Chapter 11 #2
His kiss offered no mercy or escape, but Cecilia was not looking for either and responded to the violence of his kiss with her own passion. She wrenched her mouth from him, and while she expected to see reckless abandon in his gaze, the hard slate of his eyes both entranced and pinned her.
Unbidden, her heart took residence in her throat. What was he thinking?
“What is it?” she challenged him.
“I am trying to see the fearless woman who kissed me three weeks ago, and not the timid mouse who tried to wiggle away from a harmless dinner invitation,” Cassian murmured.
His words almost pummeled her knees from under her. “I was taken by surprise, that is the truth.”
“The truth is, you are allowing that one hour in your life to rule you.”
“It was the worst night of my life!” she bristled.
“And your response is to hide away?” Cassian asked while he lightly wrapped two knuckles on her temple. “No, sweet Cecilia, the sticking point in your life is your obsession with propriety hidden by layers of deep insecurities.”
“What insecurities?” She asked, mind boggled. “I have no such things.”
“Yes, you do,” he stressed. “See, what you’re not realizing is that you and I have received the same conditioning.
While you internalized the criticism as an attack on your character and twisted yourself into knots to fit their opinions, I used the same criticism to realize others’ opinions of me are not what makes me who I am,” Cassian pulled away and went to pull the door in.
Looking over his shoulder, he finished with, “I freed myself from the shackles of opinions, and I could not be happier. I think you ought to do the same.”
He strode inside, leaving Cecilia to wilt against the wall; the truth of his words was like a scalpel under her skin. She could not—would not allow herself to crumble, knowing Cassian had seen through her facade as if she were cheesecloth.
Pressing her hand to her lips, she sighed, “How perverse is it that I wished he had followed through on his threat and spanked me?”
She headed to her suite of rooms, where, earlier, Andrews had announced the delivery of her furniture set.
Entering the room, her eyes coasted over the matching pale ash wood escritoire; its finely crafted writing desk had curved back and upper compartments with drawers and pigeonhole spaces enclosing a fitted interior comprising drawers.
Plucking up a premium sheet of stationery, the printed header had her husband’s seal and address. With a flickering smile, she said, “It’s now mine as well.”
Andrews had graciously placed the stacks of cards she had been working on in quaint stacks of opened and still sealed. However, beside them was a newly arrived stack of letters, and the moment she saw Rosie’s address, she snatched it up and opened it.
Dear Cecilia,
I know it has only been a few meager days since you have gone, but I miss you as if you had taken to the high seas and sailed across half the world.
I miss you so dearly, and I hope beyond hope that you will find some happiness even with the unexpected turn in your story.
I hope you are not too aggrieved over what happened between you and Duke Tressingham. It is not ideal, I know, but as things unfold in town, I think you might have had a worse marriage with the Duke-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.
It is growing clearer by the day.
Town is still as flush with gossip about you and His Grace, and they get more ludicrous by the second. Gabriel is pushing the narrative that you had become a termagant, demanding marriage, and in his words, you were ‘throwing your wiles at him like a little Jezebel’.
If I could take off my slipper and wallop him like I do spiders, I would. The nerve of the man! I want to scream to the moon.
Cecilia took the letter to a window seat and, before she read more, pressed the heel of her hands into her eyes. God, this was not getting any better—was it?
You and we, meaning Emma too, of course, know what happened, but I do not think it will be wise to make such truth known. It will only confuse everyone. I do wish you all the best, and the moment you give me permission to visit, I will be there. We, Emma and I, will be there.
In other news, Ophelia Hawthorne is now his wife-to-be, and the little tart has no shame in showing off her ring to anyone who crosses her path. She is another one I’d gladly slap with my slipper.
How dare they make you out to be the villain in this tale when you are the victim of his disgusting hubris, taunting you like dangling a carrot before a horse. I am apoplectic!!!!
Cecilia laughed at the repetitive exclamation points. One of them had so much pressure on the paper, a tiny section had ripped. She sobered as she felt her friend was truly enraged.
There is more. Duke-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is making sure to tell everyone that you and Duke Tressingham had been committing an affair “under his nose” and yes, those were his words, and he finally saw your “true colors” the night of the ball.
I wish my dear that I had the power to sentence these two traitors to the guillotine or banishment to the other side of the world... on a mountain top… covered in ice with no blankets. Or housing.
I am so angry on your behalf, Cece. I wish I were the bearer of better news, but besides all that, I do hope you find some happiness even with these vultures picking at your good name.
Your dearest friend,
Rosie.
Closing the letter, she held it in both hands and thought back to what Cassian had told her on the porch.
Her heart still rebelled at how acutely he had summarized her life and how she had made it her mission not to ruffle feathers or to be on anyone’s bad side.
How she had given away her voice to let others shout over her.
“He is right…” Her heart was undeniably unsettled as the words slipped from her lips, “…I argue with books for god’s sake. Maybe it is time I take that fight to the real world.”
A knock on her half-closed door had her looking up to find Cassian lounging languidly on the doorjamb. “I thought I would find you here. I hope you are prepared for your punishment, as it commences now.”