Page 95 of His Forsaken Duchess
The thought crept into her mind, souring her mood. She glanced toward the clock on the mantel, irritation niggling at her.
Where is he?
She had half a mind to send a note to wherever his calendar claimed he was—White’s, perhaps, or some far-flung place he decided to retreat to. For a man who could command the attention of an entire room by simply walking into it, he was entirely too skilled at making himself absent when it suited him.
Audrey turned away from the mirror with an annoyed sigh, putting on her gloves with sharp, precise movements. She was reaching for her shawl when a sound from below drifted to her ears—boots against marble, deliberate and measured. Her breath caught as she turned sharply toward the door.
She left her bedchamber and hurried to the stairs. Then, she froze.
At the foot of the grand staircase stood Cedric. He wore deep navy evening attire, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and tall frame, with a crisp white cravat that only accentuated the strong column of his throat. His dark hair was tousled just enough to seem disheveled, though Audrey suspected that was by design. He looked far too handsome for his own good—especially hers.
For one ridiculous, breathless moment, Audrey could only stare.
Then, as though sensing her presence, Cedric looked up. His gaze found hers immediately, and for a beat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
“You’re here,” she managed, cursing the way her voice cracked.
His lips quirked up, half amusement, half something softer. “Where else would I be?”
“Anywhere, knowing you,” she muttered, descending the stairs with careful, measured steps, grateful for having the banister to steady herself.
When she reached the bottom step, he was there, waiting. Audrey swallowed hard as his eyes swept over her once, lingering for barely a heartbeat before rising to meet hers.
“You look lovely,” he said, his voice low and sincere.
Her heart gave an embarrassing flutter, and she tightened her grip on her gloves. “It’s just a dress, Cedric.”
“Yes, but you chose it,” he replied easily, his gaze holding hers with a quiet intensity that left her feeling too exposed. “And that makes it far more deliberate. Tell me, what’s your strategy tonight?”
Audrey blinked, confused. “Strategy?”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her in a way that made heat rise to her cheeks. “The color softens you without diminishing your presence. The pearls are elegant, but they draw attention to your face, not your jewelry. Every detail says something, and I doubt any of it was accidental.”
Audrey’s lips parted in surprise. She stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. “I had no idea you were so… observant.”
Cedric’s smile was small but unmistakably wicked as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You underestimate me, Duchess.”
Before Audrey could formulate a proper reply—or scold her heart for skipping a beat—he straightened, offering her his arm. “Come. We cannot keep your mother and sister waiting.”
She hesitated for a moment longer, half tempted to say something sharp just to regain the upper hand. But then he winked—winked!—and any remaining wit she might have mustered evaporated like mist.
“Very well,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. His warmth and strength, so tangible beneath her gloved hand, sent an odd shiver up her spine. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”
Audrey had expected a hum of whispers when their names were announced in the ballroom. She had braced herself for it, hadprepared for it with every carefully planned detail of her dress, every strategic curl in her hair. But still, the silence hit her like a sudden wind.
Her gloved fingers tightened around Cedric’s arm as they descended the grand staircase, her mother and Lilianna trailing just behind. From her vantage point, Audrey could see the sea of faces turned toward them—some curious, some skeptical, and a few openly awed.
It was not a scandal they saw. Not tonight.
Cedric’s presence comforted her. He moved with the easy confidence of a man who was utterly unconcerned with the opinions of others, and Audrey found herself drawing strength from him. The whispers began, soft and scattered, but there was no sting in them. Instead, admiration threaded through the quiet hum.
The Duke and Duchess of Haremore.
At the bottom of the stairs, they were met by their hosts, Lord and Lady Heathersfield. The older couple beamed at them, their warmth radiating like sunshine.
“Your Grace,” Lady Heathersfield said with a delighted smile, “you look positively radiant. And Lilianna—my, what a vision!”
Lilianna blushed under the praise, but Lady Heathersfield leaned closer, her voice conspiratorial. “Take no notice of thegossips, my dear. Scandals are terribly overstated. Why, my husband and I would never have married if we hadn’t been caught in one.”
