Her eyes flew to the unmistakably masculine form half-sitting against the pillows, bare from the waist up, the duvet barely preserving anyone’s dignity. Celine sat beside him in rumpled sheets and warm skin and unmistakable intimacy.
Sally’s mouth opened. Closed. It opened again.
“Your Grace.” She attempted a curtsey, which turned into something between a bow and a collapse. “I—good morning. I—oh dear.”
Elias cleared his throat, the sound both dignified and completely undone. “Good morning, Sally.”
“Tea?” she squeaked.
“Yes,” he said gravely. “Though I believe I shall take mine in my study. After I am… presentable.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Sally nodded rapidly—far too rapidly. “Naturally. Quite right. Presentable is—well—yes. Naturally.”
He swung his legs out of the bed and snatched up his shirt with the desperation of a man fleeing battlefield fire.
“Lady Rothwest,” he said, bowing with impressive solemnity for someone only half-buttoned, “I shall see you shortly.”
He all but fled the room, fumbling with his cuffs as he went.
The moment he vanished, Sally slowly turned back to Celine.
“My lady,” she said, returning to her usual calm now that the naked Duke was no longer in the room, “what shall we choose for today’s attire?”
Celine swallowed laughter—and mortification. “Something respectable.”
“After this morning, everything will look respectable,” Sally muttered under her breath, then straightened. “Your family is paying a visit. They sent word they’ll arrive before noon.”
Celine blinked. “My entire family?”
“Yes, my lady. Your mother’s letter said she hoped to spend the day.”
“Of course she did,” Celine murmured.
Sally helped her wash, dress, and fix her hair—though Celine caught the maid biting her lip several times as though restraining questions, commentary, or perhaps applause.
A discreet knock sounded at the door.
Morrison entered, his expression politely blank.
“My lady,” he said, “His Grace requests your presence in his study. He wishes to speak with you regarding your family’s arrival.”
Celine took a steadying breath. “He knows?”
“I took the liberty of informing him, my lady, given the need for household preparations.”
“Of course. Thank you, Morrison. Tell him I’ll be there directly.”
***
Celine stepped into the study, the door closing softly behind her. Elias stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back in a stance that suggested he had been there for some time—waiting, thinking, bracing.
He did not turn immediately, but she saw the tension ripple through his shoulders.
“Your family,” he said without preamble. “Today.”
“I know,” she replied quietly. “I’m sorry. I had no idea they would...”
“It isn’t your fault.”
