Page 142 of The Dueling Duchess

He didn’t look convinced.

“You already know that Curtis was the only family I had left. We aren’t really cousins—well, distantly—but my father had kept in communication with him and his father, so the family bond seemed closer than it actually is. He is twelve years my senior and when I first met him, I was in awe of my handsome, dashing older cousin. I had nobody, and he immediately took me in.”

Cecile couldn’t look at him while she confessed this next part.

“He brought me into his house, bought me lovely clothing, and treated me like a daughter. He was married and his wife, Martha, was . . . well, she was not welcoming. At the time it seemed unfair, but given what happened later”—she shrugged—“Martha was justified in hating me. At first, she was only stiff and reserved, but once I started to go into the workshop with Curtis, she was openly hostile and it became increasingly unpleasant to live in the same house with her, but I had nowhere else to go. By the time I was sixteen, Martha had suffered two miscarriages. After the second she was very ill and her doctor advised my cousin to put her in a sanitorium in Bath, where she could take the waters.” Cecile raised her glass to her mouth only to learn it was empty.

“Here, let me.” Guy took both their glasses and left to refill them.

Cecile used that moment of privacy to gather her courage and gird herself for what she was about to admit; it was not a pretty story.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass and drinking deeply before continuing. “Martha was gone for a long time—two years—and during that time Curtis and I became lovers.”

She wrenched her gaze away from the amber liquid and looked up to find Guy watching and waiting. His expression was . . . well, it was much as it ever was.

“Are you not disgusted?” she blurted.

He laughed. When Cecile jolted, he said, “Oh, love. I am not laughing at you—I’m laughing at your question. Do you truly believe that I would revile you for doing no more than I’ve done?”

“But you are a man, and—”

“I do not hold you to a different standard, Cecile,” he said. “And I certainly would not pass judgment on a woman who was . . . what—seventeen, eighteen?”

“Eighteen.”

“If anyone should be blamed, it is Blanchard, as he was the one who took a vow before man and God to be faithful to his wife.”

His words eased her mortification, but she knew that what she’d done was wrong and would always feel shame at her behavior.

“Curtis told me he loved me and his marriage had been a business arrangement, devoid of affection. Martha’s father owned a small smithy, and the two enterprises had become one upon their union. He said she despised him and loathed his touch.” Cecile heaved a sigh. “I know you will believe me a fool, but he promised me that he would petition for a divorce, that the expense and public shame would be bearable if we could be together.”

“Let me guess,” Guy said, his expression icy with restrained anger. “He wanted to wait until she was better?”

“Yes. And how could I disagree? So we said we’d wait until she was well enough to come home.”

The situation had been unbearable, and Cecile had been horribly ashamed when Martha finally returned, weak and sickly.

“I told Curtis I could not be with him while his wife was in the house.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I know that it was too little, too late, but I simply could not bring myself to continue with him until I received evidence that he was going through with what he said. I will admit that by that point my feelings for him had begun to pall somewhat. Unfortunately”—Cecile looked up and met Guy’s concerned gaze—“I discovered I was with child and therefore my options had narrowed to very few.”

“Oh God, Cecile,” he muttered.

She squeezed his fingers hard, more grateful than he would ever know for his touch and his lack of condemnation.

“When I told Curtis, he had a surprise for me.”

“His wife was pregnant, too,” Guy guessed.

“Yes.”

Guy brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm before pressing it against his cheek.

The gesture reassured her more than words could ever have done. He wasn’t disgusted with her; he was sorry for the pain she’d brought upon herself. How could she ever have believed that Guy would be cruel or cold to her?

“I am so very sorry, Cecile. You must have been devastated and so frightened.”

“And so very stupid.” She gave a helpless laugh. “I might have still been stupidly waiting for him to marry me if it hadn’t been for Martha. First, she told me I was not the only woman he’d promised to marry. Second, she told me he would never divorce her because of the way her money was tied up; he would forfeit that money if they were to divorce.”

She drained the rest of her glass, her hand shaking as she set it down. “It was the third thing she told me that made me sign over the plans and give them what they demanded.”