Page 132 of The Dueling Duchess

She swallowed down her automatic response and said, “Thank you. It is exquisite. Will you put it on—the necklace?”

Cecile’s heart raced at how happy he looked. He had made himself vulnerable to her—that was obvious even to a woman who could be as obtuse as Cecile.

It was time to stop pretending that she didn’t return his feelings.

* * *

“Are you both warm enough?” Guy asked after settling them into the coach Sin had insisted on sending for them.

They both nodded, looking around at the luxurious leather interior of the spacious carriage with wide eyes.

Guy settled into the back-facing seat, for once not needing to keep his long legs bunched up under his chin. Sin, who was as tall as Guy, had ordered the town coach custom-built to his dimensions, something Guy had never been wealthy enough to do.

There had been a time in his life when such a thought would have given him a pang. Now he realized it just wasn’t that important any longer. He could rent a hackney to take Cecile somewhere if need be. But if he had enough money to afford a coach like this, the woman sitting inside it wouldn’t be Cecile.

It took you long enough to accept that.

Guy couldn’t disagree.

“Tell us what to expect when we arrive,” Blade said, a nervous quaver in her low voice.

He glanced at Cecile, who just nodded. Given all the society papers she’d read over the years, Guy suspected that she probably had more experience describing a ball than he did since he usually arrived late, slipping in to avoid being trapped by the hostess and forced to dance with all the fresh-from-the-schoolroom chits.

“There will be a line of carriages—a very long one as this is the first ball Sin and Marianne have given. Indeed, I doubt there has been a ball at Staunton House since Sin’s last wife died.”

“He was married before?” Cecile asked.

He glanced at Blade, but of course she knew everything, so she didn’t seem surprised.

“Yes, but not for very long. His wife and son died in childbed.”

Pain flashed across her face—gut-wrenching and breath-stopping in its intensity—but it was gone in a flash.

A quick look at Blade—who wasn’t fast enough to hide her pity—confirmed Guy’s suspicion.

Guy wanted to stop the luxurious coach and take Cecile back home, where he could comfort and protect her against—well, he didn’t know what, did he?

Perhaps if things went as he hoped tonight then she might confide in him.

And if she never did . . .

He shoved that thought aside. He’d worry about that if and when it happened.

Guy cleared his throat and said, “After we’ve waited in the interminable carriage line we’ll join a receiving line. Sin will look as if he is actually enjoying himself and Marianne will appear calm and not as if her heart is beating out of her chest.”

The two women smiled.

“I saw her two days ago,” Cecile said. “She was most certainly not calm.”

“She probably won’t be calm again until a few days from now, when she discovers what a success the ball was.”

“Do you think it will be?” Cecile asked.

“Sin didn’t want to tell Marianne until tonight, but Prinny will pop in, ensuring the event is proclaimed one of the finest of the Season.”

Cecile’s eyes threatened to roll out of her head at this information. “How wonderful,” she murmured.

Guy didn’t disabuse her; she’d see soon enough what a florid, corpulent, self-indulgent old gasbag he was.