Page 6 of His Scandalous Duchess (Icy Dukes #4)

As the door closed behind Emma, Cecilia sat still for a moment, staring at the dying embers in the hearth, then slowly moved to the bed and lay back against the pillows.

She needed a plan.

Letting things run their course had never suited her. She had tried it once, closed her eyes, held her breath, and hoped the world would shape itself kindly around her. But life had no such tenderness. The world moved as it pleased, and if one did not steer, one was swept under.

She had almost been swept under before. Smiled when she was uncertain, nodded when she should have questioned, made herself agreeable when her instincts screamed otherwise, and for what? To be called good? To be left untouched by blame?

Never again.

If she were to have any say in what came next, she could not drift through it hoping for the best. She would need a strategy, a clear-eyed, steady-footed approach. Emotions had their place, but they would not lead this charge.

She must have a plan, and to begin, she had to speak to Valentine.

It’s now or never.

Later that night, when the house lay wrapped in stillness, the kind that only settles once every footstep, every whisper, every flicker of light has vanished into sleep, Cecilia quietly rose from the bed.

She had feigned drowsiness when Emma checked on her, staying in bed until the final creak of footsteps down the corridor had stilled. Now, hours later, it felt like the time was finally right.

She crossed the room swiftly, pausing only to draw her shawl around her shoulders before easing open the door.

Lying awake for hours had given her time to think through a strategy to convince the duke that marrying her was a terrible idea.

No matter how much she thought about it, her best option was to get the duke to change his mind.

When she reached Valentine’s door, she hesitated, her hand hovering just above the latch.

He might be asleep. He might be displeased.

But she needed him awake.

Deciding not to think too much, she pushed the door open and stepped inside before anyone saw her in the hallway.

The room was dim, lit only by a few candles and the faintest silver wash of moonlight filtering in through the windows.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw him, propped against the headboard with his arms crossed. Thankfully, he was very much awake.

Cecilia froze.

His dark eyes locked onto hers, unblinking. He didn’t speak, but the glare he threw in her direction made her falter mid-step. She cleared her throat and pulled her shawl tighter, going over the plan again in her head.

First step. Apologize.

“Need I remind you how highly inappropriate this is, Miss Lockhart?” he said to her and rose to his feet.

“Your Grace, first, I must apologize to you regarding the events of today,” she started by saying. “It must have been quite troubling.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stopping a good distance from her.

Cecilia opened her mouth, closed it again, then leaned forward, her hands twisting in the folds of her shawl.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” she muttered and started to pace.

“None of it. I didn’t go looking for this, you know.

I wasn’t creeping through corridors hoping to stumble into your chambers like some featherbrained girl from a scandal sheet. ”

She turned abruptly toward him, her hands gesturing wildly now. “Not that I’m saying it’s your fault. It’s not. Not really. You didn’t ask for this either. But does that matter? No. Because somehow, we are both in this together.”

“Together?” he asked and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, together.” Cecilia paused.

“Miss Lockhart, my patience is thinning,” he sighed. “Say what you came to say. No riddles. No dramatics. What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night?”

“We cannot get married,” she said outright. “It cannot happen.”

“Well, if you had just let me help you with the dress, you might have been properly clothed and well out of the room before Marianne arrived,” he said coolly.

Cecilia flushed. “It would have been highly inappropriate.”

Valentine arched a brow. “I wasn’t offering to ravish you, Miss Lockhart. I asked to touch the dress. That is a very different thing.”

“It is not a different thing when I am wearing the dress!” she snapped, then caught herself. She exhaled through her nose, visibly reigning in her temper. “Regardless, we’re here now, and it hardly matters how we arrived at this particular disaster. All that matters is fixing things.”

There was a beat of silence that ensued. Cecilia cleared her throat again and sighed. “Let us simply agree to disagree,” she said firmly. “Now, speaking of the disaster. Your Grace, surely there must be another way around this situation. We cannot get married. I do not consent.”

“You do not consent?”

“No, I do not.”

“But your father did.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she argued and took one too many steps forward. “Your Grace, you barely know me.”

“You are Miss Cecilia Lockhart,” he said evenly, as if listing facts on a page. “Daughter of Lord Howard Lockhart, the Viscount Lockhart. You are in your twenty-second year. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Not tall, not exactly short. Educated.”

Cecilia arched her brows and took a step back. “Well, that is entirely different from what I mean. I–”

“Do you know who I am?” he questioned.

“I’m sorry?” she questioned back.

Valentine’s gaze sharpened. He uncrossed his arms slowly before taking a step closer. “Who am I, Miss Lockhart?”

Cecilia’s breath caught, but she didn’t look away.

No. She couldn’t look away from him. It was almost as if it would be wrong to do so.

Like he commanded the very air between them.

The room felt smaller with him standing there, and her pulse thudded traitorously loud in her ears.

But still, she held his gaze, even as something in it unsettled her.

Not fear. No, not quite. It was something dangerously close to awe.

“You are…Your Grace,” she stuttered. “Valentine Price. The Duke of Ashbourne.”

He waited, silent, as if expecting her to say more.

But she gave him nothing.

“That is as much as I know,” she said.

Valentine’s gaze held hers. “Then it seems we know enough,” he said at last, his voice low, almost lazy. “More than many do before they are married.”

“No, Your Grace,” she argued, snapping out of whatever trance his gaze had held her captive in. “You have to marry Lucy. That was always the arrangement.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“She’s expecting it,” Cecilia went on, rushing now. “You know as well as I do, nothing happened between us. Nothing that should change what was decided.”

Valentine squinted his eyes. “Miss Lockhart, are you truly naive, or merely pretending not to understand?”

She blinked.

“You speak of Lucy as though she’ll be the one ruined,” he said flatly. “She will not. Even if word of what transpired gets out, she will remain unharmed. In fact, society might show her pity. You, on the other hand, will be ruined.”

Cecilia opened her mouth, but he cut her off, stepping closer.

“You,” he continued, “will be the one dragged into parlor gossip. You will be the one whose honor is picked apart over tea and sherry. You, Miss Lockhart, will bear the brunt of what happened tonight whether something happened or not.”

Cecilia looked up at him. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You don’t have it,” he said plainly. “What you have is my name caught in this farce, and I am not about to let it spiral into a scandal. If rumors begin to stir, they will not come for Lucy. They will not come for Lord Lockhart. They will come for me. For you, and I have no intention of watching my name—my title, dragged through the mud because you want to do what’s noble. ”

“What is wrong with being noble?” she questioned.

Valentine’s lips thinned into a line. He placed both hands behind him and tilted his chin up. “There is nothing wrong with nobility in principle, Miss Lockhart. But in practice? Nobility, when left unchecked by reason, becomes a luxury only the untouched can afford.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she answered quickly, not taking even a moment to try and understand him. From where she stood, he was simply a stubborn man, unyielding, immovable, and altogether determined to see reason only when it resembled his own.

Without warning, he stepped toward her. Cecilia’s breath caught, and her heart gave a ridiculous flutter as she instinctively stepped back.

She felt the press of the air between them shift, drawn tighter somehow.

His nearness did not touch her, yet it stirred something inside her that tightened her throat.

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” he said, almost in a whisper, taking another step forward. “You probably still believe that all things may be made right by good intentions. That honor is a sufficient shield.”

“And you do not?” she asked.

He met her gaze evenly but said nothing. Cecilia’s heart lurched as he took another step forward, his eyes never leaving hers. She stepped back again, compelled more by instinct than thought.

“What would you have me do?” Cecilia questioned him.

“You must understand that nothing needs to change. We can take that chance. You marry Lucy as planned, and whatever happens can be dealt with in the aftermath. I don’t care much about what the ton says about me.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve spoken about my family. ”

“You do not care. I cannot afford not to,” he continued, drawing closer still.

She swallowed, acutely aware of the space closing between them. But it was too late to do anything about it. Her back met the wall with a muted thud, and she froze in the spot with nowhere to go.

He stopped before her, so near she could see every detail of his face.

..the precise set of his jaw, the faint scar near his temple.

..the steady rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders, broad and solid, all but eclipsed the candlelight behind him.

His eyes looked green. She could not entirely be certain unless she saw him again during the day.

But there was something piercing about them.

Something she had noticed from the very moment they met.

She stood perfectly still, save for the fluttering of her breath.

His voice dropped, softer now, as if the nearness between them demanded a different register. “I am not changing my mind, Miss Lockhart.”

Cecilia swallowed hard and, without thinking, she lifted a hand and placed it gently on his chest, her fingers trembling ever so slightly, willing him to create distance between them. She hated how nervous she was, hated the heat that crept up her neck, betraying her calm facade.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, eyes lifting to meet his. “Please, step back.”

The words were spoken with every ounce of decorum she could still summon, but her voice was tight. It was difficult to breathe. He was far too near, far too present. The heat of his body radiated toward her like a hearth in winter.

Valentine held her gaze for a moment longer, then wordlessly stepped aside. He walked to the door, pulled it open with a firm hand, and stood back.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Good night, Miss Lockhart.”

She said nothing. Words would not form. Instead, she stepped past him, keeping her chin lifted and her spine straight even though her knees threatened betrayal with every step.

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

Only then did she lean against it, her breath fleeing her in a rush she had not realized she’d been holding. Slowly, she slipped down to the floor, knees drawing up, and her hands pressed to her heated cheeks. If only the color would retreat. If only her pulse would cease its wild gallop.

She let her head rest against the wood for a moment longer, willing herself still.

But then, a jolt of alarm struck her. She was in the corridor. Anyone might pass by and see her there, crouched in front of the duke’s room.

Heavens!

Gathering herself quickly, she pushed to her feet and all but fled from the corridor, her footsteps muffled against the carpet as she darted back to her room. Her heart pounded the entire way.

She did not stop until the door to the room was shut behind her. Locked, and only then did she allow her back to slide against it again, hand pressed to her chest.

Don’t think too much of it. New plan. I need to come up with a new plan.