Page 37 of A Duchess Worth Stealing
He needed to get it back.
He raked a hand through his hair and turned away from the mess. The fire crackled behind him, indifferent to the wreckage at its feet. His writing table was covered in correspondence. There were sealed letters, unsealed ones, an unopened estate report from the steward that he’d already skimmed five times without retaining a word of it. He could not focus, even if his life depended on it.
Damn him. Damn him for not being able to control his own thoughts!
It was always her, now. In his mind, in the corners of his vision, in the scent of ink and old parchment and lilies that still clung to his library like a ghost. She had been everywhere yesterday, sprawled among his books with her fingers ink-smudged, her eyes wide and gleaming with that strange, wild hunger for knowledge.
She’d spoken of being lost like it was something that had once carved her apart and reshaped her in pieces, and he hadn’t known what to say, only that he’dwantedto say something.
He wanted to tell her she could stay because he wanted tokeepher.
But he hadn’t said it. He hadn’t let the words out because letting her stay would mean admitting that her presence meant something, thatshemeant something. And that was the danger.
Cordelia Brookes was not just a complication. She was a threat to every inch of control he’d fought to build since his father’s death. He thought of the structure of his days, the distance he kept, the silence he relied on. She had walked into Galleon Estate like a storm in silk slippers, and now, he couldn’t go an hour without hearing her voice echo in his head.
And itinfuriatedhim.
Because none of this was about her. It was about Isabelle, about her safety, about keeping the cottage hidden, and lastly, about preserving the quiet, invisible thread of happiness his family had managed to hold onto in the wake of scandal.
That was why Cordelia could not stay, not when she asked too many questions, not when she noticed everything, and certainly not when she was clever enough to follow the cracks in his armor and kind enough not to exploit them. She was too unpredictable, too alive, too capable of making him forget himself.
And Mason Abernathy, the newly appointed Duke of Galleon, who was also a brother, protector, and keeper of secrets, could not afford to forget who he was.
The knock came just as Mason was telling himself not to smash anything else.
He gritted his teeth. “Yes?”
The door creaked open, and there she was, as if summoned by the sheer power of his thoughts. Her brows lifted slightly as she took in the sight before her, the shattered glass by the hearth, the wet stain of brandy on the floor, the tension that seemed to vibrate through the room like the aftershock of a storm.
She stepped in gingerly, shutting the door behind her.
“What happened?” she asked, nodding toward the broken decanter.
He didn’t even glance at it.
“What do you need?” His voice was cold.
He didn’t mean for it to be, but she startled him. She always startled him, and he hadn’t had time to put the walls back up.
Cordelia lingered just inside the room. Her gaze dropped again to the mess by the fire then returned to him. She clasped her hands in front of her skirts like she wasn’t entirely sure whether to sit or run.
“I have something to ask you,” she said at last.
He frowned. “Now?”
“If you’re not busy.” Her tone was mild.
He turned his back on the window and crossed his arms. “Fine. Ask.”
Cordelia took a breath and lifted her chin. “I was hoping… that is, your mother and I were discussing it, and we thought it might be a kindness if Isabelle might spend some time with us tomorrow. My friends are coming to visit, and it will be very informal. A luncheon, some music, nothing that would raise suspicion. I would introduce her only as a local acquaintance I’ve come to know during my stay.”
The words hit like a slap,m and his jaw locked as he turned back to her.
“No,” he said flatly.
Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”
“Because it isn’t safe.” His voice was steel now. “Because this is precisely the sort of casual exposure that risks unravelling everything.”
