Page 25 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

“Is she?” Cici’s voice cracked. “You were seen at her house after the wedding. She says you visited again two nights ago.” Although she tried to hold the tears at bay, one overflowed and rolled down her cheek.

Angry at her weakness, she wiped it away and somehow managed to continue.

“It echoes everything Elizabeth wrote and what I’ve heard whispered behind my back. ”

“And instead of asking me,” he said bitterly, “you believed them.” Andrew ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “Maggie, leave us.”

“You’re livid. I’m not sure if I should.”

“Don’t insult me further by suggesting I’d harm her,” he snapped.

“It’s fine,” Cici said quietly. “Go.”

“I’ll see you both at dinner—with Mama.”

When the door clicked shut, silence fell like a shroud.

“You said you ended it?” Cici whispered. “Did you go to her?”

“Weeks before we wed, it was over.” His voice dropped. “I saw her once after. She sent a note implying she might harm herself.”

Cici looked up, stunned. “You went?”

“I couldn’t ignore it, but I took Duncan with me.” He stepped closer. “I can call him to testify if you’d like. I can also track down any of the dozens of passengers on the train yesterday, which is when I returned to London.”There was more than a little sarcasm in his tone at that last bit.

“Andrew, I—”

“You believed two jealous, vindictive women’s lies. Who will you believe tomorrow?”

Cici shook her head. “I believe you.”

“Now, maybe, but not at first. That stings.” Spine stiff, he walked to the window and looked out. “This was a rushed marriage, but I gave you my word. I can’t defend myself every time I speak to another woman.”

“She wasn’t just any woman,” she insisted. “You were intimate.”

“Were,” he replied sharply. “That’s an important distinction. Am I not allowed a past?”

That wouldn’t be fair. She swallowed. “Andrew, I—”

He held up a hand. “Go upstairs. Calm down. I’ll do the same.”

“What if I met with a former suitor at his residence?” she ventured. “Would you be so understanding?”

He turned, eyes dark. “Don’t test me, Cecilia.”

“It’s a fair question!”

“Go. Now.”

“You’re impossible sometimes!” she exclaimed then fled before she threw something else at his head.

Cici stormed to her room, pulse hammering, throat tight. She almost collided with Maggie just outside her door.

Seeing her tear-streaked face, she murmured, “Oh, Cici,” and opened her arms.

She collapsed into them, sobbing. Her friend helped her into her room and into a chair then sat on the arm and held her as she cried.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing,” she said, her voice raw. “Everything feels broken.”

Maggie paused, searching her expression. “I haven’t seen him that angry in a long while.”

“He was more than angry. He would hardly look at me when I tried to talk to him, then he sent me to my room. I really wounded him.”

“But that means he cares,” Maggie offered gently. “You don’t wound someone who’s indifferent.”

Cici nodded slightly, gaze drifting to the bed—neat, untouched, mocking.

James’ death had left a hollow in the household, one that echoed in every quiet room. Andrew had grieved, just as they all had. When he was home, he sought her out—in the garden, the music room when she played, and her bedroom. Despite custom, when he came to her bed, he stayed.

That should have reassured her. But she had doubted him. Unfairly.

She refused dinner. Declined a tray. Listened to the house grow quiet.

The hallway clock chimed two when she heard footsteps—a slow tread that passed her door and continued toward the master suite beyond. A burst of resolve shot through her.

Barefoot and wrapped in a shawl, she crept through the sitting room and knocked.

“Come,” Andrew said from within.

He stood near the fireplace, shirt unbuttoned, trousers slung low, hair tousled. One hand gripped the mantel.

“It’s late,” he said, not unkindly. “You should be asleep.”

“I couldn’t. Not while this lingers between us.”

“We’ll speak tomorrow,” he offered with gentle finality. “Go rest.”

“I can’t wait,” she whispered, eyes stinging. “I feel wretched. I acted from fear and jealousy.” In a breathless blur, she sank to her knees in front of him, gown pooling over his shoes. “Please, forgive me.”

He sighed, visibly softening. “All right. We’ll do this now.”

Reaching down, he touched her cheek, his fingers feather-light.

“I was angry,” he admitted. “Hurt, too. But after dinner with Mama, I gained some perspective. The rumors you’ve heard—they plagued my parents, and James. The Sommervilles are a favorite target for the scandal seekers.”

“And we landed in their sights.” She looked up. “Can you forgive me?”

“I already have.” As she sobbed with relief, he pulled her into his arms and eased them into one of the chairs flanking the hearth, cuddling her on his lap. “Next time, which unfortunately is bound to happen, you must believe me. Not Lady Winslow. Not Elizabeth or all of Mayfair. Me.”

“I will,” she whispered, burrowing closer as she hiccupped and sniffled.

“Hush, sweeting,” he murmured. “You’ll make yourself ill.”

“I already feel sick—for believing her.”

He produced a handkerchief and dabbed her tears then held it to her nose like a nursemaid. “Blow.”

She obeyed.

“I should’ve told you about her note,” he said after a moment. “The visit, too. I wanted to protect you.”

She gave a soft, watery laugh. “Clearly, that backfired.”

“In fairness, Lady Winslow belongs on the stage. She fooled me for a time, too. Even if I hadn’t decided to marry, I would’ve ended it. She was too conniving.”

Cici tilted her head to see him. “I’m struggling to understand what you saw in her.”

His delayed response and the touch of color rising in his cheeks gave her the answer.

“That was a foolish question. Despite her abysmal personality, and advanced age,” she remarked pointedly, “she’s still beautiful, I suppose. In an obvious, predatory way.”

“Her beauty vanished the moment she spoke. I’ve learned real beauty is deeper. And I married someone who has both.”

Cici melted a little at that.

“When she summoned me post-wedding, she assumed I’d come crawling back.” He scoffed. “She was desperate. A touch unhinged. Wisely, I had Duncan as a witness to it all. I warned her the police would handle any further schemes and manipulations.”

“Obviously she didn’t get the message.”

“She will tomorrow.”

Cici sat up straight on his lap. “You can’t plan to meet with her again!” she exclaimed before making a declaration. “If you do, I am going with you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust that b—, uh, witch.”

“Your chivalry is impressive,” Andrew said, his lips twitching the tiniest bit. “But I planned to send my secretary or Duncan. Either way, you will not contact her, ever.” He angled her face to his, so they were eye to eye when he asked, “Is that clear?”

“Perfectly. And probably for the best. I’d like to scratch her eyes out.”

“I didn’t realize I had such a bloodthirsty bride,” he murmured, hugging her close. “But a duchess doesn’t do her own dirty work.”

“No? I’m still adjusting to the title and the privileges,” she murmured, snuggling in.

They sat in silence, warm and close. Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fiddling idly.

“How will I face the servants? I made quite a scene.”

“Mm… you were in quite a rage when you arrived.”

“It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“No, it wasn’t. In fact…”

She yelped in alarm when he flipped her over and, with her nightgown around her waist, brought his hand down smartly on her backside.

“I said I was sorry!”

“Yes, but your behavior was most unbecoming of a duchess,” he said as he paddled her. “Defiant.” Another swat. “Intransigent.” Smack. “Not to mention an assassination attempt on your innocent husband with a flying reticule.” Swat. Swat.

“I promise never to hurl accessories at your head ever again,” she gasped between ragged breaths. “I swear it!”

“Mmm-hm,” he murmured skeptically, rubbing her tingling skin with maddening tenderness. “Your aim was exceptional. Perhaps you should try cricket. I hear the All-England Eleven is short a bowler.”

A laugh burst from her. “I don’t know. I’ve always considered myself more of a batsman.”

Her impertinence earned her two more swats. “At least it wasn’t the absurdly costly vase in the foyer. I’d be far less forgiving.”

“I’d never. I love that vase.”

He chuckled, delivering two more, playfully. When he stopped to rub again, his big hand massaging in slow circles, she twisted to look back at him. Seeing a curve to his lips and a sparkle in his blue eyes, her heart soared.

“We could channel my reckless impulses into something more... enjoyable,” she suggested.

Suddenly, she was seated on his lap, his hand sliding along her jaw, fingers threading in her hair. “Mmm,” he hummed, tugging her head back. “Exactly my thought.”

Their lips met—tenderly, at first, then ardent. Tongues tangled, breath shared, the kiss deepening until reason fell away entirely. Andrew scooped her up and carried her to the bed, settling her atop the covers.

Their clothing disappeared in a flurry then he joined her.

His eyes burned intensely as he moved over her.

She slid her hands up his chest and boldly wound her legs around his hips, welcoming him eagerly.

His open mouth slid down the side of her neck, tongue leaving a fiery trail as he slid into her heat and wetness, filling her.

She gasped, arching off the bed, clutching his shoulders.

In a rush of heat and longing, they moved together, melting away the distance between them. Whispered words, sighs, and breathless cries filled the room until they both exploded in passion.

They slept with arms and legs intertwined and bodies pressed close. And like at Arendale, they didn’t descend the next day until lunch was being served.

When they walked into the dining room, hand in hand, and very clearly no longer at odds, tears welled in Maggie’s eyes. Smiling through them, she whispered, “Thank heavens.”