Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

“ W asn’t it truly lovely how quickly the Dowager Countess took to my mother? I believe they’ll become very fast friends,” Evangeline’s voice rang out, light and pleasant as always.

Alistair leaned against the weathered stone wall of his estate, the midday sun casting dappled shadows through the leaves of the sprawling garden. He watched his sister, her laughter bright and carefree, as she animatedly spoke with her betrothed and his sister.

Nathaniel’s eyes sparkled with equal gladness, “I believe they might plotting something. It’s peculiar how they rose up suddenly and decided to leave for certain matters together.”

Cecilia chimed in with a laugh, brushing off her hands as she stepped away from the rose bush she seemed to have been inspecting. “Well, you can be rest assured it would not be nothing past planning a grand tea party or something equally extravagant.”

Tristan, sprawled comfortably on a picnic blanket on the grass, added with a smirk, “Well, if they’re bonding over tea, I’d say it’s a win for all of us. Less time spent with the dowagers means more time for the young ones to enjoy the gardens in peace, don’t we agree?”

Alistair felt a flicker of warmth at the banter, yet he remained a quiet observer, standing slightly apart, the laughter and lightheartedness feeling almost foreign to him.

Amongst everyone, one person’s joviality stood out to him. Cecilia’s laughter floated through the air, light and almost infectious, as she bantered with her brothers and Evie.

Alistair’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to pull his gaze away from her. But every time he attempted to look elsewhere, his eyes betrayed him, drawn back to her as if by an invisible thread. It was infuriating.

Her smile was radiant, a stark contrast to the venomous glare she had thrown his way just a day before. He recalled the heated exchange, her words sharp and biting. Yet here she was, animated and carefree, her voice lilting with joy as she engaged in playful conversation.

Alistair felt a tight knot of irritation form in his stomach. How could she act as if nothing had happened?

He clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the conflicting emotions swirling within him. It was maddening to feel this way—this mixture of irritation yet inability to disregard her existence.

Her laughter lit up her features and her hair caught the sunlight, creating a somewhat halo around her. There was an allure in her confidence that both fascinated and frustrated him.

It had been a day and half since he told her to avoid him, and she had complied, yet the absence of her sharp tongue or mere gaze in his direction only seemed to amplify his awareness of her.

This was the fifth time he had tried to look away, but each attempt only intensified his irritation. He felt trapped in a web of his own making, beneath the layers of vexation, there was something deeper brewing.

“Your Grace, you look positively morose standing there,” Tristan’s sudden remark pulled Alistair out of his thoughts, the man’s voice cutting through the lighthearted chatter like a knife. “I propose we liven things up a bit. How about a game of whist? It’s far more entertaining than watching you brood.”

Alistair’s attention was grabbed, and his brow lifted slightly, momentarily breaking the spell Tristan’s sister seemed to have cast over him. The suggestion stirred excitement among the group, drawing their gazes like moths to a flame.

Evie’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she chimed in, “Oh, please, brother! I heard Lord Everton is quite the player. It would be delightful to watch you squirm under pressure. Say yes!”

The corners of Alistair’s mouth twitched upward, a half-smile breaking through. It was one of the first times Evie had addressed him since the tension at dinner, and her enthusiasm was infectious. He simply could not say no.

“Very well, I accept your challenge,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“Then it’s settled!” the earldeclared, clapping his hands together. “Let us find a suitable table, and may the best player win. I trust you’ll put forth a worthy effort, Your Grace.”

As they gathered around a small table, Alistair felt the tension of the earlier moments dissipate. Laughter and playful jabs filled the air once again. Alistair dealt the cards with a practiced hand, thankful to have his mind momentarily distracted from the whirlwind of emotions stirring within him.

Nathaniel leaned closer to Alistair, whispering, “You must promise not to let my brother win. I cannot bear the thought of him gloating over you!” His eyes sparkled with amusement as he chuckled softly.

“Rest assured, I shall do my utmost to ensure he does not,” he replied, glancing at Tristan, who was now focused intently on his cards, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

The game commenced, and the atmosphere shifted, the earlier disconnect replaced by a light-hearted competition. Alistair found himself flowing with the banter, creating an atmosphere that felt both familiar and new.

“Come on, Tristan! You can do it! Win against the duke!” Cecilia voice was loud as she cheered, her voice dripping with theatrical flair. She waved her arms dramatically, even going as far as to pump her fists in the air.

Is she truly being this petty?

Alistair’s expression soured as he watched her from the corner of his eye. “It is but a card game. There’s no need to act like we’re in a common bar,” he snapped, irritation bubbling to the surface. The garden fell silent immediately, and the atmosphere shifted, thickening with tension.

Cecilia’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she maintained silence. Alistair felt a surge of annoyance. He took a deep breath, positioning himself with purpose. “Let’s just focus on the game, shall we?” he muttered, determined to make another winning hand and prove his point.

But just as he prepared to play his card, Cecilia leaned in closer, her presence almost magnetic. With a flick of her wrist, she snapped her fingers. “Come on brother, don’t let him intimidate you after this! Show him what you’ve got!”

The unexpected distraction caused Alistair to falter, and he misplayed his card. He turned to glare at Cecilia, who was now wearing a small smirk that told she was far too pleased with herself.

Her long, dark hair framed her face, accentuating her sharp malicious expression and the glimmer of mischief in her eyes. Despite his frustration, Alistair couldn’t help but notice how captivating she looked in that moment, and he quickly turned away and shook his head to dispel the thought.

What is your problem? How could you think such a thing about such an infuriating woman?

The tension in the air thickened, and Alistair felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He was annoyed at himself more than ever. “Terrible woman,” he muttered under his breath, trying to regain his composure.

Suddenly, Nicholas broke the silence with a laugh, easing the tension slightly. “Cecilia, pray tell, would you like to join the game as well? Show the duke and Tristan how it’s done?” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Alistair took note of how her grin widened, and she leaned back on her feet slightly, crossing her arms and rocking back and forth as she shook her head. “Oh, but I simply couldn’t,” she replied.

Alistair felt a mix of irritation yet intrigue at the prospect of facing off against her. He knew he was in for a challenge, and the stakes had just gotten higher.

“Is there truly a need for all of that? I doubt she’d really be able to handle this? It’s not as easy as it looks, you know,” Alistair cut in, addressing Nathaniel up to the last part, where his eyes shifted to Cecilia; His voice dripping with skepticism as he leaned against the table, arms crossed defiantly.

Without a hint of hesitation, Cecilia slid onto the extra chair, her movements fluid and confident. She grabbed a fresh set of cards, her fingers deftly shuffling them as though she had done this a thousand times before.

Her long, dark hair fell around her shoulders once again, framing her face, which was set in a fierce expression that only added to her allure. The determination in her eyes burnt brightly.

Alistair lifted a brow while the others erupted in cheers, their voices a chorus of encouragement.

“Go, Cecilia!” Nathaniel laughed, his tone playful. “Your Grace, one would know better than to underestimate her. She grew up with only brothers, and we played this game all the time. Trust me, she’s got skills.”

Alistair felt a knot tighten in his chest at Nathaniel’s words. He wasn’t keen on the idea of Cecilia proving him wrong, especially not in front of everyone. Yet, as he watched her, he couldn’t shake the feeling of admiration..

She was not the sort of woman he would find himself drawn to, most especially in her current state of chaos and resolve. Yet, the way her brows furrowed in concentration and the flush on her cheeks made it difficult for him to focus on anything else.

“Perhaps, I shall have to see it before I believe it,” Alistair managed to reply, trying to maintain his composure. His gaze remained glued to Cecilia, who was now fully immersed in the game, her focus solely on her cards.

She caught his gaze at last and shot him a defiant smile, one that sent a jolt through him. He hated how easily she captivated him, how he found himself wanting to understand her better.

“Do just watch her, Your Grace,” Nathaniel urged, nudging him playfully. “You might be surprised.”

“Honestly, Miss Everton, are you even trying?” Alistair did not try to conceal his smirk this time as he laid down another winning hand, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. Cecilia glared at him, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface, but she refused to back down.

“Perhaps if you weren’t so busy gloating every second or so, Your Grace, I could focus,” she countered, her voice edged with sarcasm.

The game of cards was supposed to have brightened the mood, but it only intensified the atmosphere, especially with her brother Tristan watching with barely concealed amusement. He leaned back in his chair, a smug grin plastered across his face, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Shouldn’t you be playing instead of merely watching me lose, brother?” she snapped at him, her irritation spilling over. His laughter only fueled her anger, and she felt the heat rising in her cheeks.

“Why would I play when I can watch you two go at it? This is far more entertaining,” the Earl replied, a teasing glint in his eyes.

Alistair’s smirk grew stronger, seemingly unable to resist the opportunity to add fuel to the fire, he cut in, “You know, Lord Everton, perhaps it’s that your sister merely cannot handle the competition, right as I speculated. Isn’t that right, Miss Everton?” His tone was kept light yet taunting, and it made her blood boil.

Didn’t you command we do not interact, Your Grace?

I have not said a word to address you, and yet…

Cecilia seethed. She had purposely taken different routes to avoid him since that night. She had steered off his path and the only reason she was in the same vicinity this day was because she was physically brought out of her room by her eldest brother.

Alistair saw this, so it seemed he understood. All Cecilia could do was curtsy at him, as she did not want for the tension between them to be noticed nor explained. Perhaps, in truth, she could have also declined participating in a game with him, however, he had already addressed her, and more so she was itching to put the man in his place.

You should have remained standing. What a joke.

“I believe everyone has bad days, Your Grace,” she retorted, her voice sharp as she tossed her cards down on the table. “I started late, and I am distracted, I suppose.”

She knew not to respond, yet the way he kept his confident posture—leaning back against the chair, arms crossed, with that infuriatingly charming smile—was causing her mind to be distressed.

“Nevertheless, do remember, you’re supposed to be staying away from me,” he leaned in slightly and raised a brow at her, his expression shifting to one of mock seriousness. “Once again, you prove why my notions about you are true.”

Cecilia’s eyes widened in worry as they darted around. Tristan was absentmindedly sipping on a glass of wine. Nathaniel and Evie were laughing to themselves above the table. She sighed.

The duke had picked the perfect time to bring up the topic. However, it was a dangerous situation to expand on in any circumstance. She glared at him, hoping her gaze was a strong enough warning.

“I’m just playing a game, as everyone requested. This has nothing to do with you,” she snapped, her tone defensive.

“More wine, please! My cup has been emptied!” Tristan’s boisterous laughter echoed as he beckoned over the servants, swiftly turning his direction to the couple right after.

“Is that really all it is?” Alistair challenged again, his voice falling to a whisper as he quickly leaned forward once more, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and Cecilia cursed herself for noticing. “You can’t deny there’s some tension here, you were practically itching to interact with me.”

“I fear you might be having day hallucinations, Your Grace. Perhaps it’s too much sun,” Cecilia spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep her composure.

“What’s this about staying away?” To her dismay, Tristan raised an eyebrow suddenly, glancing between her and the duke who made a loud snort as he leaned away. “Sounds like there’s more than just a game going on here, is there?”

“I-I believe the duke still holds on to the notions that a woman is not to engage in certain activities, brother,” Cecilia was a bright pink as she stumbled over her words, her eyes on the table. She could feel her brother’s doubtful gaze on her.

“And could you blame him?” Tristan’s laughter echoed the table at last. “Sister, you’re doing so poorly today. Whatever is the issue?”

Cecilia glowered at him and the game continued. However, each card played felt like another jab in their ongoing battle. Alistair’s fingers moved deftly as he collected his winnings, and each time he won, it felt like a personal defeat for her.

“Sister, you truly believed you had a chance against the Duke?” Tristan chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Cecilia shot him a glare, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “It’s not like I was expecting a walk in the park , brother. Must you pester me so much?”

“Pester you? I’m merely acknowledging the man’s skill,” he replied, a grin playing on his lips. “And I must say, Your Grace, you are truly is impressive.”

Nathaniel, standing above them, nodded in agreement. “He has a knack for strategy that’s hard to beat. You did your best, nevertheless, sister.”

Evie chimed in, her voice light yet sincere, “I was actually hoping you’d pull through, Cece. It’s not so much a wide gap.”

Tristan, seemingly unable to resist, added with a teasing tone, “I’ve actually never managed to beat my sister, you know. All praises to you, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps that’s because you’re simply a terrible player, dear brother.”

Tristan laughed, blinking in surprise, taken aback by the intensity of her annoyance. “Whoa, easy there. Don’t be a upset loser, sister.”

“I’m tired of being the butt of your jokes. Come up with something new,” she shot back, crossing her arms defiantly.

“I wasn’t even joking this time?” Her brother’s laughter only grated her nerves further. “Perhaps you need some tea? To find calm from the loss, sister?”

Cecilia felt the heat rise in her cheeks, “It’s not just about winning or losing. Don’t treat me like a child, Tristan.”

“You’re not a child, but you’re still my little sister,” he countered, his teasing tone softening. “It’s my right to do this.”

Cecilia could feel the duke’s gaze boring into her, a steady weight that ignited both irritation and an unsettling thrill. His intense stare felt like a challenge. It felt like he was daring her to have an outburst right in front of everyone and prove him right.

Her irritation simmered as he continued to stare.. He hadn’t even bothered to gloat about his recent win, which only added to her frustration. Instead, he seemed content to let the moment linger, as if he enjoyed watching her squirm under the weight of the attention. She turned and faced him with a sharp glare at last, demanding he look away. Yet he didn’t. And each second felt like an eternity.

As Cecilia struggled to maintain her composure, Alistair’s eyes flickered down to her lips, a fleeting glance that sent a jolt through her. His eyes lingered there only for a second before returning to her eyes but it still made her stomach flutter. She felt inexplicably lightheaded.

What is he doing?

Why are you doing this to me, Alistair?

Cecilia clenched her fists, fighting against the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. How could he be so terribly confident, yet so utterly vexing?

She turned her head away, attempting to regain her focus, but the heat of his stare remained on her, igniting a fire within her that she couldn’t quite extinguish.

“Family, it’s getting late,” Evie’s voice cut through the tension, pulling Cecilia from her spiraling thoughts. “I believe we should head inside before it gets too dark.”

Nathaniel and Tristan chimed in, their laughter ringing out as they playfully nudged each other. “Yeah, it’s best to not get eaten by any wild animals out here, mostly the slender, dark haired female ones,” Tristan joked, glancing around as if expecting a multitude of Cecilias to leap from the shadows.

“Or worse, get stuck with my brother’s smug face for too long,” Evie laughed, grinning at Cecilia in support, who couldn’t help a half smile.

Cecilia felt the tension still hanging in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the charged moment they had just shared. Everyone seemed to agree, and with a collective nod, they began to move toward the house.

“Excuse me.”

Cecilia gasped as a familiar frame fell in step closely beside her. As she walked alongside Alistair, the proximity only heightened her awareness of him. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

There is no need for him to be this close! Why is he so close?!

What is happening here?!