“A betrothed,” Dorothy said. “A betrothed can visit unannounced. Besides, this is a good way to get to know the duke better. Just go. Papa is still upset with you. Don’t make him even angrier.”
Cecilia closed her eyes for a long, slow breath. A betrothed. The word lodged somewhere in her chest, like a pebble caught in her throat. It felt foreign. Ill-fitting. Still, Dorothy wasn’t wrong. Howard was already at the very edge of his patience with her, and refusing to meet her betrothed now would only make things worse.
Without another word, she rose from her chair and smoothed the front of her gown. “Fine,” she muttered underneath her breath.
Her footsteps pounded down the staircase with more force than grace, irritation bleeding into every step. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she paused only for a moment to feign a smile. But no matter how much she tried, it kept faltering. So she decided to proceed without it. She had never been so good at pretending.
The door to the drawing room was slightly ajar, and Cecilia gave it a brief knock before pushing it open and stepping inside. Her father turned at the sound, arms crossed behind his back as he stood near the hearth. Beside him, lounging with the ease of someone entirely too comfortable for the chaos he’d caused, was the Duke of Ashbourne.
Valentine Price.
He looked up when she entered.
Cecilia folded her hands neatly before her and offered a curt nod. “Your Grace,” she said sweetly, her voice edged with what she hoped was unmistakable sarcasm. “What an honor it is to receive a visit from you this morning. We’re truly blessed by your spontaneity.”
Howard shot her a warning glance, and she looked away quickly, almost as if his eyes could shoot fire.
But the duke? He was unfazed. Not even a twitch of annoyance, not a flicker of irritation, passed over his face. He merely offered a faint smile, half-formed, and bowed his head in greeting.
“Lady Lockhart,” he replied smoothly. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
Intruding?
He had barged into her life and rearranged it like furniture in a house he didn’t own. But she said nothing, only arched one brow and took the nearest seat with more grace than she felt.
Valentine took his seat across from her, and it was then, sitting across from him, that she realized it was the first time she was seeing him in proper light.
Green. His eyes were green, as she’d suspected. But not the soft, leafy green of spring. It was something more profound, colder.The green of riverstone, of shaded moss after rain. They held her in place for a heartbeat too long, not because they were warm or inviting, but because they weren’t. They regarded her with a curious sort of detachment, as if she were a puzzle he meant to solve at his leisure.
There was no warmth in that gaze. It felt all too…distant. Difficult to read.
But there was one thing about him that was easy to read. He was, she had to admit with great reluctance, painfully handsome.
Howard cleared his throat. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Your Grace?”
Valentine adjusted his position and interlocked his fingers. “I’ve come with news,” he said. “I managed to secure the special license.”
Cecilia blinked repeatedly as she leaned forward slightly.
“The wedding will take place in four days,” he added.
“Four–” she began, but caught herself, biting down on the rest of the protest and clenching her hands tighter in her lap.
Howard nodded once, as though this were a fine thing. “That is wonderful news, Your Grace.”
Valentine turned his gaze back to Cecilia. “I assumed the short notice might prove a bit demanding, especially as you’ve only just returned to London. If you’re unable to arrange everything in time, I can assist. I’ve already spoken with my household staff, they’re prepared to manage whatever details you require.”
She could feel another sarcastic remark crawling up her throat, but she swallowed it swiftly. Her father was in the room, after all, and she had already tested his patience too many times in the last week. The last thing she needed was another scolding.
Still, as she lifted her eyes to Valentine, seated so casually across from her, the urge returned with renewed strength.
He was smirking.
At first it did not seem like it, but Cecilia couldn’t be mistaken. There was a coy smile on the man’s face. Almost as though he found the whole thing amusing. What could possibly be amusing about marrying a stranger?
It wasn’t mocking, exactly. That might have been easier to tolerate. It was something worse. He looked entertained. Her fingers curled into her skirts. He had no right to look so at ease. None at all. Especially not while she sat here, watching whatever future she had left crumble and reshape itself.
“That’s all I came to say,” Valentine said, rising to his feet. “I’ll have my staff over by tomorrow to help with the preparations. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. I won’t take up more of your time. I’ll see myself out.”
