Page 33 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“ C ecilia, are you sure you are all right?”

The dining room was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that settled in the corners and clung to the silverware, even as the footmen moved discreetly between them.

Valentine sat at the head of the table, his gaze fixed on Cecilia, who sat to his right with her hands folded neatly in her lap and her eyes fixed on a plate she barely touched.

Abigail, seated on Cecilia’s other side, had noticed too. The little girl kept glancing up at her with knitted brows and a slight frown, chewing slowly as though uncertain of what had changed.

He had known the moment she stepped down from the carriage that something was wrong. She had greeted them politely, smiled even, but it had not touched her eyes. It was as if she had returned bearing the same name, the same lovely face, but some essential part of her had been dulled.

She blinked as if startled out of her thoughts. Then, with a slow inhale, she lifted her head to meet his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, giving him a faint smile. “Just a bit tired from the ride, Your Grace.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” Abigail asked. “Sleeping might help.”

“It might.” Cecilia smiled at her. “Thank you, my love. I’m sorry I’m no fun tonight.”

“You look sad,” the girl said plainly. “What happened?”

“Abigail,” Valentine warned gently, but Cecilia shook her head.

“No, it’s all right,” she said, reaching to softly pinch Abigail’s chin. “I suppose I’m just feeling a bit nostalgic.”

Whatever happened to Cecilia at her aunt’s house had hollowed her out. It was in the way her shoulders curved inward more than usual, in how she hadn’t once corrected Abigail’s posture on the table, and in how she wouldn’t meet his eyes for longer than a heartbeat.

Valentine sat back in his chair, feeling utterly annoyed. He should never have let her go. He had thought she could handle it. Handle herself. But that wasn’t the case. He hated seeing her like this. Hated more that he had stood aside and allowed it.

He leaned slightly to the side and caught the eye of Miss Flaxman, who was lingering just inside the doorway. “Miss Flaxman,” he said. “Would you be so kind as to take Abigail up and help her prepare for bed?”

The older woman gave a slight curtsy. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Abigail opened her mouth to protest, but Cecilia leaned over and whispered something in her ear that made her nod solemnly and rise without a fuss. She hugged Cecilia tightly before slipping her little hand into Miss Flaxman’s, and in another few seconds, the room fell quiet again.

It was just the two of them now.

Valentine remained still for a beat. “What happened at your aunt’s house, Cecilia?” he asked finally.

She looked up at him, startled. Her lips parted as though she meant to say something, but then she closed them again. Her shoulders drew inward, and that elegant spine of hers, usually held so straight, seemed to bow ever so slightly.

“I…” Her voice faltered. “I’d rather not talk about it. Not tonight.”

He exhaled slowly. “Cecilia–”

“Please,” she whispered, and the way her eyes dropped to the table, so full of weariness and sorrow, twisted something in his chest. “Can we—can we talk about it in the morning? I just want to be alone right now.”

He didn’t like it. Every instinct in him wanted to push, to draw her out, to chase the shadows away if he could. But she looked so tired. Not just from the journey, but from trying to hold herself together.

He hesitated. Then, finally, he gave a slow nod. “All right. In the morning, then.”

She stood, nodded once in thanks, and walked away with quiet steps. Valentine remained at the table long after she had gone, staring at the empty spot she had left behind and wondering what exactly her aunt had done to bring that look back into Cecilia’s eyes.

He remained seated for several minutes, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. The fire crackled in the grate. The room was quiet. Too quiet.

But Cecilia’s silence lingered louder than anything else in that moment, more deafening than any cry could’ve been. Although he had agreed to give her space. But now he regretted it. For some reason, it did not feel right to leave her alone.

Before he could second-guess himself, Valentine rose from his chair. Each step up the stairs was brisk. He paused only once, outside her door, with his knuckles raised to knock.

He hesitated. Then he knocked.

There was a shuffle, the soft pad of her slippers. The door cracked open slowly. Cecilia stood there, in her nightdress, her eyes wide and surprised.

“I know you asked to be alone,” Valentine said quietly. “I tried to respect that. I truly did.”

He exhaled and took a step forward.

“But the longer I sat downstairs, the more wrong it felt. The more I thought about it, the more I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, not with the look you have on your face right now, Cecilia.

The truth is…” His gaze dropped to the floor for half a second before lifting to hers again.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone tonight.

I don’t like it. I don’t like the thought of you hurting behind a closed door while I just.. .wait.”

Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came.

“I think I should be with you,” he said. “If you'll let me.”

Cecilia looked down first, her lashes veiling her expression as her fingers tightened around the edge of the door.

For a moment, Valentine thought she might refuse him, that she might retreat back into silence the way she had downstairs.

But then she looked up, and the light from the hallway caught the faint shimmer in her eyes.

“I’m finding it difficult,” she said softly, “to accept that my relationship with Lucy is gone forever.”

Valentine’s brow furrowed, his stance softening. “Why do you think that?”

She stepped back into the room and turned away from him, walking slowly toward the hearth. The door remained open behind him, like an unspoken invitation.

“I didn’t see her,” Cecilia said, stopping at the mantelpiece.

Her voice was steady, but the hurt clung to every word.

“Not once. In the two days I stayed at Aunt Marianne’s residence, she never came to me.

Not even to greet me, and I know she was there, Valentine. I know. Aunt Marianne lied to me.”

Valentine stepped in and quietly closed the door behind him.

Cecilia exhaled, one hand brushing over the mantelpiece.

“I know I went there for peace. I wanted to do the right thing. But deep down, I really wanted to see Lucy. That was a major reason I was so eager to go. It bothers me. I’ve tried to make it not bother me.

But it does. It bothers me a great deal that someone I love, someone I trust so much, cannot even look me in the face anymore. ”

Valentine stared at her for a long moment. He had never heard Cecilia sound so defeated before, so raw, and something about it gnawed at him in a way he didn’t like.

“I don’t understand Lucy,” he said slowly, stepping closer to her. “I thought she didn’t want to marry me. Why would she and her mother take it this far when clearly, Lucy was very uninterested in this match in the first place? She really wanted a love match.”

Valentine took a step closer to Cecilia and cupped her cheeks with his hands. “I am so sorry, Cecilia,” he said again, softer now, almost reverently, as though the apology carried more weight than she could possibly know.

His thumb moved gently over her skin, just beneath her eye, tracing the faint path where a tear might have fallen had she let it.

She didn’t pull away. Instead, she tilted slightly into his touch, her own hand rising slowly until it found the firm line of his waist. She let it rest there, fingers splayed over the fine fabric of his waistcoat.

The room seemed to still. The moment stretched between them before he finally leaned in.

The kiss, when it came, was subtle. But it unraveled him all the same.

His lips brushed over hers in a slow, thoughtful caress, as if he had missed what it felt like to kiss her.

His mouth parted hers gently, and he pulled her closer to him.

It wasn’t a kiss designed to possess her. It was one that asked permission.

And she gave it...

Cecilia sighed against him, just the faintest breath, as her hand slid a little higher, fingers curling gently at his side. Her heart fluttered wildly, but her body didn’t pull back.

If anything, she leaned into the quiet. Into the safety of his touch. Into the warmth of being seen and soothed without the burden of having to explain herself. Valentine’s presence in that moment felt like a balm she hadn’t known she needed until the ache in her chest slowly began to ease.

When he finally drew back, it was slow, almost reluctant. His breath mingled with hers, and though he didn’t move far, he murmured, “I should go. It’s not wise for me to stay.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, colder than the night air drifting in from the window.

She blinked up at him. “No,” she said quietly, surprising even herself. “Don’t.”

His brows lifted slightly.

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be alone,” she added, gentler this time, her fingers still resting at his side. “Not tonight. We could fall asleep together like the last time.”

“All right,” he whispered. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

She stepped back, just enough to lead him further into the room, and he followed without another word. The air between them pulsed with a fragile kind of intensity, and as she moved to sit at the edge of her bed, glancing back at him, Cecilia realized just how much she liked having him near her.

Once on the bed, Valentine held Cecilia close. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist, his hand splayed around her upper body, trying to anchor her, perhaps himself as well, and her chest was nestled against his chest.