Page 99 of The Dueling Duchess

“I’m sorry you had such a wretched time,” he said when she risked a glance up at him.

She shrugged, but he didn’t release her. “It’s hardly your fault.”

“I know that, but I wish I could have spared you the pain.”

Something odd unfurled in her chest at his words and the gentle expression in his brown eyes, which were no longer distant as they’d been earlier that morning.

Her stomach twisted almost painfully at the unwanted kindness she saw.

Fear spurred anger and she lashed out. “You mean instead of adding to my unhappy experiences?”

He flinched away and his hand dropped to his side.

Good.

Cecile turned and escaped into the safety of the theater. As usual, there were employees with questions, but she brushed them all aside.

“Later,” she muttered over and over, almost breathless with the need to get to her private sanctum.

Once inside her small office, she threw the latch and sank into the chair in front of her cluttered desk.

In the center of the desk was the early mail delivery.

On top of the pile of cheap onionskin that signified bills was a rectangle of thick cream parchment, her name scrawled across the front in a familiar, commanding hand.

Nathan.

She snatched up the missive, already guessing what was inside.

There was a timid knock on the door.

“What is it?” she snapped, sliding a letter opener beneath the thick blob of blue sealing wax.

The door handle jiggled.

“Just tell me through the door,” she ordered, spreading the expensive parchment out on her desk to read.

My dearest Cecile,

I’m sure you can guess at my displeasure regarding Wednesday night. The more time I’ve spent pondering the matter, the more I think it is not wise to allow Darlington to continue working for you and living in your house.

While I am willing to accept your past, I do not wish my future wife to be known as the sort of woman who would live with a man out of wedlock.

I wish to see you and I do not want to wait until next Wednesday. Nor do I wish to meet at your house, for obvious reasons.

Come to my house tomorrow night—I know your show is first on Friday—come to me immediately afterward and we shall discuss what is to be done and make our plans for the future.

Your servant,

Nathan

Cecile snarled and crumpled up the paper.

Richie’s hesitant voice came through the door. “Your first interview is waiting, Miss Tremblay. Er, she’s half an hour early.”

Cecile raised her voice to be heard through the door. “Tell her she will have to wait until her appointed time!”

“Very good, Miss Tremblay.”