Frightened, she gripped his arms, the ring on her finger tucked tight on her glove, as her hand was fisted tight. She could feel the blood that had left her face begin to creep back in while her heart replaced itself in her chest rather than her throat.
The fright of it all kept her fixed where she had landed on him, her limbs trembling at the panic of it. Cedric’s hands were on her waist, holding her firm, while her face was pressed in the crook of his neck.
His subtle, spicy citrus cologne wafted into her nose while she had the strangest of thoughts—it felt nice lying on his chest. “Are you all right?” he asked.
“Now, yes. Thank you for catching me.” Ariadne kept her eyes averted as she took her seat again. She asked. “Did we throw a wheel?”
The carriage began to move again, and Cedric hooked a finger around the velvet window drape and looked out. “The wheels hit a rut. We’ll be fine. Now, please tell me what you think I am?”
“You’re cynical and jaded,” she said, “What could have possibly happened in your life to make you so… I don’t think I can live with someone who cannot see the beauty of life.”
“I can give you your home in the countryside if you want,” he said. “But not so fast. The ton will eat you alive if we separate so easily.”
“Why—why do you feel such derision for the idea of a love match?” She asked. “They do exist! Why had you married your first wife then?”
His gaze cut right through her, and it was harder than steel. “I inherited the dukedom at the age of eleven, but my father’s steward, a man he trusted with his life, stood as regent until I reached the age of majority. I married early to make sure my bloodline would continue. Love had nothing to do with it.”
Ariadne shrank a little at the ice in his tone. She did not know what to make of this man. At times, she felt like she was making some headway with him, and then, he slammed the balustrades as thick as medieval castle’s walls between them.
“Is there merit to the rumors about your late wife being?—”
She clamped her lips tight. How did she say such a thing tactfully? Was there a way to tactfully say that half of London thought he had killed his wife?
His lips were pressed tight. “The rumor of me killing my wife for the lack of a son, you mean?”
Ariadne wanted to melt through the floor. “Yes.”
“Let’s get this out of the way first,” he said. “My wife died in the same fire that injured me and almost took my daughter’s life if it had not been for two of my staff who risked their life to get us out.”
She felt as if something blunt struck her in the middle of her chest. “Does anyone know the truth of that?”
“It is known,” he said. “But the gossipmongers do not care for such banal reports. They would prefer to spin outlandish tales just to have something to titter about over breakfast. At some point, it was just easier to let them believe whatever nonsense they want to believe than to try and correct them a thousand times.”
Shame curdled her stomach, and she pressed her hand to her chest as bile surged up the back of her throat. “I should have known not to listen to gossip.”
“I also do not mind being cast as a villain if it makes sure that people will leave my family and me alone,” he replied. “Plus, looking like a beast does not hurt either.”
She plucked her skirts, “Tell me about Emily. What is she like?"
The stiff jut of his jaw softened, and for the first time, she saw a glimpse of a heart inside him. “She is eight, clever, and sharp as a whip. She has her mother's eyes and my stubbornness, which is something I fear will be difficult for her later down in the road.
“She loves books and animals, she is mischievous and does not accept a lot of people immediately, she will probably interrogate you the moment we arrive.” He paused. “She had not said it, but I know she wants a real mother figure.”
“Is… is that you want me to be for her?” Ariadne asked hesitantly. “Is that another reason why you married me?”
Chapter Eight
Ariadne’s gaze was unflinching.
Cedric was accustomed to people choosing to look at the uninjured side of his face or look over his shoulder, bypassing his face altogether. Not Ariadne.
Her gaze was direct, yes, but there was no horror in her look, and if she did feel it deep down, it was overpowered by the pure shock on her face.
Her lips were parted slightly, and her chest rose and fell with her breath. If he had not known the direction this conversation had taken, he would have mistaken her reaction for something else.
“Even if you want to, it's not up to me. Emily is the one who had to choose you. The best thing you can do is get to know her. The rest will come, or it won't,” he said.
She licked her lips, “I have raised my sisters with my mother, so I am sure I can help you with her. I—I won’t put myself in her mother’s place, if you are worried, I would.”
