Page 83 of Surrender Your Grace
“That wasn’t your fault,” she said firmly. “He came out of nowhere.” Cici moved closer to better argue her case. “Maggie and Rothbury are planning to attend. That’s three pairs of eyes watching over me.”
Unconvinced, his frown deepened.
“Please, Andrew. I won’t let whoever’s behind this shove me back into the shadows.”
“This isn’t a point of pride. It’s a matter of safety.”
She placed her hands on his chest, beseeching, “Stay beside me. Dance every dance with me. Talk so loudly about how much you love me, they’ll choke on it. If we withdraw now, they win.”
He took her hands. She could see the war of indecision behind his eyes, the rage against the threat, and even his pride in her defiance. The last one must have won him over because he vowed, “They’ll strangle on it, because I do love you, sweet pea.”
He didn’t give her a chance to reply. He pulled her into his arms, squeezing her so tight she found it hard to breathe. But she didn’t protest, drinking in his warmth and love.
In a voice gruff with emotion, he admitted, “I can’t lose you too.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
“You can’t know that,” he returned.
“We’ll stay close to Maggie and Duncan. With your and Lord Rothbury’s height and the sheer breadth of your shoulders, no one would dare attack in the full light of hundreds of guests.”
“You have more faith in what your assailant wouldn’t dare than I do,” he murmured.
“Don’t make me stay home,” she pleaded. “I’m sick of the dark cloud we’ve been living under. It’s time for a little light to shine through. Nothing has inspired me to participation since… the opera.” She pushed out of his arms enough to look up at him. “Besides, how will every man in the room imagine undressing your wife, in the gown you specifically chose, if she’s not there?”
A beat of silence. Then he drew her close again and exhaled, the last of his resistance crumbling. “You’re maddeningly persuasive.”
She beamed up at him. “It’s one of my best qualities.”
“I disagree. There’s so much more to you.” He smiled faintly. “So be it. We’ll let them see the duchess they tried to unmake—but couldn’t.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Mary entered, hesitating at the sight of Andrew—his arms still wrapped around her. “Should I return, Your Grace?”
“No,” he answered for her. “We’ll be late if we delay.”
Mary helped Cici into her gown. Andrew stayed, seated in a chair by the fire, watching every moment—as the bodice was secured and the skirts arranged—with as much concern as desire.
“Which jewels?” her maid asked, picking of the tray of already rebuffed pieces, he gave his only directive. “Just the combs.”
Cici tilted her head. “You think I need less sparkle tonight?”
“You are the sparkle.”
Her cheeks warmed at the quiet reverence in his tone.
Mary pinned her hair up, leaving soft tendrils to frame her face. When she was done, she left them alone.
Cici turned from side to side, taking in her final appearance, then she met his gaze in the mirror. “How did you talk me into this color? It’s bolder than anything I’ve worn before.”
Andrew crossed the room and stopped behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.
“Because you knew I was right,” he murmured, brushing her neck with his thumbs. “You’re breathtaking.”
“I’m nervous.”
His arms slid around her waist, drawing her back against him. “The gossips and backbiters will be watching. But you’ll walk in there like you own the room.”
“You have more faith in me than I do.”
