Page 9 of Surrender Your Grace (Impromptu Brides #1)

Cici perched on the edge of the plush chaise in her new bedroom.

Cream and sage hues softened the space, and rosewood paneling gleamed in the lamplight.

Candles flickered on the mantel, casting dancing shadows across the gilt-edged screen and velvet drapes framing open windows.

Despite the beauty, she felt dreadfully out of place.

As the hour grew late, the grand house quieted. Her maid had brushed out her long hair and helped her undress then left her alone in the unfamiliar bedchamber. Cici had expected Andrew soon after—but, as minutes dragged on, he failed to appear.

When a discreet knock finally sounded, her stomach twisted.

Andrew was about to make her his wife in truth.

Her mother had offered only vague talk of duty, of obligation, of closing her eyes and thinking of cream cakes, lavish balls, and rose gardens.

No one had said how it would feel to share a bed with a veritable stranger—his name still unfamiliar on her tongue, his ring foreign on her finger.

The knock came again—louder. Once then twice.

She rose, her nightrobe brushing the floor, slippers whispering on the carpet. When she opened the door, her heart lurched. It wasn’t him.

A young maid, face composed but eyes pitying, stood with a folded note. She curtsied. “From his lordship, my lady.”

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Cecilia,

You’ve had a long day. A new home. New responsibilities. A new title pressed upon your shoulders. I won’t ask more of you tonight.

Rest well,

Andrew

She read it twice in search of some hidden meaning. The maid waited.

“No response—” Cici murmured, throat tight. Then she cleared it and lifted her chin. “Thank you, uh...”

The girl bobbed again. “Mary, my lady.”

Cici came close to rolling her eyes. She should have guessed.

When the door closed, she returned to the chaise. Relief washed over her briefly then came the sting of something sharper. Rejection. Worse: disappointment tangled with humiliation. He didn’t want her—not enough to even try.

She wasn’t entirely na?ve. Some men didn’t wait. Andrew was a man used to command, not restraint. He could’ve claimed what their vows gave him. She might have clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, but she would have yielded, nonetheless. Instead, he deferred to her supposed exhaustion.

Her bare feet made no sound on the thick Aubusson rug as she paced. Her robe fluttered open, the linen gown beneath whispering against her skin. Catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror, Cici paused, wondering what her husband saw.

She wasn’t plain. But not a beauty either. Not the kind men noticed first—or chose.

Pressing a hand to her fluttering belly, she asked her reflection, “Why do you care so much?”

The answer wasn’t a mystery, though. His charm, when he chose to use it, was captivating, and his handsomeness made her ache.

A genuine smile brought a vibrant sparkle to his blue eyes.

His strong, elegant fingers ignited a longing to feel their touch, not only on her hand or cheek, but in intimate places.

In a shaky voice, she announced to her lonely room, “It’s so obvious—and one-sided,” before extinguishing the candles and lamp.

Disappointed and more than a little sorry for herself, she crossed to the bed, stripped off her robe, and pulled back the coverlet.

The sheets were cool against her skin as she slipped in, alone.

She lay back, the note still clutched in her hand, her eyes fixed on the shadowy ceiling above.

“Until morning,” she whispered, echoing his words.

Sleep eluded her. The notion her husband didn’t want her lingered, a taunting voice echoing in her mind. What did you expect? You’re not Elizabeth. Not his first choice. Not the one who dazzles.

***

Even before entering the breakfast room, she could see the morning light pouring in through the mullioned windows.

It glinted off the silverware and gold-trimmed china.

The room was brilliantly lit—offensively so.

He’d meant for her to rest, but his note had done the opposite, and she’d tossed and turned all night, her mind unable to shut off.

She’d accomplished one thing, mustering the courage to confront him first thing and have him define exactly what kind of marriage this would be.

Hesitantly, she paused at the door, her courage failing. She might have retreated, but a footman standing at attention inside spotted her. He bowed, announcing, “Good morning, my lady.”

Blast. So much for retreat.

With a polite nod, she stepped inside. Andrew rose and greeted her with a bow, his grace effortless.

“Good morning,” he murmured, remaining standing as the footman seated her.

“Good morning, my lord,” she replied, nodding at another footman who offered her tea.

They sat opposite each other at a long table, easily large enough for a family of ten. As she lifted her teacup, she ignored the nervous rattle against the saucer; the sound amplified by the tension that hung between them.

“I trust you slept well?” he asked, his tone cool and measured, but not unkind.

“Well enough,” she lied. Her voice felt small in the large room, and the distance gave her the courage to mutter, “Nothing soothes the nerves like anticipation without a conclusion.”

“Excuse me, I didn’t catch that,” he said, giving her an opening to clear the air.

“Nothing of import, my lord,” she said, losing her nerve again.

He picked up a knife and buttered a slice of toast. A clock ticked loudly nearby—must they have one in every room?

The quiet warred with her thoughts. So many of them. She was used to her mother and sister’s incessant chattering. How would she break her fast with such awkwardness? Worse, to face a lifetime of meals like this?

Cici set her teacup down with a deliberate clink and met his eyes across the table.

“Is this what the future holds for us?” she asked, her voice sharper than she planned. “A distant, silent, perfunctory marriage? Tell me so that I might prepare, at least.”

His hand froze, the toast suspended before his mouth. Although his expression gave nothing away, the pause spoke volumes.

Emboldened, she continued. “I had hoped for—if not love—warmth, at least. A kind word on occasion. Companionship, perhaps. Not this awkwardness.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then he pushed his chair back and stood, not abruptly, but with purpose.

“Come with me,” he ordered.

She glanced down at the almost-full cup of tea and empty plate. “Now?”

“Nothing on the breakfast table is so urgent it cannot wait.”

This was true. Despite having next to nothing for supper last night, she had no appetite. She rose and followed him through the long corridor toward the back of the house and out into the morning air.

The scent of lilacs and roses assailed her as she walked through the garden. Any other time, she would have stopped to smell the fragrant blooms and admire the well-tended beds, but she had to hurry to keep pace with her husband who seemed on a mission of some kind.

He paused at a shaded bench by a fountain. When she joined him, he took her hands in his. Gazing up at him, she noted the shadows under his eyes and the vulnerability hidden behind his calm. He hadn’t slept well, either.

“I dislike having no choice over my path in life,” he said quietly.

“I felt trapped. We both were. The thought of a marriage lacking warmth and understanding, of living with a stranger under the same roof, leaves me cold. I desire a bond with my wife. I thought to give you time and space to adjust to the idea of marriage to me. And, admittedly, to let it settle into my mind as well. Clearly, that was a mistake, and for that I apologize.”

Something inside her—tight and guarded—unraveled. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how deeply she’d feared being cast aside.

“Let’s begin anew. Today,” he proposed.

For the first time since they said their vows, her heart lifted, and the knot inside loosened. She looked up at him, smiling. “I should like that, my lord.”

“It’s Andrew,” he reminded her yet again.

“I should like that…Andrew.”

He pulled her closer until she felt the warmth of his body against hers. “Forget breakfast. I had a picnic lunch packed for our ride. We’ll find a quiet meadow and talk.”

“You did?” she asked, surprised by the romantic gesture.

“Yes. We’ll find a quiet meadow where we can talk and enjoy the day.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his finger. “Do I need to coax you?”

He was revealing the man beneath the self-assured viscount’s exterior. A man she wanted to get to know.

“No coaxing is necessary,” Cici assured him.

A slow smile warmed his features. “Go change and meet me in the foyer in thirty minutes.”

Brimming with eagerness, she turned to leave, but he stopped her and pulled her close.

His hands framed her face, and he bent his head, claiming a kiss in the privacy of the garden.

It was the first time a man’s lips had touched hers—warm, sure, and reverent.

It stole her breath and filled her with a strange, giddy ache.

Better than she'd imagined, and far more dangerous.

***

Nestled at the base of a hill behind the house, the Arendale stables buzzed with activity; the sweet scent of fresh hay filled the air, as did the whinnies and soft nickers of horses.

The moment they arrived, a groom led out a beautiful copper bay mare, her glossy black mane and tail gleaming with each graceful stride.

“She’s beautiful,” Cici whispered, captivated.

“This is Daisy,” Andrew replied, stroking the mare’s neck. “She’s yours. Energetic enough for a good trot and canter, but well-behaved.”

“Truly?” Cici exclaimed.

“Of course, I wouldn’t joke about something as important as horses.”