Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
“ Y ou should care,” Audrey said, though her words lacked conviction.
His lips curled into a smile that was both wicked and earnest. “Some rules were made to be broken, Audrey. Especially when my wife looks as beautiful as she does tonight.”
The compliment—delivered so plainly, so sincerely—sent heat to her cheeks. Before she could protest, Cedric took her hand and led her back onto the dance floor.
As the music began, he drew her close—closer than propriety allowed—and her breath caught. His hand on her waist was firm and warm, his touch steady as he guided her into the steps of the waltz.
“You are entirely too confident,” she murmured, though her voice trembled slightly.
“Not at all,” he replied, holding her gaze as they moved. “I’m simply determined.”
“To cause a scandal?”
“To dance with my wife.”
Audrey’s heart fluttered traitorously. “I daresay we’ll be talked about for days.”
“Let them talk,” Cedric said softly, his voice like a low rumble of thunder. “I’ve no interest in anyone’s opinion but yours.”
Her breath hitched, and she looked up at him, her lips parting. The candlelight softened the sharp lines of his face, highlighting the warmth in his dark eyes, the faint smile that seemed reserved for her alone.
Audrey swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed by how real he felt in this moment—how steady, how present.
“You’re insufferable,” she whispered.
“And you’re beautiful,” he replied without hesitation.
Audrey’s heart stuttered, her feet faltering for just a moment before Cedric steadied her with a gentle pressure at her waist.
“Focus, Duchess,” he teased. “I would hate to embarrass myself, after all.”
She laughed softly, though it came out more like a breath. “I thought you were out of practice.”
“I’m motivated,” he said simply.
They moved together with surprising grace, the rest of the ballroom fading into irrelevance. For the first time, Audrey let herself enjoy the moment—let herself lean into the warmth of Cedric’s touch, the strength of his arms, the way his gaze stayed fixed on hers as though no one else existed.
“Look there,” he murmured, breaking the spell.
Audrey followed his gaze to the far side of the ballroom, where Lilianna was waltzing with a young lord who looked as though he might burst with pride. Her sister’s smile was radiant, her cheeks flushed with joy as she laughed at something her partner said.
“She already has a full dance card, I suspect,” Cedric said, his voice soft.
Audrey’s heart swelled, tears pricking her eyes. “As it should be.”
Cedric looked back at her, his expression unreadable. “And so it begins,” he said quietly.
Audrey met his gaze, and for once, she couldn’t find the words to reply.
“You look like you’re ready to escape,” she said softly, glancing up at him as they stood near the ballroom’s edge.
The orchestra swelled behind them, and laughter rang out as couples twirled across the dance floor in elegant formation. Her stepmother, as promised, had taken over the evening’s social management with unmatched grace, effortlessly ushering Lilianna from one warm introduction to the next.
And yet, Cedric looked out of place. His expression, though schooled, remained shadowed, and Audrey recognized the subtle tension in the way he stood—his shoulders too rigid, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side as though itching for something he couldn’t name.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” Audrey asked, nodding her head toward the doors that led to the gardens beyond. “The fresh air might do us some good.”
He glanced down at her, his gaze searching hers as though trying to decipher her intent. For a moment, Audrey feared he might refuse. Then, with a small nod of his head, he said, “Yes, I think I would.”
Audrey’s heart gave a small, inexplicable flutter. She reached for his arm, her gloved hand curling lightly around his sleeve, and guided him out of the ballroom. The cool night air kissed her cheeks the moment they stepped onto the terrace, the warmth of the ballroom falling away like a discarded shawl.
The garden sprawled before them, illuminated faintly by the moonlight and the glow of lanterns hung along the winding paths. The air was still chilly, the lingering bite of spring holding stubbornly against the warmer days ahead. Audrey shivered once but did not release her husband’s arm.
Cedric noticed immediately. “You’re cold,” he murmured, stopping to shrug off his coat.
“I’m fine?—”
“You aren’t,” he said simply, draping the heavy garment over her shoulders before she could protest.
The scent of cedar and something else— him —wrapped around her as intimately as the garment itself.
Audrey resisted the urge to close her eyes and savor it. Instead, she turned to face him, her lips quirking up. “You’re quite attentive tonight, Your Grace.”
He looked down at her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Do not let it give you false hope. I’m still the same impossible man I’ve always been.”
“I wouldn’t dream of hoping otherwise,” she teased lightly.
They began walking again, the gravel crunching softly beneath their feet. Silence stretched between them—not an uncomfortable silence, but one heavy with thoughts. Audrey glanced up at him once, noting the way his gaze drifted toward the moonlit hedges as though he were seeing something far beyond the gardens.
Finally, he spoke. “I wish you had been there.”
Audrey frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
His voice was quieter now, rougher, as though the words cost him something. “When Cecilia’s scandal broke,” he said, his gaze fixed ahead. “I wish you had been there for her.”
Audrey stopped walking. His words were unexpected, raw in a way she’d never heard before. “Cedric…”
He turned to face her, his expression shadowed, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something softer. Weaker, she thought with a pang of realization.
“You would have made her feel loved, Audrey. Supported. Perhaps…” He paused, swallowing hard, as though the next words pained him. “Perhaps she would still be alive.”
Audrey’s heart twisted sharply at the anguish in his voice, at the stark vulnerability he so rarely revealed. She stepped closer to him, her gloved hand reaching for his. “Cedric, you mustn’t think like that.”
“How can I not?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I was her brother. I should have been able to help her. To save her. Instead, I?—”
“You loved her,” Audrey interrupted gently. “And you did what you thought was right. What happened to Cecilia was not your fault.”
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. “That’s easy to say.”
“It isn’t,” she replied softly. “I know guilt, Cedric. I know how it lingers—how it sinks its claws into your heart until you can barely breathe. But guilt is not love. It does not serve Cecilia’s memory to let it consume you.”
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s all I’ve known since she died.”
Audrey squeezed his hand, her voice stronger now. “Then let it go. Live, Cedric. Live the life she couldn’t—for both of you.”
His gaze searched hers, and Audrey felt the intensity of it, as though he were trying to determine if she meant the words she spoke.
Slowly, he nodded, though it was hesitant, as if he weren’t entirely sure how to take that step. “You’re right,” he said finally. “I know you’re right.”
Audrey smiled faintly. “Of course, I am.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and something in his expression shifted, as though the tension had lifted slightly from his shoulders. He stepped closer to her, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the quiet of the garden.
“You always know what to say,” he murmured.
Audrey’s breath hitched. The space between them seemed to shrink without either of them moving. “I try,” she replied, though the words came out barely above a whisper.
Cedric lifted his hand, his fingers brushing a loose curl from her cheek. The simple touch sent warmth through her, and she froze, suddenly aware of how close he was. The world seemed to fall away—the hum of distant music, the lantern light, even the cool spring air. All she could see was him.
And then he kissed her.
It was not tentative or unsure, as she might have expected. His lips captured hers with a quiet intensity, firm and yet heartbreakingly tender. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hand rising instinctively to rest against his chest. She could feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath her palm, matching the wild rhythm of her own.
For a moment, nothing else mattered—not the whispers of the ton, not their complicated marriage, not the ghosts of the past that haunted him. There was only this. Him. Them.
The sound of giggling shattered the moment like glass.
Audrey started, stepping back slightly as the laughter grew louder, carried toward them on the breeze. Cedric straightened as well, though he lingered close, his gaze holding hers for a beat longer than necessary before the moment fell away.
“Children,” she murmured, forcing a small smile as she glanced toward the distant hedges.
“Or bored debutantes,” Cedric added dryly.
Audrey let out a shaky breath, still feeling the warmth of his touch. “Perhaps we should return before the gossips find something to say.”
“Yes,” he agreed, though his voice was quieter.
They turned back toward the ballroom, the gravel crunching softly underfoot. Audrey’s thoughts were still tangled, her lips still tingling, her heart refusing to settle. She risked a glance at Cedric, who walked beside her in silence, his expression unreadable.
Just as they reached the terrace steps, they stopped abruptly.
A gentleman and a young lady stood a few paces ahead of them, partially hidden by the shadows. The girl’s ivory gown glowed faintly in the lantern light—a debutante, by the look of her. She gasped softly, her head turning toward them.
Audrey’s gaze shifted to the man standing beside her, and to Cedric, who had frozen beside her like a statue carved from stone.
“Cedric?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He did not respond. His gaze remained fixed on the stranger, his face pale, his body still as though he’d seen a ghost.