Chapter Eleven

M orning light was pouring through the open curtains of Cecilia's bedroom. Anthony stirred and stretched. The hand that had held hers last night was now empty. Eyes still closed against the invading sun, he reached out for her. The bed beside him was empty too.

Anthony sat up. The coverlet, stiff with dried blood, lay crumpled at the foot of the bed. Cecilia's ruined silk gown from the night before was flung over the back of a chair. She was nowhere to be seen. He smoothed back his rumpled hair and loosened his cravat. Something crunched under his hand. He looked down to find a small piece of paper pinned to his collar. Kitchen , it read.

Anthony had never been into the kitchen of even his own house. He wandered through Cecilia's townhouse, starting with the upper floor, then making his way down to the first. Each room he inspected was empty and silent. White sheets shrouded all the chairs and tables. Dust covered everything. There were no servants anywhere. It looked as if the house had lain empty for years. Well, ever since Cecilia had decided to become a Duke and take up arms. He chuckled into the silence. Last night hadn't satisfied his body as he'd hoped it would, but it had certainly been interesting.

On the ground floor, he could hear the noise of pots and pans. He made his way down the servants' back hallways until he found the source of the noise. Cecilia was standing in the kitchen, clothed in a nightgown and a man's greatcoat, her red hair falling loose about her shoulders. Her hair was no longer than her shoulder blades. She must have cut it when she first took her brother's commission. She was slicing pieces of bread from a hard brown loaf. He stood in the doorway and watched her. She limped to the stove and checked the coffee pot to see if the water was boiling, then eased herself into a chair, favoring her left leg as she sat and chewed on a crust of bread.

"Good morning," Anthony said, moving to sit beside her at the kitchen table.

"Good morning!" She smiled up at him in surprise. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep through the whole day."

"What time is it?"

"Almost noon."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

She cocked her head to one side, bemused. "I thought I should let you sleep. I did rather abuse what little good nature you possess last night."

He frowned at her. "You are the one who fainted from loss of blood, and you were worried about me losing sleep?"

She laughed and stood to pour the coffee, but he pushed her back down into her chair. "I'll do that. You rest."

"I am not dying, you know," she said, annoyed, then caught his hand in hers and nestled it against her cheek. "Thanks to you, my lord."

He couldn't tell if there was a hint of humor in her voice, or if she was sincere. "Considering our tumultuous acquaintance, don't you think using polite titles is just a bit… ludicrous?"

She tossed his hand away and laughed again. "Pour me some coffee, Anthony. I'm parched."

He chuckled. He loved her directness, her lack of guile. She was an enigma, to be sure, but not a self-conscious one. She did not practice to deceive. She merely lived as she wished, society and everyone else be damned. And she had suffered for it. Anthony surprised himself by thinking it should not be so. Why should she suffer because she'd chosen to make her own destiny, as sordid and shocking as it was? She had fought for her country and that alone, her elegance, courage, and independence aside, made her worthy of the highest esteem and praise, despite what anatomy she had hidden underneath her regimental reds. Were she a man, he wouldn't hesitate to call her a hero.

Darling was right to worry about his reputation. He was taking a woman's side. Next thing he knew, he would be married, dandling a babe on his knee while Cecilia went shooting.

Inconceivable. He poured them each a cup of coffee and sat down again at her side.

"Cecilia," he asked, gently laying a hand on her knee, "why is your house empty?"

She shrugged. "I've barely been back in town a week. I do have a coachman and a maid permanently employed here, but they're rarely about. I just haven't had the time or the inclination to re-staff my household." She sipped her coffee and sighed. "I've been planning on returning to my family's country estate when… my business is finished here."

"That brings me to a more important question. What is your business here?"

She avoided his eyes and took a bite of bread. "Captain Brinkley is my business."

Anthony caught her chin in his hands and pulled her towards him until her lips almost brushed his. "That is not a satisfactory answer, Cecilia." He teased her with a light kiss. "Be warned that I am not above kissing the answer out of you."

She pulled away from him and shot him a scolding glance. "Be warned that it will not work. Nor is it your business. It is mine."

He couldn't resist the foolhardy urge to be her protector, though she clearly wanted none of it. "And if I wish to make it mine?"

She stood and clasped his hands in hers. "You have done so much for me in only the last ten hours. I will not ask more of you." She turned from him and made her way slowly and painfully to the kitchen door. He rushed after her and swept her into his arms.

"Where are you going?"

She raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I should like to rest." Placing a hand firmly on his chest, she said, "Alone."

He smiled ruefully. She was right, of course. "Very well, my lady," he acquiesced. "Will you at least allow me to carry you to your room?"

She planted a soft, lingering kiss on his neck. "It would be as much my pleasure as yours, my lord."