Page 93 of A Duchess Worth Stealing
He misunderstood.
“I know I frightened you,” he said, his voice low, earnest. “When I struck Vernon. I know I have my father’s temper, his rage,but I amnotmy father, Cordelia. I would never harm you in any way.”
She cut across his words before he could say more. “I know that.”
He stilled, his eyes fixed on her.
“I know that,” she repeated, her voice breaking, “and I love you, too.”
Cordelia rose from her chair, the skirts of her gown whispering against the carpet. She crossed the small space between themuntil she could see the fine droplets of rain still clinging to his hair.
“I have wanted to hear those words for so long,” she said, her voice trembling with the force of it. “And yet I was so afraid that all you ever wished for was a marriage of convenience.”
A slow smile curved his mouth, not mocking but warm. “I was only giving you what I thought you wanted,” he replied. “And besides, there was the matter of Lord Vernon to resolve.”
At that name, her brow furrowed. “Did you… sort it out?”
“I did.” His voice carried a quiet satisfaction. “Greely has gathered proof of your rightful claim to your inheritance. And more than that, he has evidence of Vernon’s wrongdoings, serious enough to cost him his freedom, if the magistrates see fit.”
Cordelia’s breath left her in a sharp, unsteady exhale. “You cannot mean it.”
“I do mean it,” he said.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes stinging with sudden relief. She could scarcely remember a time in recent years when Lord Vernon’s shadow had not loomed over her: his threats, his insinuations, his poisonous presence. Now, with a few quiet words, that shadow was gone.
“I am free,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Truly free from him… and all because of you.”
“That may be so,” he replied, his gaze steady on hers. “But you are not free of me.”
A quiet laugh escaped her, part disbelief, part joy. “Good. I never wish to be free of you.”
Gently, he bent his head and kissed her. It was not the careful, dutiful kiss of a husband fulfilling an obligation but something warmer, deeper, as if all the unspoken words between them had found their way into the touch of his lips.
When they drew apart, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. “You might have told me sooner,” she said though her eyes danced with joy.
“And risk frightening you away before you had the chance to fall in love with me?” he murmured.
She arched a brow. “Fall in love with you? Such presumption.”
His mouth curved. “Such certainty.”
That was when a gentle knock sounded at the doorway. Matilda’s voice followed, light with amusement. “May I join you now? I didn’t want to interrupt the kiss.”
Cordelia felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Yes,” she replied, smoothing her skirts. “It would be very nice to sit back down at the table and finish my dinner.”
Matilda stepped inside, her eyes flicking between them with a look that was polite enough to conceal, though not entirely banish, her curiosity.
“Your Grace,” she said to Mason, “would you care to join us?”
“It would be my pleasure,” he replied with a small bow.
They returned to the dining table, the silverware glinting in the candlelight. Cordelia took her seat once more, and this time, she did not hesitate. She cut into the pheasant, the savory scent rising warmly, and she ate with a quiet, unselfconscious delight, savoring every bite, as though each mouthful was an unspoken declaration that she was not only free but content.
And across the table, Mason watched her with a look that told her he understood.
Matilda, ever the consummate hostess, leaned forward with an impish glint in her eyes. “You cannot imagine the scene. There was Lady Hensworth, sweeping grandly across the green as though she were the queen herself, when a gust of wind, an unkind, mostill-bredgust, snatched her hat clean from her head and sent it tumbling into the lane.”
Cordelia smiled, already picturing it.
