Page 30 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

Cici shivered as she stared out the icy windowpane at the snow-covered square.

It wasn’t just the winter chill that left her cold.

Four months—of healing, waiting, aching.

She was weary of mourning, of being confined—first by injury, now by endless snow.

Tired of the distance from the man she loved.

Most of all, she was tired of sleeping alone. Her sigh fogged the glass.

Maggie looked up from her book. “What’s wrong?”

So many things came to mind, but she only said, “I don’t think winter will ever end.”

Setting her book aside, she joined her at the window. “I’ve never seen this much snow in Mayfair.”

“We could be at Sommerville, skating on the frozen pond and going on sleigh rides. Instead, we’re trapped here, staring at the same four walls, and it’s all because of me.”

“No one forced us to stay,” Maggie reminded her then she turned to face her, hands on her hips. “You’re in a mood as gloomy as the weather, and it’s rubbing off. Snap out of it, will you?”

“I miss Andrew,” Cici admitted, too weary to pretend otherwise. And not just his company—his touch. His attention. His hunger.

She had planned an elaborate seduction—a candlelit supper, his favorite vintage, an alluring gown that hugged her curves which, hopefully, he wouldn’t be able to resist. On the evening she’d intended to set her scheme in motion, he’d been called away again.

Another estate, an urgent matter that needed the duke’s personal attention, another disappointment.

It had been so long since they’d shared a bed. Too long for a virile young man to go without. What if he’d found comfort elsewhere…

No. She refused to let old doubts creep in—not after everything they'd been through. Still, insecurity whispered in the dark corners of her heart.

“From what he said, it wasn’t another Berkshire-type crisis,” Maggie assured her. “He expected to be back in a few days. Chin up.”

Cici glanced out the window. “I’m sure he didn’t expect a foot of snow.”

“No one expected a foot of snow,” her sister-in-law drawled.

“It’s so frustrating. Every time he’s called away, there’s a different excuse. It’s too far, too cold. I’m still recovering or too pale.”

Maggie gestured to the bleak scene beyond the window. “Would you really want to travel in this? Carriages get stuck, horses slip, and not all the estates are close to a railway.”

“That’s not reassuring, considering my husband is out in that mess.”

“Sorry.” Maggie slung an arm around her shoulders.

“Losing James has been hard on everyone, but I think it has been the hardest on Andrew. He had to shoulder the weight of a dukedom overnight. No time to get used to the idea of being duke, he had to dive right in and take over. It was made worse when his secretary, with James for years and my father before him, retired. Once his new man finds his footing, life will even out.”

“You’re right. I sound like a bitter old harpy.”

“Nonsense, you’re not old,” she deadpanned.

Startled, Cici glanced at her friend, whose blue eyes, so like Andrew’s were dancing with mischief. Shaking off her gloom, she pivoted from the window. “Let’s do something wicked. Lead me to the infamous bookshelf.”

Maggie blinked. “What?”

“The naughty books. The ones you said Andrew keeps hidden in his study.”

“That was a turnabout so swift, I’ve got whiplash,” Maggie said, grinning.

“You’re not afraid to snoop on your brother, are you?”

“Me? Never!” Maggie grabbed her hand with conspiratorial excitement. “Since you questioned my daring, I can’t wait to see your face when you see Andrew’s edition of Becklard’s Physiology and his copy of the Kama Sutra. They both have drawings.”

“The what and the who?” she asked as she hurried to keep up with her sister-in-law’s longer strides.

“ Becklard’s is a manual on bedroom, uh… gymnastics, shall we say. The other—Indian, I think—is more imaginative. Both banned. Both illustrated. My brother’s scandalous streak runs deeper than I thought.” She winked at Cici, who was blushing furiously. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Why is it that I’m the married one, yet you know more about these things?”

“My knowledge is entirely academic, I assure you. Come along.” She led her down the hall and into Andrew’s study, closing and locking the door behind them. “Pour us both a brandy, and let’s see what we can find.”

Cici walked to the decanter on the brass and gold cart.

Maggie scoffed. “That’s for guests. The good stuff is in his desk. Bottom right-hand drawer.”

When she unearthed a bottle of imported French brandy, Cici arched a brow. “How did you know his hiding place?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t take a detective. James and Papa used the same drawer. It’s practically a tradition.”

An hour and half the bottle later, Cici was five rungs up the library ladder, one hand gripping a shelf, a snifter in the other, a cigar awkwardly clamped between her teeth.

“If there’s a book on tupping in this house, it’s hiding from me on purpose!

” she declared before letting out an unladylike hiccup.

They both laughed uproariously until the door slamming cut through their liquor-infused hilarity. Maggie dropped her cigar with a squeal. Cici twisted and froze.

Andrew stood in the doorway, snow in his hair and a storm brewing in his eyes. Behind him, Duncan Rothbury loomed, having difficulty suppressing a grin.

On her third brandy, Cici swayed, sending the ladder into a wobble. She grabbed for the shelf—and missed. Her arms flailed. The cigar and snifter slipped from her hands, the glass crashing as it shattered across the floor.

Strong arms closed around her legs. “I have you,” Andrew growled from below as he plucked her off the ladder.

Not entirely convinced, her fingers tangled in his hair like an invasive vine.

“Let go, woman, before you snatch me bald.”

“I was looking for instructional material,” she said, hiccupping again. Then her world turned upside down as he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of turnips.

“Looks like you found mischief instead,” he muttered, delivering a firm swat to her upturned backside. “I’m taking my wife to her room. Duncan, see that Maggie gets safely to hers. I’ll deal with her in the morning.”

Brandy still clouded her thoughts as he carried her out, but not enough to miss the patent boots of the footmen standing at attention in the hall.

Mortified, she buried he face in his coat. “Andrew, this is beyond humiliating. Please put me down. I can walk.”

“I think not. You forfeited that privilege the moment you climbed a ladder drunk, puffing my cigars and draining my best brandy.”

He reached her rooms, kicked the door shut behind them, and dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed. Struggling upright, she brushed her hair from her eyes and looked up at her irate husband.

“Imagine my shock, standing there with a guest, listening to my wife lament her fruitless search for a sex manual in my private study. What do you have to say for yourself, Cecilia?”

Uh-oh. Full name. That always meant trouble.

“It was only Lord Rothbury! And we locked the door!”

“Did you think I wouldn’t have a key? What if it hadn’t been Duncan? What if it had been a peer—or Scorpion Stanley himself?”

She blinked at him in confusion.

“The prime minister,” he supplied. “My message said I’d return tonight—and that we were receiving important guests.”

Her breath caught. A chill crept through her brandy-warmed body. “I received no such message,” she whispered.

Though, truthfully, she might’ve ignored it. They’d laughed through the knocking—twice. Foolishly. Now the price was painfully clear.

“I wasn’t expecting you today. Not in this weather.”

“That doesn’t excuse your behavior.”

The thought of the prime minister finding her mid-cigar, halfway up a ladder, foxed from brandy, made her stomach lurch. Shame sobered her instantly. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“If you aren’t yet, you will be.”

Her head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”

Andrew exhaled sharply, his jaw tense. “We’ll discuss it later—when you’re not soused. Right now, I have guests to receive. You won’t be playing hostess in your current state. You’re confined to your room to reflect on your choices.”

Turning, he strode toward the door.

“You can’t just banish me like a child,” she protested, trailing after him. Her foot caught the bench leg near her vanity. Pain shot up her shin. She cursed under her breath, then looked up—only to find him staring, arms folded, eyes incredulous.

“It’s funny you should say that. I have never felt more like a parent than I do right now.” He let that sink in. “I’m pressed for time, so expect to feel the full brunt of my displeasure later tonight. Until then, you will remain here.”

She nodded, and her short-lived rebellion ended. “I never meant to embarrass you, Andrew.”

“You’re fortunate that it was only Duncan.

Had it been anyone else, you’d be over my knee feeling the extent of my embarrassment and displeasure.

” He walked back to her, cupped her face gently, and kissed her brow.

“Your apology is accepted,” he murmured.

“But we both know remorse isn’t the same as change. ”

A tear slid down her cheek. She swiped it away, angry with herself. He thought of her as a child. How could he want her when he saw her that way?

“I’ll have a tray sent up,” he said. “And hold on to those tears. You may need them before the night is over.”

She gasped, jaw dropping, hands flying instinctively to her backside.

Did his lips twitch—just slightly?

When the door closed behind him, she was left flushed, heart racing, haunted by the memory of his hands and the ominous promise they carried.