“I happen to like ledgers. They are orderly, consistent, and don’t require goose races.”
“Well, you sound exactly like a man who’s forgotten how to have fun.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said, returning the ledger in his hand to the shelf. “I’ve simply chosen to rise above it.”
“That’s a very noble way of admitting you’re no fun at all.”
He looked up again, narrowing his eyes. “Is this how you plan to convince me? By insulting my character?”
“It’s working, isn’t it?”
His lips twitched. Just barely. “Not in the way you think.”
She took another step forward, the glint in her eyes positively wicked. “Your Grace, I know you’d rather drown yourself in estate ledgers and shipping records, but Abigail would adore it, and though I hesitate to say so aloud, so might you. If you wouldsimply allow yourself to enjoy something without needing to file a report about it afterward.”
Valentine sighed. “Those fairs are usually damp, overcrowded, and full of children.”
“You say that like it’s a tragedy,” Cecilia replied.
“I don’t like crowded places, Cecilia,” he said and turned to her. Cecilia swallowed, somewhat intimidated by the attention from him.
“You’re terribly dramatic, Your Grace.”
“I am simply cautious,” he countered.
Their eyes met, and something about the corner of his mouth tugging just slightly upward made her stomach flutter. She looked away quickly, cheeks warming.
These days, Valentine wasn’t vexing her anymore. Not really. Not in the way he had in the early days of their marriage, when every word between them had felt like a duel. This was different. This was pleasant. Easy, even. It was strange how quickly that had changed.
She glanced at him again, pretending not to look. He had gone back to searching the shelves, concentrating too much on ransacking the place.
Cecilia’s heart lifted in a way she hadn’t expected as she watched him. She’d once thought it was only scandal that tied them together, that dreadful, awkward arrangement that brought her to his household, to his daughter, and to this strange, quiet man who couldn’t seem to warm up to her. But now…
Perhaps it wasn’t a scandal at all. Perhaps it was providence. Or fate, if she were brave enough to call it that. Perhaps...just perhaps, she didn’t mind the idea of being his wife anymore.
Cecilia followed behind Valentine when he began to walk, undeterred by his evasions. “You know, Your Grace, I’m beginning to suspect you simply don’t know how to enjoy yourself.”
Valentine said nothing, merely rounded the corner toward the library corridor.
“Besides,” she continued cheerfully. “Abigail has never been to a fair. Imagine how delighted she’ll be. We could buy her ribbons. Perhaps a sweetmeat or–”
She hadn’t realized he’d stopped so abruptly until she collided into his back with a soft thud. The force of it startled her and sent her stumbling backward, tripping on the hem of her dress. Everything else happened all at once after that. He spun just in time to catch her, arms locking firmly around her waist as her hands instinctively flew to his chest.
But Valentine didn’t release her even when she had found her balance.
Instead, she found herself gently pinned between his body and the polished edge of a bookshelf. Her breath caught as her back brushed the cool wood. One of his hands remained at her waist, the other steadying her arm. She could feel the strength in his grip, how it made her tense, not in fear, but in something far more electric. Something almost…breathless.
His eyes found hers and then dropped, unhurriedly, to her lips. She heard the breath leave him, heavy and slow, felt the warmth of it against her cheek. Her heart thundered.
She ought to move. Say something clever. Break the tension with one of her usual barbs. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Her fingers curled slightly against his sleeve instead, grounding herself against the strange flutter that rose in her chest.
Still, he stared.
A part of her, a reckless, breathless part wondered what might happen if she tilted her face just slightly higher. If she simply rose to meet him. If he would...
Before she could act on her thoughts, Valentine stepped back just enough to sever the moment, even though the imprint of it lingered in the air between them.
“I suppose,” he said quietly, straightening his coat, “a visit to the fair might not be the worst idea.”
