Page 35 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“… a nd so Rosamond was quite determined that the jar would look marvelous on the mantelpiece,” Cecilia said the moment Valentine got to the door of Abigail’s room.

“Can I join you both?” he asked.

Somehow, despite the tidy stack of correspondence demanding his attention, Valentine had found himself wholly incapable of focusing on anything in his study. He had sat there for hours, his pen in hand, seal untouched, the scent of ink sharp in the air, and achieved nothing.

It wasn’t that the work was difficult. It just felt…irrelevant.

The only thing tugging at his mind, stubbornly and insistently, was the vague, irrational desire to stop being alone in that cavernous room. A room in which he would typically find solace. He wanted, not needed, not exactly, but wanted to be with Cecilia and Abigail.

It was strange. Very strange. He had spent years mastering solitude. Now it felt a little like penance.

So when the sun dipped low and he could, with clear conscience, rise from his desk and call the day complete, he didn’t pause to reflect. He simply stood, rolled his shoulders once, and went in search of them.

He found them upstairs, in Abigail’s room with the door slightly ajar and the murmur of Cecilia’s voice drifting out of it...a sound that had put an instant smile on his face. Valentine had lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping in.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Cecilia answered him.

Abigail was nestled in bed. Her hair was already beginning to frizz from the pillows. Cecilia sat beside her, holding a small leather-bound book open on her lap.

Valentine moved quietly, lowering himself onto the bed at Abigail’s other side, careful not to shift the mattress too abruptly. She stirred only a little and offered him a faint, tired smile before turning back to the book.

“…Rosamond lifted the jar in triumph, only to find, once home, that the beautiful purple hue had been nothing more than colored liquid inside plain glass,” she read softly, her voice a gentle cadence. “Her shoes, as you may recall, had worn through entirely by the end of the week.”

Valentine tilted his head to the side, recognizing the book. “That’s The Parent’s Assistant, isn’t it?” he asked very softly.

Cecilia glanced over at him in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He gave a half-smile as he nodded. “I had a governess who was terribly fond of moral literature. My brother and I were subjected to Lazy Lawrence and Simple Susan every Tuesday before Latin.”

“I read it too,” she replied. “Or rather. it was read to me by my mama.”

Valentine glanced down at Abigail, whose small mouth had parted slightly in sleep, then looked back to Cecilia with a faint smile.

“Was she strict? Your mother?”

Cecilia shook her head, brushing a soft curl from Abigail’s brow. “Not at all. She liked to read to us. She used to say that a good story should tuck a child in, not frighten and keep me up all night.”

He made a quiet sound, almost a hum. “My governess used it as a threat. ‘Lazy Lawrence will come for you if you dawdle over your bread.’ I used to eat like a soldier under fire.”

Cecilia suppressed a laugh. “That explains so much.” She turned to him curiously. “So, what did you think about The Parent’s Assistant? About Rosamond and her jar?”

Valentine folded his arms, watching the soft rise and fall of Abigail’s breathing. “She made her choice, and she had to live with it. That’s how children learn.”

Cecilia gave a quiet little sigh, brushing a stray curl from Abigail’s brow. “So her curiosity is punished by ruined footwear. Seems a bit draconian.”

“She was foolish.”

“She was curious.”

“She was warned,” he countered.

“She was enchanted.”

Valentine turned to her fully now, careful not to disturb the sleeping child nestled between them. “Let me guess, you think she should have been given a second chance?”

“No,” she said evenly. “I think her mama should never have offered the choice to begin with. A child that age doesn’t understand consequences.”

He arched a brow. “So are you saying that we make their choices for them forever?”

“We guide them. Until they can be trusted not to throw away a necessity for the sake of colored water,” she argued.

“I understand why the lesson is important, that’s why I’m reading it to Abigail, but I think it was rather extreme considering how children think.

It was to be expected that she’d choose something so beautiful. ”

“I understand that, and it cost her the shoes she desperately needed.”

“She had no way of knowing the jar wasn’t what it seemed.”

“She had her mother’s counsel.”

Cecilia smiled faintly. “So you would’ve followed it, I suppose? At the age of five?”

“Of course. That’s the point.”

She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “That explains a great deal.”

Valentine narrowed his eyes. “Such as?”

She didn’t look at him right away, which upset him slightly until she did, and the look she gave him was so maddening in its sweetness.

“Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “You do have that stern, sensible air about you. All structure and restraint and correct decisions.”

He blinked. “You make that sound unappealing.”

She shrugged, lips twitching. “Oh no. It’s very appealing.”

Valentine’s breath caught, very slightly.

“Commanding,” she added, softer now, as if mulling it over aloud. “A bit exasperating, perhaps. But that’s half the fun.”

He folded his arms. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m a mirror of discipline, and you find that entertaining?”

Her smile curved wider. “Well, someone has to be the dependable one. If we both chased after purple jars, we’d be completely ruined.”

Valentine scoffed under his breath, but there was no real heat behind it. She was doing it again, twisting sense into sweetness, tugging at the edges of his logic with her impossible charm. His smile waned as their eyes looked for far too long.

He could see her features soften too, her eyes steady on his. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him that way...like she saw past everything he tried to put up. Like she saw past his facade. Because that was all it was. An act he put up to push people away.

He hadn’t meant to lean in. But somehow, he had. So did she.

It was quiet, unbearably so. Abigail lay nestled between them, her breath soft and even. A little fist curled near her cheek. But Valentine barely noticed her now. His attention had shifted, drawn entirely to Cecilia’s presence on the other side.

Her eyes on him stirred something beneath his ribs.

That silent, certain look undid him more than a thousand words ever could.

His breath slowed, weighted by something he was certain that if he dwelled on, would steal all his composure.

When her gaze flicked down, just once, to his mouth, the air seemed to thin around them.

He hadn’t meant to move, but he did. The shift was subtle, instinctive. He leaned slightly, eyes searching hers, not with hesitation exactly, but with caution. She didn’t retreat. She leaned too, like it was the most natural thing in the world to meet him in the middle.

His eyes dropped to her lips. He remembered, too clearly, the warmth of her the night before.

The weight of her against him under the covers, the steady breath against his chest, the way her fingers had curled against his side as though she had been holding him in place so he did not escape.

For the first time in what felt like years, he had slept without waking in a cold sweat, without dread curling under his skin.

They were only a breath apart now. He could feel the warmth of her…

could smell the faintest trace of rose water from her skin.

He could feel her breath mingling with his, and could already imagine the taste of her.

But just before that final inch, before the space between them vanished completely, he stopped.

“Not here,” he murmured. “We’ll wake Abigail.”

Cecilia lingered, her lips still parted, her gaze steady. She didn’t move back at once. Valentine remained still for a moment longer, trying to slow the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

When Cecilia finally pulled away, she let out a soft sigh as she looked down at her fingers. “Would it be terribly forward of me to ask if you might want to spend the night together again?” she asked, catching him off guard.

Valentine didn’t speak.

She gave a quiet laugh, then glanced at him. “I mean, only if you weren’t planning to work anymore tonight. It’s just…I rather liked it. The cuddling. I slept well.”

He studied her for a moment but couldn’t resist smiling too. “All right,” he said quietly, nodding.

Quietly, they slipped out of bed. Cecilia leaned over to straighten the coverlet, tucking it more securely around Abigail’s small frame, while Valentine adjusted the corner she had kicked loose in her sleep. Abigail barely stirred, seemingly deep in sleep.

When they stepped out together and gently pulled the door closed behind them, they walked quietly to the east wing of the manor, to Cecilia’s room. As much as Valentine wanted to take her hand because it felt right in that moment, he didn’t.

Cecilia’s room was warm and faintly perfumed with lavender.

She opened the door and stepped inside first, her hand trailing lightly along the edge of the doorframe.

Valentine followed a moment later, quieter now, as though crossing some invisible threshold.

She turned and gently closed the door behind them, then turned towards the bed almost immediately.

They reached the bed together, and when she climbed in, he followed, curling one arm around her waist as she pressed her back against him. She sighed, one hand reaching down to lightly rest over his. Valentine exhaled slowly, closing his eyes.