Page 14 of Wedded to the Forbidden Duke
“And you, my lady, seem quite adept at pushing boundaries,” he said, nearly snapping. “Why is that? Perhaps because no one has ever dared to push back?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you volunteering to do so, Your Grace?”
His breathing was heavy, audibly so, matching her own, as he took one more step towards her. Cecilia was suddenly aware that they were closer to each other now than they had ever been. Perhaps even closer than they had been while dancing.
When the duke spoke again, his voice was low, and almost seemed to resonate deep in her chest. “Perhaps I am,” he growled.
A sudden gust of wind pushed Cecilia forward, carrying her shawl off her shoulders. As she reached for it, the sudden movement stole her balance, and she stumbled. She closed her eyes, steeling herself in preparation for the harsh feeling of the cold ground beneath her?—
Only to feel nothing of the sort.
What she hit into was sturdy, but warm; and, indeed, she still seemed very much to be on her feet.
Opening her eyes, she realized: it was a chest. The strong, solid chest of the duke himself, the cut of his muscles touchable beneath the fabric of his clothing. She stared up at him. He stared down at her. Having caught her when she stumbled, his arms rested on her shoulders—her newly bare shoulders—and her hands on his chest.
A loud gasp sounded from the balcony.
They both looked up.
There on the balcony stood Lady Winthorpe.
Cecilia knew the name. She remembered overhearing a conversation detailing Lady Winthorpe’s attachment to theduke. Worse still, she knew from everyday life in London that Lady Winthorpe was nothing if not a terrible gossip.
Lady Winthorpe stood with her hand pressed to her mouth, her gaze firmly upon Cecilia and the duke. A few other attendants of the ball, having heard her exclamation, came out onto the balcony to join her, forming a small crowd.
Cecilia pushed away from the duke.
“Lady Cecilia!” he called out after her, but she ignored him.
The ground was hard beneath her feet as she ran. When she reached the doors to the ballroom, she paused, and took a deep breath, fixing her shawl more firmly around her shoulders. Looking back, she could not see the duke. Clearly, he had not given chase.
Nothing happened,she reminded herself.
And it was true—nothing had happened. Even if Lady Winthorpe had seen them, what had she seen? A gentleman assisting a lady who had stumbled, nothing more.
A gentleman and a lady without a chaperone present, in the dark of the night, alone in a garden.
She shook off those thoughts. It would not do to dwell on what she couldn’t control.
With one more deep breath, she entered the ballroom.
But as she walked forward, looking for her mother, or her friend, it was impossible not to notice the trail of whispers and glances that began to follow behind her.
Chapter Six
By the time Ian re-entered the party, Cecilia was nowhere in sight. That said, he did hear her name coming from every corner—accompanied by, he noticed, a great many glances thrown in his direction.
“Harwick.”
No sooner had he whirled around to see his best friend—looking furious—before Zachary was dragging him off the dance floor and out of the ballroom entirely, leading him deeper into the house.
“We need to talk,” Zachary said under his breath as he dragged him down the hallway.
“I can explain,” Ian replied.
“I most certainly hope you can.” When they reached a more private room, Zachary all but threw his friend into it, slammingthe door shut behind him before whirling around. “Though I most sincerely doubt it, after the rumors I have heard swirling around the ballroom after you disappeared for an inordinate amount of time with a lady. And not just any lady—Cecilia.”
“Lindbury—” Ian tried to protest but was stopped short by Zachary’s fist connecting with his jaw. He stumbled backwards before straightening himself up just in time to dodge a second blow. “Lindbury! For God’s sake?—”
