She turned toward him, startled. “Pardon?”
Valentine raised one brow. “That was a perfectly ordinary question, Duchess. Or do you need me to repeat it?”
As she stared at his outstretched hand, hesitating, Valentine kept his expression neutral. But behind it, his mind ticked steadily. There were, of course, dozens of ways to handle the gossip. Letters could be sent. Allies could be summoned. He could even...if he felt particularly vindictive, start a counter-rumor or threaten a solicitor’s involvement.
But all of that would take time, and this was simpler. If people were determined to whisper unfounded rumors, then he would give them something else to whisper about. Something they couldn’t ignore. It was the safest way to stop Cecilia from worrying so much.
She placed her hand in his, tentative and cool against his glove. But the contact was real. Willing. He curled his fingers gently around hers, his hold firm, and led her out onto the floor. Heads turned as they passed. Conversation thinned, curiosity thickening in its place. He ignored it. He always did. When they reached the center, she dipped into a graceful curtsy. He bowedin answer, and then he stepped forward, guiding her into the first turn of the waltz.
Her hand rested on his shoulder. His hand settled at the small of her back. It was a familiar position, at least in theory. But the instant he pulled her close, it was no longer just a formality. She fit.
The memory came unbidden. Of her tucked beneath the crook of his arm in the stillness of his bedchamber. Of her warmth beside him in sleep, her breath against his skin. He had been unable to forget that night and how good it felt to have someone sleep by his side. Holding her like this, almost identically, he felt something stir in him.
Something inconvenient. Something he thought he had buried.
He cleared his throat softly, tightening his hold just slightly to keep her steady as they turned. The room spun gently around them, but his focus narrowed only to her. It’s only a dance, he reminded himself. One dance.
She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her lips parting just slightly as she caught her breath. Of late, he couldn’t stop looking at it. Her lips. No matter how he disciplined his thoughts, no matter how he told himself to focus on something else, his gaze would always return to that soft, traitorous curve of her lips.
He didn’t know what it meant, and he hated that he didn’t know.
It wasn’t lust exactly, though God knew he wasn’t immune to her beauty. No, this was something else. Something subtler. More maddening. She would smile, just barely, and it would sit with him for hours. She would speak, and all he could think about was the shape her mouth made around the words, and when she bit her lip, out of nerves or hesitation or sheer mischief, it undid him.
“I might regret telling you this,” Cecilia said, breaking the awkward silence between them. “I once tried to trap my sister’s husband into a scandal.”
His brows rose, and he inhaled sharply to steady himself. “Did you now? Emma, your sister?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “I was young and quite desperate to rescue my family from complete financial ruin. But I couldn’t do it back then. Emma saved me. In fact, the only reason they met was because of me. Emma caught me trying and failing to seduce His Grace in the garden that day.”
“What have you not done for your family?” Valentine asked. His tone had a hint of amusement to it, but he was serious.
Cecilia’s smile faltered just slightly. “Well, I like to think that anyone in my shoes then would have done the same thing.”
A pause passed between them. Then he nodded slowly. “Well, technically, you did succeed in the long run. You managed to trap another duke.”
Her eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard. “Have I?” she asked, amused
“Certainly,” he said, affecting a serious nod. “Heaven only knows how far you would have gone if I had let you undress completely that day.”
Cecilia giggled loudly. “This is what I get for confiding in you.”
“Oh, that was a terrible miscalculation on your part,” he said gravely, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You should never confess your wicked schemes to a man who is not afraid to leverage every trick in his book to get what he wants.”
Cecilia gave him a look of mock horror and then scoffed. “I think it’d be best if you slept with one eye open from now on, Your Grace.”
Valentine couldn’t help but laugh, so unrestrained that it surprised him. “What could you possibly be planning to do to me in my sleep?”
“You never know,” she answered. “Perhaps I’ll sneak into your chamber and rearrange all your ledgers by color. Or worse, I’ll leave a trail of scandalous French novels beneath your pillow.”
Valentine’s hand on her back instinctively tightened. “You wound me.”
“Oh, not yet. I’m saving that for next week.”
He chuckled again, less sharply this time. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly with a crooked grin. “You’re in rare form tonight.”
“I think the waltz is to blame, Your Grace,” she replied airily. “It brings out all my worst instincts.”
“Then perhaps I should keep you off the dance floor entirely.”
