Page 87 of His Forsaken Duchess
“You look…” She searched for the right word, cautious now. “… troubled.”
Cedric’s lips quirked up faintly, though it lacked any humor. “A fitting observation, Duchess.” He turned the book over in his hands and held it out to her. “There’s something I need your help with.”
Audrey blinked, surprised by his tone. Cedric was not a man who often admitted to needing help—or to anything at all, really. Slowly, she took the book from his outstretched hand. The leather was soft with age, and when she glanced at the cover, her heart lurched.
“Is this…?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Cecilia’s,” Cedric said simply. There was a strange tension in his voice, as though the single word had cost him something. “Her diary.”
Audrey’s breath caught. “Why now?” she asked gently, opening the diary with reverence.
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Perhaps it’s because of your sister. Perhaps I thought…” He paused, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “It doesn’t matter. Just read it.”
Audrey scanned the pages, careful not to let her hands tremble. Cecilia’s handwriting was elegant but rushed, as though she’d been desperate to put her thoughts to paper. One page stood alone, unconnected to the others. It was smudged, the ink uneven as though her hand had been shaking.
Audrey’s throat tightened as she began to read aloud. “I lied to Cedric.” Her eyes flickered up to her husband, but his expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on the flames. She swallowed and continued. “I told him it was Lord Ellington, but I made him up. There was no Lord Ellington. I couldn’t tell him the truth—not to protect him, but to protect Cedric. My brother has a temper, and I know he would have done something foolish just to defend me. He would have hurt himself. I couldn’t let that happen.”
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and damning.
Audrey’s hands trembled as she lowered the diary. “She… she lied to you.”
Cedric’s mouth tightened, his gaze dark and distant. “I spent years searching for a man who didn’t exist,” he said quietly. “I would have torn apart every inch of London to find him. And all along, Cecilia was protectingme.”
Audrey stared at him, her heart aching in a way she hadn’t expected. This man, so gruff and impenetrable, had been carrying this burden for years—alone. She looked back down at the diary and noticed the final part of the entry.
“There’s more,” she whispered, her voice soft. “Lord R. did this to me.”
Cedric’s head turned to her sharply, his eyes locking onto hers. “Lord R.,” he repeated, his voice low and harsh. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Audrey’s pulse quickened. “Lord R.,” she echoed, the pieces falling into place far too quickly for comfort. She swallowed, meeting his gaze. “Cedric… Lord Rashford?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It was a decade ago,” he said carefully. “It may not be him. But considering that he was involved with your sister, we would be foolish to ignore the possibility.”
Audrey nodded, though the very idea sent a chill down her spine. “You’re right. We’ll investigate him.”
Cedric’s eyebrow rose at her use ofwe, but he said nothing. Instead, his gaze softened, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them. Audrey couldn’t tear her eyes away from his face—so strong and yet so marked by grief. He looked… tired. Worn in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, the question slipping out before she could stop it.
Cedric didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and, to her astonishment, took her hand. His palm was rough andwarm, his grip firm but gentle. Audrey froze, her breath catching in her throat as he pulled her forward.
In an instant, she found herself pressed against him, her head resting on his chest. The steady beat of his heart echoed in her ears, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. Slowly, her eyes fluttered shut, and she allowed herself to relax. To rest, just for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” Cedric murmured, his voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”
Audrey shook her head against him. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t apologize. I’m here because I want to be, and I want to help my sister.”
His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, and for a long moment, they stayed like that—two people finding solace in the quiet. Eventually, Audrey shifted, tilting her head up to look at him. His face was so close, his dark eyes soft and unreadable. The firelight danced across his sharp features, but it was his gaze that held her captive.
Her pulse quickened, her heart hammering in her chest as his eyes dropped to her lips. The moment stretched on, the air between them charged and crackling with something she couldn’t name.
And then he kissed her.
It was slow and deliberate, as though he were memorizing her. His lips moved against hers with a tenderness that startled her, yet it was everything she had imagined and more. Audrey’s hand slid up to rest on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as warmth spread through her, leaving her breathless.
When he finally pulled back, Audrey opened her eyes to find him watching her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might say something—anything—but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted, rising to his feet and picking up the diary.
“Goodnight, Audrey,” he said softly.
