Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
H e heard Cecilia’s breath catch in her throat, and he could not help but smile in spite of his annoyance, recalling the similar sounds she had made a few nights prior when they kissed. “I know, now, why you were so intent on hosting a musicale this week,” he continued.
Cecilia swallowed. She turned to face him but did not pull away so that their faces were mere inches away. That defiant light glinted in her eyes, barely concealing the lust underneath. “I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about, husband.”
“Do not take me for a fool, wife ,” he said, enjoying the flush that rose to her cheeks. Heat pooled in his loins at the sight of her like this. The passion that arose within her at moments like this almost made him look forward to their arguments. “Shall we take this to my study? I am not certain you should like for your guests to hear what I would have to say.”
“ Our guests,” she insisted. Her eyes flickered down to his lips, then back up to his gaze. “But certainly. To your study. Only for a brief moment; I am certain neither of us wishes to delay the start of the musicale.”
The entire walk down the hall to his study, Ian barely resisted the urge to press his wife up against the wall and kiss the stubbornness out of her.
Once the door shut behind him, he whirled on her. “I see you have not given up on this ill-advised plan to push your brother and Miss Banfield together. It is plain as day that you are still intent on meddling in their lives.”
“I am hardly meddling,” she snapped. “Though, frankly, after all Zachary has done as of late to meddle in your life and mine, he would have no right to be angry if I were meddling. But I am not. I am merely providing them with an opportunity to get to know each other better, particularly given the feelings which they both clearly feel for each other.”
“Providing opportunities is one thing. What you are doing is leading him down a very specific path of your choosing.”
“I just want the best for him!” she said, brows pinching in frustration. “I am hardly forcing him to propose to her. But it is clear he feels something for Nancy, as does she for him. I just want the best for my brother. I would think you would want the best for your best friend, do you not?”
“Of course, I want what is best for him,” Ian said through gritted teeth. “I merely think he should be allowed to decide for himself what that is. I should think you would as well after you and I had our own choices so suddenly torn from us. It is Zachary’s life. Who he to or not to court is none of your business.”
“Of course, it is my business!” Cecilia exploded, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. “My father asked me two things before he died. I have already failed him on one account. I cannot fail to fulfill his second wish.”
Ian’s brows knitted together. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice softer.
Cecilia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked back at him, her eyes were shiny with tears. “My father—my father was everything to me. I love my mother, of course, but my father taught me everything I know. No one in this world knew me better than he did, and now he is gone. When my father was on his deathbed, he made me promise him two things,” she said, her voice wavering. “The first was that I do not marry a rake. The second was to ensure Zachary found an honorable match, so that he may protect his and the reputation of our family. You took away his first, but I owe him his second dying wish, at least.”
Ian fell silent. A heavy wave of guilt washed over him as he realized what she was saying. While it upset him to hear the depths of how low her opinion was of him, stronger still was his sympathy for the pain in her voice. It was clear that, at this moment, she spoke not to upset him, but only to express her genuine remorse for disappointing her father. A disappointment that, however unintentionally, he had aided her in.
“Cecilia—”
She backed away from him, wiping tears from her eyes. “Forgive me for the outburst,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “I should not have said anything. I ought to return to the parlor. We will be starting soon. Excuse me.”
With that, she left the room.
Ian remained in the study for a few minutes longer, giving her a head start back to the parlor while he sat with his own thoughts.
When he returned to the parlor, music greeted him in the hallway. He opened the door quietly, slipping in and closing it silently behind him. He found everyone seated, as the music had already begun. Cecilia was seated at the opposite end of the room, next to her brother, an empty seat to the other side of him.
A beautiful tune drifted over from the pianoforte. He looked over to see Miss Banfield seated there, her hands moving nimbly over the keys. Cecilia had not exaggerated—her friend was indeed quite gifted at the instrument.
Looking back at Zachary, Ian was surprised to see the look on his friend’s face. There was an emotion in Zachary’s eyes the likes of which he had never seen before. There was a softness that was new, and his gaze was firmly fixed on Miss Banfield, full of admiration and light.
Ian let his gaze drift back to Cecilia.
Cecilia was also looking at Miss Banfield, though she occasionally snuck glances back at her brother. Though she was still slightly red around the eyes from her earlier tears, anyone who had not been privy to their conversation would not know she had been crying. She wore a small, approving smile, hope in her eyes.
Ian thought once more about her passion when she had spoken of her late father. The grief in her eyes. It was true, he realized, what she had said. She meant it honestly when she said she was not trying to meddle, only to ensure her brother’s happiness. Indeed, looking at her and Zachary now, it was clear that Cecilia had been right about his feelings for Miss Banfield. Perhaps Miss Banfield truly was what was best for Zachary.
Looking again at Cecilia—her beautiful smile, the tempting curve of her neck—he was struck was pride in his wife. A talented matchmaker, in addition to a hostess. How surprising, he thought, that they finally saw eye to eye on something.
He could not help but wonder what else they might have in common.
Cecilia glanced back at the door. For one electrifying moment, their eyes met.
Then the music came to a close, and she looked away, cheeks red.
Miss Banfield turned to the crowd and gave a shy bow. Immediately, the audience burst into applause. No one clapped so loudly as Cecilia—except, of course, for Zachary, who looked more smitten than ever.
At the end of the night, once the last guest had been safely delivered into a carriage heading home, Ian stood in the hallway, leaning against a wall, and watched as Cecilia waved goodbye.
When she turned around, she stopped suddenly, as if surprised by him.
“Well,” she said after a brief pause. “That was a success, I suppose. Did you…” She hesitated, with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “I mean. You enjoyed the evening, I hope? I recall you were not thrilled with my initial announcement that I planned to host.”
He stood up from leaning against the wall and walked towards her. “It was a great success,” he agreed. “Whatever my initial reservations, I cannot deny that the results were spectacular. You should be quite proud of yourself, Your Grace.”
She laughed at his use of her title. “I appreciate the praise.”
“You looked beautiful, as well.”
She fell silent at that, though a small smile appeared on her lips. “Thank you,” she said, before walking down the hall. “I am off to bed,” she said. “I hope you sleep well.”
“Good night,” he replied. When she passed him, their arms brushed. The slight touch was enough to inspire new and powerful lust within him. He spoke again. “And you were right, you know.”
She stopped in her tracks, before turning slowly to face him. “About what?”
He tilted his head. “Your brother,” he said slowly. “I was watching him, during the performance.” He did not mention that he had been watching her, as well—surely she knew, from the moment their eyes had met. “It seems, indeed, that he perhaps is very fond of Miss Banfield.”
“Oh?” Cecilia asked. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” he said begrudgingly. “I have never seen him so flustered by a lady, in all our years of friendship. And Miss Banfield seems to be quite an accomplished young lady. They are well-matched. Perhaps…”
She raised a brow. “Perhaps?” she said, encouragingly.
He sighed. “Perhaps we could invite them to dinner next week,” he said. “And perhaps I shall speak to your brother. To encourage him to pursue his affections, to court her properly.”
“Well,” Cecilia said, a sparkle in her eye. “I am surprised.”
“Are you displeased? Would you rather we not invite them?”
“Oh, no, my lord. I am very pleased by this turn of events. After all, you know how much I love being right,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice.
Ian could not help but smile. “Indeed,” he said. “After how much you gloated winning that game of pall-mall, how could I forget?”
She laughed, the sound as melodic as bells. All this time, he had thought Cecilia at her most beautiful when she was being combative. He had never realized how much more attractive she could possibly become when she was smiling—when he was the one making her smile.
“You know,” he said. “I do not believe I have ever told you how much I love the sound of your laughter.”
She laughed again, though a note of inquisitiveness entered her gaze. “Is that so?”
“Indeed.” He took a step towards her. She did not step away; indeed, she moved closer to him, until they met halfway. “It is a most fetching sound. Together with the glint in your eyes and the fine gold of your hair is as though you are lit from within.”
She rolled her eyes. “I hope you do not seek to win me over with such bald-faced flattery, my lord.”
“I am only being honest.” He raised one hand to her cheek. “I enjoy how your face lights up when you are laughing, or sportive, or even angry. You flush a most lovely shade of pink, which then runs down to your chest.” He traced a path down her neck and collarbone. Cecilia shuddered, tilting her head slightly to allow him better access. “Of course, if you truly cannot be won over with compliments, perhaps I will have to try something else.”
Cecilia tipped her head back, eyes looking from his lips back to his eyes. “Like what?” she asked, already a bit breathless.
At the touch of his hand on the small of her back, her hands lifted to press against his chest. “Your Grace…” she murmured.
“You know you are allowed to call me by my name,” he said quietly. They were so close now that their lips nearly touched. “In fact, I would quite like it if you did.”
“Ian,” she sighed.
He leaned in closer. “Tell me to stop, wife,” he said.
Her eyes fluttered once more to his lips, then back up to his eyes. She said nothing but tipped her head up slightly further.
Ian leaned in and captured her lips with his.