Page 99 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

James waved the page. “This is to be considered our…command to appear.” He looked down and read, “‘We don’t want people to see anything furtive’… That word is heavily underlined… ‘about the match. A ball is traditional, and I shall do my best to make it a grand occasion.’”

“Knowing Lady Wilton, she will certainly succeed. And we have no house in which to hold it ourselves.”

For the first time, James heard this as a criticism. He had married her, made her a duchess, but he had no home to offer her. Tereford House could scarcely be called that, not for some time. Months, no doubt. Their honeymoon had been so sweet. Now life stretched ahead, and as far as he could see into the future, it was crammed full of meetings with Dalton and musty documents and piles of broken-down possessions to sort through. He feared a cascade of disputes, because he and Cecelia had always disagreed about business matters.

That was the old Cecelia, he told himself, the one who did not approve of him and was engrossed in boring tasks that he could not endure. But she was gone or, at the least, modified by the woman who responded so eagerly to his caresses. And yet, the former Cecelia had existed for much longer than the ardent wife.

James looked up to find her gazing at him. “Do you not want your grandmother to hold a ball?” she asked.

“I’m sure she has the right idea.” He examined the lovely creature on the other side of the hearth—golden hair, serenely beautiful face, the body that he now knew so well. He had never satisfactorily answered the question of why Cecelia changed her mind about marrying him. When he’d hinted at it, she’d distracted him in the most delicious way. She’d done that more than once, he realized. Physical pleasure could have been an answer, but she hadn’t known what that would be like, between them, beforehand. And oddly, passion was not enough of an answer for him. He wanted more. But what precisely? He didn’t know how to ask in a way that she would tell him.

It was ironic that Cecelia’s very slightly tarnished reputation was now restored by Prince Karl’s fall from grace. If she’d married to save her good name, she must now see that was unnecessary. Might she regret her hasty decision? And surely this whole line of thinking was foolishness?

“I am eager to get to work over at Tereford House,” she said.

“Are you?” James had looked in on his way to the club and reassured Mrs. Gardener.

“I was thinking we might involve one of the large auction houses,” Cecelia added. “They have people accustomed to valuing property, and they will be eager to sell the things we don’t wish to keep. They could probably provide workers able to sift through the piles and make judgments.”

James felt a trace of nostalgia for his days with the Gardener children searching for buried treasures. They had looked endearingly ridiculous in the old wigs. This new method would take all the fun out of the process. And yet, he had been growing weary of sorting. “Very well,” he said.

“You don’t sound enthusiastic.”

“I’m sure you know what’s best. You always do.”

She blinked, and her lovely lips turned down. Was she offended? Hurt? James realized that he had never paid such close attention to her reactions in past years.

“This is my part of the arrangement after all,” she said.

“Arrangement?”

“As we agreed.”

“I never used that word,” replied James. His chest felt tight.

“It was implied in your proposal, when you pointed out what I would gain by taking on the estate management.”

She kept reminding him. Yes, he had said that, because he had been an idiot. But now he was…less of one? Or even more? He didn’t know. “You’ve said you like such tasks.”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Yes, you have said so? Or you do like them?”

“Those are one and the same,” she answered. “You can trust me to do a good job.”

He did trust her for that, but could he trust her with his heart? And where had that very odd thought come from? James noticed an array of bottles on the sideboard. “Would you like a glass of wine?” He intended to have one. At least.

“Yes, thank you,” she said.

He rose, poured, and returned with the glasses. When he handed hers over, he noticed a list in her other hand. James groaned, only half teasing. “That is the longest list I’ve ever seen you make.”

Cecelia smiled up at him. “There’s much to do.”

He sat. She sipped her wine. James took a gulp of his.

“We needn’t discuss every item,” she said. “Just a few of the most important.”

“Suppose I simply declare that you are right about all of them.”

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