How could she be so obvious? Yet, as she shifted her eyes, she couldn't help but glance back at him. Alistair’s frame was cold yet inviting. He was like a confection, sweet and tempting, and it was entirely understandable that she found herself drawn to him.
But was it merely physical attraction? She wrestled with her thoughts, attempting to convince herself that her fascination was simply that—a fleeting moment of admiration.
Eugh. It must be the cold.
There is no way that man is anything worthy of looking at twice.
CHAPTER 7
Alistair’s brows were arched in discomfort as he struggled to maintain focus on the conversation with his sister’s soon-to-be husband. He leaned back slightly in his chair, trying to project an air of nonchalance. However, his gaze kept drifting across the table, landing on Cecilia.
Her laughter danced through the air, light and loud, pulling at his attention like a siren’s call. It was infuriating how easily she could disrupt his thoughts, her melodic giggles weaving through Nathaniel’s serious discourse. Each burst of laughter sent a ripple of annoyance through him.
“Your Grace, are you listening?” Nathaniel’s voice broke through his reverie, and Alistair forced himself to refocus.
“Of course,” he droned, despite his tone lacking conviction. He could feel the weight of Nathaniel’s the man’s scrutiny, but his thoughts remained ensnared by Cecilia. She was radiant, herhair catching the lights from the candles and framing her face perfectly.
The way she animatedly spoke to Evie, her hands gesturing with enthusiasm, as though she was having the time of her life with his sister made it hard for him to concentrate on anything else.
She never looks at me that way.
He wondered why the thought irritated him so much. Since they crossed paths again, she’d been quiet around only him, even clearly avoiding him whenever they were in proximity. It was as though the woman he’d first met was gone.
Watching her now, he had half a mind to chastise her for her lack of decorum, but the thought of addressing her directly made his heart skip a beat in an entirely different way.
“Your Grace?” Nathaniel’s voice broke through again, and this time, Alistair leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his posture shifting as he tried to regain his composure. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Ah, yes,” the duke nodded as he raised his voice, then he stared across the table, ensuring he had everyone’s attention before carrying on, “On the matter of the wedding, I have arranged a ball, in a few days, to celebrate the union.”
“W-What?” Nathaniel’s eyes were wide in confusion as he faced Alistair. “I-I’m not quite sure I understand, Your Grace. We were just communicating on matters akin to this, why did you not-”
“It is better to make the announcement public to every one, is it not?” Alistair nodded at him.
“Your Grace, a ball to celebrate the wedding? That sounds extravagant,” the dowager countess’s tone was hard to decipher and Alistair could not tell if she was praising or chastising.
“Yes, extravagant is one way to put it, but it would make up for extra excitement to accompany the wedding,” He nodded again. “The couple shall have a traditional wedding. I believe it would be best as a private affair—just family.”
A sudden hush fell over the table, the clinking of silverware suddenly coming to a sharp halt. Only the sound of Nathaniel’s seat scraping across the floor slightly echoed the room as he leaned back in his chair.
Alistair raised a brow at the sight. “It’s my duty to ensure everything is in order, thus I shall handle arrangements. Tradition must be upheld,” maintaining an air of authority.
It seemed navigating this path would be far more complicated than he had anticipated. The silence was uncomfortable, and from the corner of his eyes, he felt his mother glaring. He met her eyes in wonder.
“Since this is to be a love match, t he day should be about the couple and the love they share, not a spectacle nor grand display for society, I expect we can all agree? I want my sister to have a meaningful day, not one filled with superficiality. A small, intimate ceremony will allow us to focus on what truly-”
Before he could elaborate, a sharp voice interjected, slicing through the tension. “Respectfully, Your Grace, it is not your job to dictate how this wedding will be planned.”
Alistair’s eyes nearly bulged out their sockets as he turned to find Lady Cecilia, from where she sat, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her brow furrowed in disapproval.
He felt a foreign tingle run down his spine as he maintained his composure, narrowing his eyes at her as she spoke again, “The couple deserves to make their own choices, not be overshadowed at the start of their lives together,” she asserted, her eyes narrowing. “Do they not?”
The air crackled with tension as the duke clenched his jaw, his eyes darkening with a glare that sent a chill down Cecilia’s spine. Still, she held her ground.
Cecilia knew her brother well; he thrived in social settings, his charisma drawing a crowd wherever he went. When she glanced at Evie as well, her heart sank at the disappointment etched on her face when Alistair mentioned limiting the guest list.
So how could she not say anything?
The duke continued to blink at her slowly, as if she had sprouted two heads. He sat there, his jaw clenching tighter by the second as he seemed to consider her boldness.
