Page 89 of His Forsaken Duchess
Lord Belleville strode into the room, all smiles and effortless charm, as though he had been summoned to break the mood. Audrey felt her cheeks flush under his teasing scrutiny, though she forced herself to sit straighter.
“Good morning, Lord Belleville,” she greeted, determined to regain control of the room. “Have you eaten?”
Belleville pulled out a chair and dropped into it with an exaggerated groan. “I have not. And knowing Cedric, I had best fortify myself before delivering some important news.”
Cedric’s glare was sharp enough to pierce through steel. “If you’ve come to torment me this early in the morning, I’ll have you tossed out.”
“Ah, but you won’t,” Belleville said cheerfully, reaching for the nearest platter of muffins. “Because, as much as you dislike me, you need me.”
“I need you like I need a hole in my boot,” Cedric retorted. “Now speak, or I’ll have Astor escort you out of the premises, breakfast or not.”
Belleville ignored the threat entirely, turning instead to Audrey. “Your Grace, will you be attending Lady Heathersfield’s ball tomorrow evening? I’ve heard it’s promising to be quite the event.”
“Of course,” Audrey replied with a gracious nod. “Lilianna will be attending, and I’ve promised to introduce her to a few…suitablegentlemen.”
Belleville’s smile turned sly. “I’ll be there, then.”
Cedric, who had been idly stirring his coffee, set the spoon down with a sharpclink. “If you’ve quite finished angling for an invitation, perhaps you’d like to get on with it.”
Belleville sighed dramatically, as though burdened by his task. “Patience, Cedric. This news requires sustenance, and I’m nearly done.” He popped the last bite of his muffin into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. Only then did he lean back in his chair, stretching his limbs as though he had a full night’s rest. “Lord Rashford has been located.”
The room stilled.
Cedric’s chair scraped across the floor as he shot to his feet in one fluid motion, his tall frame towering over them both. “Where?”
Belleville didn’t flinch, though he shot Audrey a knowing look before answering. “He’s staying at a small inn on the edge of Mayfair. Far enough from the center of London to avoid being seen but close enough to maintain his hold on Society’s strings.”
Cedric’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’ll leave immediately.”
Audrey rose as well, her pulse quickening. “Cedric.” Her voice was calm, but it carried an edge of urgency. She stepped forward, placing herself between her husband and the door. “You cannot simply storm into his lodgings.”
Cedric’s eyes bored into hers, dark and unwavering. “And what would you have me do, Audrey? Sit idly by while that man?—”
“I would have you act wisely,” she interrupted, lifting her chin. “You are the Duke of Haremore, not some hot-headed brawler in a back alley.”
Belleville, who was still lounging at the table, added with a lazy wave of his hand, “She’s right, you know. Besides, if you throttle him before asking questions, it’ll do no one any good. Least of all Lilianna.”
Cedric’s nostrils flared, but Audrey saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “I will not sit here and do nothing.”
“No one is asking you to,” she said, her voice softening. She reached out and gently laid a hand on his arm. “But promise me you’ll keep your temper. Please.”
For a moment, Cedric didn’t move. He merely stared down at her, the anger in his eyes warring with something else—something she couldn’t quite name.
Finally, with a sharp exhale, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll behave myself.”
Belleville rose then, brushing muffin crumbs from his waistcoat. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” he assured Audrey with a lopsided grin. “Cedric may be the brute, but I’m the brains of this operation.”
Cedric shot him a withering look. “If you’re the brains, God help us all.”
Belleville only laughed, following Cedric as he strode toward the door.
Audrey watched them go, her stomach twisting with a strange combination of dread and hope.
“Please be careful,” she called after them, though she doubted either of them heard her.
The door closed behind them with a finality that made the room seem far too empty. She sank back into her chair, her fingers curling tightly around the edges of the tablecloth.
What will this yield?
