“But then how would I continue seducing you, Your Grace?”
“Oh, please. You couldn’t possibly seduce me,” he said, lifting a brow, his tone smooth with practiced disbelief. But the moment the words left his lips, a strange thought flickered. He wasn’t entirely sure that was true, but he brushed it aside.
“If you continue with these tactics,” he added breezily, “I’d say you’re more likely to frighten me into submission.”
Cecilia let out a laugh. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”
“Do, if you must,” he replied, smirking. “But I warn you, I’m not easily undone.”
She gave him a look that tickled something inside him. “We’ll see, Your Grace.”
Valentine’s gaze lingered on her face longer than necessary, taking in the flush of her cheeks, the slight curve of her lips, thelight still dancing in her eyes. It struck him, quietly, how oddly at ease he felt beside her now. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had thought it would be to be close to her. To even try to get along with her.
Not because they had shared something profound. But because, for the first time it hadn’t felt like he was duty-bound.
“I don’t like that it bothers you,” he said at last, voice quieter now. “The rumors, I mean.”
Cecilia looked up at him, uncertain.
“I know I told you not to care,” he went on. “But I realize that was dismissive. If this dance does anything at all, I hope it’s enough to still their tongues. Or at least redirect them.” He hesitated. “If they see us together, perhaps they’ll stop speaking about you and your family.”
Cecilia looked up at him with that maddening expression she wore whenever she was trying to decide whether to trust him or scold him. He never knew what to expect.
Before she could answer, he added with a small, crooked smile, “Also, I might have misjudged you a bit. I’m sorry if I gave you a hard time. You clearly are a good influence on Abigail, and it’s comforting to see her warm up to someone else. So...thank you, Goody Cecilia.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and then she laughed, a soft, surprised sound that pulled something tight in his chest. “Oh! That reminds me,” she said, voice brightening as though the thought had just returned to her. “The book. I meant to thank you.”
Valentine blinked. “Did you?”
“Yes. It was,” She paused, biting her lip as if embarrassed. “It was very thoughtful. Abigail loved it. We read it together. I know you didn’t want to read her the book, but I am glad that you trusted my judgment on it and got it. Thank you.”
He said nothing at first. The word settled somewhere unfamiliar inside him. “I’m glad,” he said, perhaps more quietly than intended.
For a moment, they just danced. Her hand was warm in his, her gaze steady when it met his. Valentine didn’t believe in comfort. He had spent too long keeping the world at a measured distance to want it. But there, in the tranquillity of the ballroom, and the hush between notes, with Cecilia smiling up at him, he began to wonder...
Would it be so terrible to let his guard down? Just a little. Would it be so dangerous to let her close?
It would certainly make the house feel far less lonely.
Don’t touch her, Valentine. It would not be wise to do so.
But the warning rang hollow in Valentine’s mind as he sat at the edge of the bed, watching the two figures curled up together beneath the covers. Abigail was tangled in sleep, and Cecilia was asleep and breathing softly beside her.
He had gone to Abigail’s room first, hoping to wake her up that morning, but to his surprise, she had not spent the night in her own bed. It had been Miss Flaxman who had informed him that Abigail had spent the night in Cecilia’s room.
They looked impossibly peaceful, and all Valentine wanted to do in that moment was caress Cecilia’s face. Abigail’s hand was clutched in the fabric of Cecilia’s nightdress, her dark curls resting against Cecilia’s arm. Cecilia, on the other hand, looked so natural there beside Abigail on the bed that it unmoored him.
His fingers hovered for a beat longer than necessary before he reached forward, gently brushing the backs of his knuckles against Cecilia’s cheek. Her skin was soft, impossibly so, and warm from sleep. The caress was featherlight, barely there. But it was the first time he’d touched her like that. Touched her face.
“Cecilia,” he murmured, his voice a low hush meant not to startle.
Her lashes fluttered. She shifted slightly.
“Cecilia, it’s morning,” he whispered. “How late did both of you stay up last night?”
As he began to withdraw his hand, she stirred. Her fingers still reached up slowly, brushing along his wrist before curling gently around his hand. It wasn’t a conscious grasp, not at first, more like instinct. A quiet, vulnerable response to the touch that had woken her. But it was enough to stop him. Enough to root him where he sat.
Then, as if time caught up all at once, her eyes opened.
