air. Abigail shot forward the moment the footman opened the carriage door, grabbing Miss Flaxman’s hand.

“Abigail, don’t run!” Cecilia called out to her with a sigh.

“I see marzipan, Cecilia!” she said over her shoulder before disappearing into the crowd with Miss Flaxman.

Cecilia laughed softly and stepped down beside Valentine, linking her hands in front of her. “You look as though you’re about to be marched to the gallows, Your Grace. If you did not want to come, then why did you agree?”

Valentine adjusted his cuffs and gave her a sidelong glance, as though the answer should have been obvious. “Because you nearly tackled me to the ground in the library. I feared what you might do next if I declined.”

She arched a brow, unconvinced. “I recall no such thing.”

“Convenient,” he muttered, eyeing the colorful chaos before them with a sort of cautious disdain. Children ran shrieking past, a juggler tossed flaming pins into the air, and somewhere nearby, a woman was singing a ballad in a voice far too loud for the tune.

He exhaled slowly. “This is an alarming amount of cheer.”

Cecilia tried – and failed – not to laugh. “You truly do not know how to have fun, do you?”

“I know how to have many things. Fun simply isn’t one of them.”

“Oh, how tragic,” she said stepping in front of him and walking backwards as they moved down the main path. “All these years in high society, and not a single soul has taught the Duke of Ashbourne how to enjoy himself.”

He gave her a dry look. “I find enjoyment in quiet. In order. In things that do not squeal or throw pie.”

Just then, a young boy dashed past them with a custard tart in each hand and a face full of sugar. Cecilia glanced after him, then grinned. “You’re in the wrong place, then.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

“I think your tenants will be happy to see you here, Your Grace,” she said with a soft smile.

Valentine arched a brow, clearly skeptical. “I highly doubt that.”

“I don’t,” she replied firmly, brushing a bit of dust from her skirts as they walked. “You may be the Duke of Ashbourne, but you are also their landlord. Their livelihoods depend on your decisions. Your presence here says more than any policy ever could.”

He didn’t respond at once, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. His expression was unreadable, but something in it had shifted, just slightly.