Chapter 20
Twenty
C edric snapped the book shut, the leather cover slapping against the worn pages. He exhaled through his nose and leaned back in the cushioned seat of his carriage, his gaze drifting toward the rain-smeared window. Outside, the barren countryside stretched into the horizon, a bleak monotony broken only by the occasional copse of trees or stone wall.
Why did I bring the book at all?
It was a distraction, or at least it had been intended as one, but the words on the page had blurred into nonsense. No amount of reading, no amount of focus, could drive her out of his thoughts.
Audrey.
The very name stirred an ache he couldn’t explain, nor wanted to. She had plagued him from the moment they left Haremore Castle, her presence lingering even when she was not in sight. It was her scent, he supposed—that maddeningly floral perfume that clung to the air long after she had passed by, teasing his senses like a whispered secret. Even last night at the inn, with their rooms deliberately located at opposite ends of the hall, he could swear he had caught it, faint but obvious.
Cedric clenched his jaw, setting his elbows on his knees and running a hand through his dark hair. Traveling separately had been the only logical choice. In her carriage, she could gossip with her maid and make plans for their arrival in London. In his, he could have peace—if only she weren’t so determined to haunt him.
The carriage jolted abruptly, the sound of snapping wood and shouted curses filling the air. Cedric barely had time to brace himself as the vehicle lurched violently to one side. His shoulder slammed into the wall, and the carriage groaned under its weight before stopping, half-tipped, into the muddy road.
A string of expletives left his lips as he shoved the door open and climbed out into the chaos. The rain had eased to a drizzle, though the ground beneath his boots was slick and treacherous. One of the front wheels was shattered, splintered wood scattered like debris from a battlefield.
“Your Grace!” The coachman rushed to his side, panting. “The wheel’s gone clean through. I’ll see about repairs, but?—”
“There’s no time for that,” Cedric snapped, surveying the damage. His gaze shifted to the carriage ahead, its polished black frame unmarred by misfortune—Audrey’s carriage. He grimaced. “We cannot delay the journey.”
“No, Your Grace,” the coachman agreed, his expression wary. “But that leaves us short a carriage.”
Cedric’s stomach twisted. He knew the only practical solution, yet every part of him resisted it. Sharing a carriage with Audrey would be insufferable. Yet, to arrive separately after such a delay would raise questions, perhaps even stir suspicion—and suspicion was precisely what they could not afford.
The door of Audrey’s carriage opened just as he strode toward it, and she stepped down with the aid of her maid. She furrowed her brow as she took in the scene, the fractured wheel and scattered debris.
“What’s happened?”
Cedric straightened, biting back his irritation. “The wheel broke,” he said curtly. “Your carriage will have to suffice for both of us.”
Her lips parted slightly, her gaze flicking between him and the ruined vehicle. Then, as if collecting herself, she gestured toward the door. “I suppose there’s no alternative. Do come in.”
The warmth of the carriage enveloped him as he settled into the seat opposite her, his long legs brushing the hem of her dress in the confined space. The scent of roses and her maddening perfume was stronger here, stirring something uncomfortably close to longing.
The silence between them was thick, her attention fixed on the rain-dappled window as if the passing countryside held some great fascination. Cedric tried to do the same, yet every movement she made seemed amplified in the quiet—the soft rustling of her skirts, the tapping of her gloved fingers against her knee. He clenched his fists, willing himself to focus on anything else.
After what felt like an eternity, Audrey turned to face him. “Cedric, we haven’t discussed the specifics of our… arrangement.”
He frowned, his gaze sharpening. “What specifics?”
“For our ruse to succeed,” she began carefully, “we must look like a happily married couple. Very much in love.”
Cedric stiffened, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. “Love?” he echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. “Is that strictly necessary?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “It is the fastest way to convince the ton that Lilianna is supported and cared for. If they believe that you love me, they will believe that she is deserving of the same kindness.”
Cedric leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. “How very convenient. And what would you have me do, Audrey? Declare my undying devotion in the middle of a ball?”
She tilted her head, her expression calm but resolute. “If the situation calls for it, yes.”
“Good Lord.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I never imagined you to be the dreamy sort.”
Her lips twitched in response, though her eyes remained steady on his. “I am not dreamy, Cedric. I am practical.”
“Practical?” he repeated, a sharp laugh escaping his lips. “There is nothing practical about love.”
Audrey’s gaze softened, though there was a spark of defiance in her tone as she replied, “There is nothing wrong with love either.”
He opened his mouth to argue but then hesitated, unsettled by the conviction in her voice.
What does she know about love? What does anyone?
She leaned forward slightly, her hands resting neatly on her lap. “I know you find all of this intolerable, Cedric, but think of the outcome. The sooner we succeed, the sooner you will be free of me. Isn’t that what you want?”
Cedric’s jaw tightened, his frustration mounting as her words hit the mark. “Until the next issue presents itself, I presume?”
Audrey’s eyes flashed, though she managed a cool smile. “If that is your concern, you may rest assured. I have no intention of making this a habit.” She pressed her lips together into a thin line and momentarily glanced out the window. “I don’t expect you to understand, but this isn’t just about me or my family. It’s about showing the ton that the people they tear down are not without allies. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that.”
His chest tightened, anger and something far more difficult to place clawing at him. She had a way of dismantling his defenses, brick by brick, until he could hardly think straight. And he hated it—hated that she could elicit such feelings within him with nothing more than her calm persistence.
When the carriage finally stopped to change horses, Cedric seized the moment to escape. The door opened, and he was out. The rain had stopped, leaving the air cool and damp.
Without a word, he climbed up beside the coachman, ignoring the startled glance the man cast in his direction.
“Drive on,” he ordered.
As the carriage began to move again, Cedric let the cold wind lash against his face, hoping it would clear his thoughts. Audrey’s words echoed in his mind, stirring a frustration that refused to be silenced.
Love? Allies? She speaks as though either could undo what’s already been done.
Yet, as he glanced back at the carriage, the faint outline of her figure visible through the window, he felt the stirrings of something he could neither name nor ignore. Something that left him feeling far too exposed.
Cedric stepped into the grand entryway of Haremore House, and a chill seeped into his chest, unwelcome and persistent, as though the house itself conspired to remind him of everything he had spent a decade trying to forget. His jaw tightened.
I should have rented other lodgings.
He adjusted the cuffs of his coat with unnecessary precision.
To his left, Audrey stepped lightly through the doorway, her skirts swishing softly against the polished floor. She paused, tilting her head up as she studied him. Her gaze was not intrusive, but curious—curious in a way that set him on edge.
“What is it?” he asked gruffly, refusing to meet her eyes.
She frowned slightly, the faintest crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Nothing, only… you look as though you stepped into a battlefield.”
His mouth twitched in irritation.
If only it were as simple as a battlefield.
“I will be in my study,” he replied curtly, sidestepping her as he began walking toward the staircase.
“Will you join me for dinner?” she called after him, her voice calm but persistent.
Cedric paused, his hand gripping the banister. He turned his head just enough to glance back at her, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps,” he replied, but his tone did little to disguise his lack of enthusiasm.
Her lips parted as though she meant to press the issue, but she must have thought better of it. With a slight nod, she turned and disappeared down the hallway.
The sound of her footsteps fading into the distance offered only a brief respite.
Cedric walked with deliberate slowness. By the time he reached his study, his chest was tight, his breaths shallow. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his head falling back with a quiet thud against the wood.
Why did I come here?
It was a question he had no satisfactory answer to. Logic had dictated that they stay in London, yet Haremore House, with all its oppressive elegance, was the last place he wanted to be.
The memories lurked here, waiting for him in the shadows, ready to strike when his defenses were down. He had spent countless nights in this very house, pacing its endless halls while Cecilia’s sobs echoed in his ears, haunting him long after her voice had faded forever. The scent of her perfume, the peals of her laughter—all of it was etched into the very pillars of this place. No amount of cleaning, redecorating, or avoiding would erase it.
He exhaled sharply, pushing off the door and striding toward his desk. He had barely opened the drawer when a knock sounded at the door.
His irritation was immediate, sharp as a blade.
“What is it?” he barked, his voice harsher than he had intended.
The door opened cautiously, revealing Astor, the butler, with his usual impeccable composure. He carried a silver tray stacked with letters, their neat folds bound with wax seals.
“Your Grace,” he intoned, stepping into the room with grace. “These arrived recently and were awaiting forwarding instructions to Cumberland. Shall I have them sent out?”
Cedric forced a nod, though he could not muster a polite smile. “Leave them,” he said curtly, gesturing toward the desk.
Astor approached, setting the tray down with precise care. “Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?”
Cedric shook his head, grateful when the butler took the hint and exited the room without lingering. He eyed the stack of letters with disinterest and annoyance. Each envelope bore the seal of some estate, bank, or trading house.
He plucked the top letter off the stack and broke the seal, scanning its contents with practiced efficiency.
More tenants, more repairs, more complaints.
He tossed it aside and sifted through the remaining correspondence, each one proving equally mundane. No scandals, no emergencies—just the endless tedium of landowning.
I cannot do this. Not today.
He strode out of the room, and when he saw Astor in the foyer, he said, “My coat and hat. I’m stepping out.”
“At once, Your Grace.”
Cedric moved toward the door, unwilling to remain inside a second longer. Outside, the late afternoon air was biting, but Grosvenor Square was alive as usual. Astor followed him with the coat, and as soon as he shrugged it on, he strode down the street.
It took only a moment for his presence in town to be noticed as a voice behind him called, “Haremore!”