Page 52 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“Don’t open that!”

But she already had. A landslide of clothing tipped out and fell over her. She was engulfed by a flood of fabric and the overpowering smell of camphor.

James caught her around the waist to steady her. “Every chest and wardrobe in this house is crammed to bursting,” he said. “That happens whenever one opens a wardrobe. Be grateful it was only cloth. Ned was battered by a hail of gravy boats.”

Garments continued to fall. Cecelia batted at them.

James pulled her from under the onslaught. She leaned against him, soft and fragrant in his arms. The top of her head was just at his chin. She felt delightfully curved and pliable.

She turned in his embrace and looked up. Their lips were inches apart. James became aware that they were in a bedroom. In their long association, they had never been alone together in a bedroom. The sheets beckoned. All these years and he had never kissed her. In these last few weeks, everything had changed. Desire flamed through him. He wanted to, desperately.

His arms started to tighten of their own accord. His head bent. Cecelia gazed up at him, unmoving. Anticipating? Could she be wondering what it would be like to kisshim? She blinked. Her lips parted. She drew in a breath.

And James suddenly became conscious of his disheveled state. He might be fragrant in quite a different way from her subtle perfume. He’d probably smudged her gown with dust.

He let go of her and stepped back.

They faced each other, drifts of the old duke’s clothes around their feet. Cecelia’s cheeks were flushed. Was her breath as quick as his? Did her heart pound? James was uncharacteristically speechless. He’d asked her to marry him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask whether she might wish to kiss him. That was ridiculous. But somehow still true. He neither understood nor appreciated the dilemma.

He looked away, and his gaze immediately encountered the bed. Right there, seductive as a siren song. He dropped his eyes to the sea of fabric on the floor, and saw them as the scattered garments of two lovers in the haste of desire. If he picked her up and carried her to… No.Thatwas unacceptable.

He took a step back. His left foot tangled in a dark-blue coat and nearly tripped him up. He reached down to pull it away. The cloth and workmanship were very fine. “Hah,” he said, holding it up as a diversion. “This might be one of Weston’s.”

Cecelia moved out of the mass of cloth. “I can’t quite imagine your great-uncle going to a tailor.” She sounded breathless.

James was glad to hear it. “He had to get clothes somewhere.”

“If it was his. Surely all this cannot be.” She gestured at the sea of fabric.

“I wonder.” James was very weary of his own dusty coat. Unthinking, he shed it and pulled this new one on. “It doesn’t fit like one of Weston’s, but it might do.”

“Do? You look like a stripling who has outgrown last year’s wardrobe.”

James swung his arms. The coatwastight.

“The sleeves are too short, and the shoulders clearly bind,” Cecelia added. “I wager you can’t button it.”

James tried. The coat wouldn’t close. “Uncle Percival was a wiry old fellow,” he acknowledged.

“You look silly, James. If you are actually staying here, send for your own clothes.”

The briskness was back in her voice. He had missed his moment. The kiss—the compelling possibility of a kiss—was gone. “Hobbs is incapable of keeping his mouth shut,” he replied. “He would bring all of society down on me.” He quickly slipped off the coat and resumed his own. “I suppose we must cram this back into the wardrobe,” he said.

“Why not take some down to Mrs. Gardener?” asked Cecelia. “It is all fine cloth. She can use it to make new clothes for her family.”

He thought of their ragged layers. “A good thought.” He started to gather up an armload of fabric.

“I wonder if she has sewing supplies?” said Cecelia as she followed suit.

“I believe all that exists in this house somewhere,” said James.

Together, they made their back to the kitchen with their spoils.

But Mrs. Gardener didn’t seem grateful for the offerings. “You should sell those garments if you don’t want ’em, milord,” she said. “I know a place you could get a good price.”

“That’s not necessary. You can alter them.”

“Cloth that fine? I’d look a fool. And I couldn’t work in such stuff.”

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