Chapter Eleven #2
“Appear affectionate.” Adrian interrupted, spinning her through another turn with controlled force. His jaw tightened. “We can discuss everything later. But not here. Please.”
The last word seemed to cost him something. Cecilia’s eyes widened slightly. He met her gaze with glacial indifference even as unwanted awareness prickled beneath his skin—the warmth of her through silk, the scent of jasmine that brought back memories he’d rather forget.
The words tasted bitter even as he spoke them. She fit in his arms with devastating rightness—the same he’d felt when she was Clara. He crushed the thought ruthlessly.
The music swelled around them, beautiful and mocking.
Cecilia’s fingers tightened in his—not in affection but in barely suppressed anger.
Her body remained rigid in his arms, fighting the waltz’s natural intimacy.
Yet even furious, even wounded, she fit against him with unsettling perfection that made his jaw tighten.
For a moment, Adrian thought she might actually make a scene—might pull away and damn the consequences.
Instead, she lifted her chin with that infuriating pride he’d first noticed as Miss Vale.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Her voice dripped with false sweetness. “Though you might consider that until death is rather a long time to maintain such… impressive disdain. You may grow weary of the performance.”
“I have considerable stamina, I assure you.”
“How fortunate for us both.”
They finished the dance in rigid silence, moving through the steps with the precision of soldiers rather than lovers. When the final notes faded, Adrian released her immediately, stepping back with a curt bow.
When the final notes faded, Adrian released her, stepping back with a bow.
“Thank you for the dance, Duchess.” The words emerged formal, controlled. He escorted her back toward Lydia before excusing himself.
He spent the remainder of the reception in deliberate avoidance—nursing brandy in Cassian’s study whilst discussing investment portfolios with men whose conversation required nothing from him save occasional grunts of agreement.
Eventually, propriety demanded they depart together. Adrian collected his wife—the word tasted foreign, bitter—with cold courtesy, offering his arm in silence. She accepted with equal formality, her touch feather-light, gone the moment decorum allowed.
The carriage ride to Ravenscar House occurred in suffocating silence.
When the carriage halted before his townhouse, Adrian descended first, extending his hand with cold courtesy. Cecilia accepted it without meeting his eyes, her touch feather-light and gone the moment her feet touched the pavement.
The household staff lined the entrance hall—housemaids and footmen, cook and butler, all arranged in formal greeting.
Adrian noted their expressions with grim satisfaction.
Recognition flickered across multiple faces as they registered the new duchess.
The housekeeper curtsied, though her smile appeared strained. “Welcome home, Your Grace. Your Grace?”
Only Aunt Flora seemed genuinely delighted.
“Oh, my dear Clara! How wonderful to have you back with us!” She clasped Cecilia’s hands warmly, oblivious to the tension crackling through the hall.
“How lovely! And you’ve married my Adrian—I knew you were perfect for him the moment I saw you.
Such a kind girl, always reading to me so patiently.
” Aunt Flora patted Cecilia’s cheek with grandmotherly affection.
“You must sit with me tomorrow and tell me everything about the wedding. I’m afraid I don’t remember it very well just now. ”
“I would be honoured.” Cecilia’s smile was real, transforming her face from merely beautiful to genuinely radiant, and Adrian’s chest constricted with something he refused to examine.
“Aunt Flora,” He stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her elbow. “The Duchess is exhausted. Perhaps we might let her retire.”
“Of course, of course.” Aunt Flora allowed herself to be guided back toward the drawing room, and Adrian turned to find Cecilia watching him with unreadable eyes.
“I’ll show you to your chambers,” Adrian said curtly, already moving toward the staircase.
Cecilia followed in rustling silence. He led her to the Duchess’s apartments—a suite of rooms adjoining his own through a connecting door that had remained locked for years. The chambers had been hastily prepared, fresh flowers arranged on every surface, new linens imported from France.
Adrian stopped at the threshold, making no move to enter. “Your belongings arrived this afternoon. Your maid has been given chambers nearby, should you require her assistance.”
“Thank you.” Cecilia’s voice was carefully neutral.
The silence stretched, uncomfortable and charged. Adrian became acutely aware of her proximity in the narrow corridor, the way candlelight played across her hair, the scent of jasmine that made his pulse quicken despite everything.
Adrian stepped back, his tone clipped. “Good night, Clara.”
Her sharp intake of breath was audible. When she met his gaze, her green eyes blazed with wounded fury. “My name,” she said with careful precision, each word dropping like ice between them, “is Cecilia.”
Adrian’s lips curved into something too cold and sharp to be called a smile. “Forgive me. I’ll try to remember which name you’re using this week, Duchess.”
He turned on his heel and strode toward his own chambers before she could respond. Adrian closed the door of his bedchamber with a decisive click, then stood motionless in the centre of the darkened room, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled breaths.
After a long moment, he moved to the window, loosening his cravat with sharp, irritated movements. The silk came away, followed by his coat, his waistcoat, until he stood in shirtsleeves staring at the wall.
Somewhere beyond that wall, Cecilia was preparing for bed.
Adrian pressed his forehead to the cool window glass, willing the thought away. This was supposed to be simple… except he couldn’t stop thinking about the feel of her in his arms during their dance, the way her body had fit against his.
Desire coursed through his veins, leaving him aching and breathless despite himself. She’d deceived him. Lied to him. Manipulated her way into his household and his life. And he still wanted her with an intensity that made his hands shake against the window glass.
Adrian exhaled heavily, his breath fogging the pane. His body ached with contradictions he couldn’t reconcile. His carefully constructed walls felt suddenly fragile.
This was going to be considerably harder than he’d thought.