Page 37 of Seven Nights with the Wicked Duke (Regency Beasts #3)

T he candlelight flickering in the hallway reminded her of the thoughts coursing through her mind. She itched to be in the Emerton estate again even if she knew she shouldn’t.

The quiet tick of the grandfather clock could be heard down the corridor.

It only reminded her how fragile time could be me.

Even though the furious rhythm of her heart was nervous about the whole concept of being here again, she simultaneously knew whatever she had going on with Theo could be lost in matter of seconds.

Which was why she stood in the corridor, weighing her options. Magnus would most likely detest the idea of having her here, but disappointing her brother was far too easy to choose compared to rejecting Theo's invite.

"I will be waiting for you to come retrieve it."

His words echoed in her mind The gentleness with which he had spoken them had not matched his fierce argument with Magnus.

Eventually, she took a deep breath, and the door creaked as she pushed it open. The familiarity of the studio revealed itself instantly. It was as good as she remembered.

The room was filled with a dim amber light. Oil paints, canvas, and turpentine could be felt thick in the air. But despite all that, she could still bear witness to how his scent overshadowed every other thing.

Unconsciously, she inhaled his scent. A mixture of sandalwood, a hint of ink, and something uniquely masculine that tugged at her memories.

At every memory she had spent ticking off her list with him.

Down to that last night they had spent together.

It wasn't a long time ago but she felt so nostalgic that she felt a tear come to her eye.

"You came." A gentle voice from the corner of the room made her appear to regain her composure. Certainly, it was fake but she wouldn't let him see through her. Not that night.

Cecilia tilted her head to see him. He was there, standing beside large easel shrouded in thin linen.

He had his hands tucked behind his back.

She couldn't miss noticing the bruises on his face that had faded to dull yellow and soft brows.

Despite that, his set of shoulders was still taut, alert, like a man prepared for a blow.

She cleared her throat, the circuits of her brain delaying a proper response. She had no idea why but the odd sound she made earned that familiar, quiet smile to pull at the corners of his lips.

Instantly, at that sight, she felt her throat dry. Still, she wasn't willing to let him see through her.

"I did," she finally replied tightly. Then she stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind her as though sealing them off from the rest of the world. "I did," she muttered again, this time more to accept the reality of her own decision.

"Well, I'm glad," he replied, still quiet, still unmoving.

"You need not be, Your Grace," she returned immediately, almost too snappy.

His brows raised slightly but he didn't say a word. A mere glance at her expression proved she had more words.

"Only because I had questions," she told him, holding her stance in a distance from him, as though she feared coming any closer to him might crumble her walls.

Her statement made him blink, but however, his tone sounded unsurprised. "Then ask them."

Cecilia crossed her arms. Her question formed in her mind, and as it grew, it came along with a certain irritation that quickened her breath.

"You can be quite puzzling, Your Grace," she began. "Puzzling and infuriating." Then she shook her head, as though that certain realization inflated her growing temper.

By the sound of her tone, it was undeniable she was dead serious. Yet a ghost smile pulled a corner of Theo's lip before muttering, "You forgot charming."

"I am not in the mood for jokes," she snapped in frustration. She took a step further into the room. And then two more, her confidence rising alongside her annoyance.

"Neither am I," Theo returned, his gaze soft on her, and yet despite his sentence, his almost invisible amused smile didn't falter. "What makes me so puzzling and aggravating?"

"Oh, I will lecture you on that, Your Grace," she retorted with the most sarcastic tone.

"Among many others, why don't we start with the fact you wanted to have me here for the mere purpose of retrieving a scandalous portrait of myself?

" Her tone turned incredulous. "And where, exactly, do you imagine I will hang my half-naked likeness in my family's estate? Over the dining table? In the nursery?"

Theo chuckled, and his laughter made her freeze.

It had not sounded mocking, but with a certain disarming, earnest warmth that could make her angrier simply because it made her want to forgive him too easily.

A laugh that made her want to easily fold and forget about every other entity in this damn world.

His smile slowly faded before he finally spoke, "It isn't what you think."

"Isn't it?" she challenged, stepping closer with a quiet huff. "After ignoring me, you summoned me like some reckless artist expecting praise, and for what? To gawk at your scandalous masterpiece and applaud your memory of my body?"

Still, he did not argue. He said no words. Instead, with great care, he turned to the canvas draped with linen. Standing behind him, she watched him lift the cloak away.

"That must be it," she observed from where she stood. She was yet to have a proper gaze because he was still standing in front of the portrait. Although she had just demonstrated a rebellious act, a part of her was nervous, somewhat thrilled, to see what he had created out of her.

"Come closer, Cecilia." His voice dropped into the softest tune she had ever heard. The depths of her stomach flipped at the sound of her name rolling on his tongue.

Like a spell, she had turned quiet as she took several steps forward till she was standing beside him.

Whatever words she had planned to say in her throat turned to vapor, disappearing like smoke the way every single of her gathered thoughts did.

And every reason could be pointed at the painting—the most beautiful painting she was currently watching.

Her eyes widened as she took in the painting, her breath stuttering against the swell of emotion blooming in her chest. Her mind wrapped around the very first and clear observation about the painting.

She wasn't naked.

The woman in the painting was her, yes, but it was the Cecilia who had entered that strange, surreal ballroom on the night of the Solstice.

It was the Cecilia who sought some share of freedom that night by dressing a bit uncomfortably and trying her best not to mind it.

The Cecilia in a crimson dress that had scandalized her, the one that had made her feel both terrified and alive.

Every detail of that night had been illustrated, down to her mask dangling from her fingers. The sight of her loose hair, caught in motion as it was swept by an invisible air almost transported her back to that night. She could almost feel it.

But the most remarkable part was that she could touch it. A time frozen in past had been captured on canvas. That Cecilia was gazing back at her, gaze half over her shoulder, lips parted slightly—it was as though the portrait breathed.

But what struck her most wasn't the accuracy. It wasn't even the beauty, though it was impossible to ignore.

It was the reverence in the brushstrokes, the way every detail had been captured with aching tenderness. She looked… radiant. Bold. More alive than she had ever felt in a mirror. And the main point was that Theo had poured his soul into creating it.

"This… this isn't real," she broke out a whisper.

"It's how I see you," Theo said simply, standing behind her, his eyes heavily on her.

She turned to look at him, and for the first time, her voice cracked, her annoyance evaporated without a single trace. "Why?"

He titled his head to claim her state before squeezing his eyebrows, confused by the question. "What do you mean by 'why'?"

Cecilia took a deep breath before gesturing toward the portrait. "I don't look like this," she said, nodding her head. "Not really. You made me beautiful."

"You already are." He sounded almost transfixed, in a silent shock made of a mixture of amusement and confusion. As if he felt she was joking.

"I don't feel beautiful," she admitted before removing her gaze from his. "Not when you told me I wasn't meant to have a place in your life. Not when you pulled back before kissing me?—"

"That's not what I meant." He immediately tried to interrupt whatever notion stuck in her head.

"You told me to leave, Your Grace." But the notion seemed to be well embedded as she shook her head.

"After everything, after six nights that meant more to me than I can say, you told me to leave without even looking back.

Do you understand what that did to me?" Her voice broke at last, trembling in the stillness between them.

Her words made him close his eyes with a silent sigh. "I was afraid that staying would only make things worse."

"For whom?" she demanded. "For you? Or for me?"

The silence that followed was deafening. All he could do was to stare deeply into her eyes.

"You keep talking about duty and risk and scandal. But did you once ask what I wanted?" she said, her eyes glaring at him. "Or did you think I would recover, marry the viscount, and forget you ever existed?"

"That isn't fair?—"

"No, what isn't fair is you deciding for me," she snapped fiercely, and she could feel her temper from earlier resurfacing. "You keep trying to shield me from the consequences of loving you. But I've already lived with the consequences of not being able to."

Theo looked stunned. Not by her words, but by her presence—her fire. As if, for the first time, he was seeing not the girl in the crimson gown but the woman who had wanted him without ever being asked or forced to. Despite the circumstances.

"I didn't know you felt that way." His voice broke.