Chapter Sixteen

C ecily had been rather thrilled by her husband's masterful anger and by his willingness to fight for her. Perhaps this was what should have happened two years ago. Cornelius and Jack should have fought over her then, and perhaps Jack would have realized how important she was and she would not now be in disgrace with him.

How laughable that Jack had finally snapped over a moment of pure innocence! When Cecily finally realized Cornelius had rumbled her. Up until that moment, she had been genuinely prepared for an affaire du c?ur with him. In fact, it had quite excited her. But his eyes no longer looked at her with the tenderness of nostalgic love but with impatient tolerance. For that, she no doubt had the aristocratic Lady Alice to thank, whether the silly girl knew it or not.

Cecily loved a challenge, of course, and she might have been prepared to fight Alice for a night, at least, in Cornelius's excitingly unfamiliar arms. But Jack's fury put paid to that. Where she would once have defied him and gone her own way, she found it curiously arousing to obey his curtly issued orders. His cold, civil remarks to her in public or before his mother made her cast down her eyes and burn for him.

She always wanted what she could not have.

On the day Cornelius's brother married Lady Alice's sister, Cecily returned to the hotel from a somewhat unsatisfactory shopping expedition. Crossing the foyer with her maid, she beheld two dazzling gentlemen just vanishing into one of the private parlors euphemistically known as coffee rooms.

She recognized the men at once—the taller one because he was the haughty and elusive Duke of Atherstone, the other being the romantically handsome poet D'Aubin from the castle garden party.

What an odd friendship . The duke was notoriously snobbish, and she was sure she had heard D'Aubin was merely the son of some wealthy tradesman who had tried to Frenchify his name to appear better born than he was. Sensing intrigue, Cecily thrust her parcel into the arms of her already-burdened maid.

"Take these up to my chamber," she said. "I have just seen an old friend, but I shall be up directly, if Sir John asks."

He kept close watch on her these days, rarely allowing her out of his sight for more than an hour, and even then, she was sure he paid her maid for information. Cecily walked toward the coffee room, pretending to be absorbed by a few newspapers on a nearby table.

Irritatingly, though she could hear the rumble of voices, she could not distinguish any words. There was a chair set close to the table, so Cecily drew it out—quietly so as not to alert any passing footman who might rush to help. She placed the chair against the wall, much closer to the door, seized a large news sheet at random, and sat down, spreading open the newspaper in front of her as though searching for something in particular. In fact, it hid that her head—particularly her ear—was leaning even closer to the coffee room door.

Now she could hear much better.

"…early on Monday morning," said the duke's thin, aristocratic voice. "You must order a post-chaise for six in the morning and have it ready and waiting by the castle gates. No one who matters at that hour will see it."

"Lady Alice will not be abroad at that hour," D'Aubin objected.

There came two short, genteel sniffs, as though the duke were taking snuff. "On Monday morning she will be."

"She has an assignation with Vale?" D'Aubin sounded alarmed. "I am no physical match for that lout."

"Vale will not trouble you. I happen to know he will be engaged elsewhere at that time. He may even be dead. It does not matter. He is not your main problem. Braithwaite is."

A chair scraped inside the room, making Cecily start and shake her newspaper. Hastily, she jumped to her feet and abandoned the mess of newsprint on the table before sailing toward the staircase.

" He may even be dead, " Atherstone had said so callously.

He must have been talking about the duel between Cornelius and Jack. For the first time, the fight became real to her, not some romantic fantasy of knights dueling for her favor but a modern meeting with pistols that could easily kill, even from apparently minor injuries.

On top of that, though she didn't know why, Atherstone seemed to be aiding D'Aubin to abduct Lady Alice. Presumably to marry her, since Lord Braithwaite would never consider a match with a man of D'Aubin's birth. Cornelius, fighting the duel, would not be able to protect her.

Cecily did not care much for Lady Alice, largely because Cornelius so clearly did. But the girl had agreed to help her win back Jack's love. And rather to her own surprise, Cecily did not wish her to be harmed or forced into marriage with such a snake as D'Aubin clearly was. A stupid snake, in fact, seeing that he needed Atherstone to arrange his plots for him.

She found Jack in the sitting room.

"Who did you see?" he asked suspiciously, turning from the window.

Cecily sighed. "Old Mrs. Fanshawe. She takes the waters with your mother occasionally. Jack, are you going ahead with this silly duel?"

His eyes, never anything but veiled these days, shuttered completely. "That is not your concern."

"But it is! Even if you no longer care for me, I am your wife, and you cannot pretend I wouldn't be affected by this. I could be made a widow, or the wife of a convicted murderer. Have you thought of that?"

"I have thought of nothing else," he said with suppressed passion. "I shall do my best to be sure neither situation arises. But honor demands I do this."

She hung her head. "It is my fault. I should not have summoned Cornelius behind your back, but I've already told you I was only trying to win back your love. Even if I were not devoted to you, Cornelius is much too strait-laced to commit adultery."

"It is too late to go back," Jack said stubbornly, clearly still disbelieving her story.

She took a step nearer. "At least tell me who your seconds are. I have a right to know who will be on your side."

He closed his mouth, hesitating. "The Duke of Atherstone," he said.

*

Alice woke the following day, desperate for the evening card party when she would meet Cornelius again. All the turbulent emotions churning within made her restless.

When she suggested to Maria that they walk into Blackhaven to call on Helen in her new home, Maria was uncharacteristically downright in her refusal.

"Oh no, they need at least one day to themselves," she insisted. "They would really have been better going off on a wedding journey rather than being constantly interrupted by their families."

"You don't think she might want to be interrupted?" Alice asked anxiously.

"No, I don't."

"Then why didn't she go on a wedding journey?"

"Because Roderick would not ask Gervaise for the money, and he needs what he has—as well as his time—to establish his new businesses. Did you know he was starting up a Blackhaven newspaper?"

"Helen didn't say." Alice felt both defensive and hurt by the knowledge.

"She didn't tell me either," Maria said. "Michael got it from Roderick yesterday. Why don't we all go riding instead? Frances and Serena don't have long before they leave again for the south."

In the end, all the siblings—except Helen—and their spouses collected a picnic and rode out to the abbey ruins. Although the sky was gray as usual, at least it did not rain, and Alice found the excursion unexpectedly enjoyable. It was almost as if the clock had been turned back and some governess would leap out and tell them it was time to go home.

Except that everyone had more grownup memories of the place now. Frances and Serena remembered a painting contest with guests one spring, where Frances had engineered an assignation between Gillie Muir and Lord Wickenden.

"That was irresponsible," Gervaise remarked.

"Not at all," Frances argued. "Wickenden was always different with Gillie. Besides, she deserved some fun, and look what came of it. She is happily married, and tamed the Wicked Baron."

"That was the day you broke your leg," Serena told her brother, who winced and rubbed his healed bone.

"Helen painted some wonderful pictures of the abbey," Alice said wistfully. In fact, she had her suspicions that Helen had met Roderick here while doing so.

Serena nudged her. "She will be happy, Alice," she said gruffly. "You'll see. And she is only in Blackhaven. The rest of us are hundreds of miles away."

"I know." Alice accepted a glass of wine from Eleanor and sipped, listening to the music in her head and letting the chatter of her family wash over her like a wave of happiness. She was lucky, so lucky…

And there was Cornelius. He made her happy, too, in a way that was compellingly different. The strength of this feeling frightened her sometimes, but she could not bear to lose it.

Is it love? Do I love Cornelius?

That was overwhelming, too, though it made her smile and smile…

*

As she stepped out of the carriage at the King's Head Inn, Alice's stomach churned with anticipation. Cornelius …

His family was definitely here, for there were the twins in the yard, Lawrence directing carriages and Leona accompanying the guests inside. Alice could have sworn the girl winked at her.

Mr. and Mrs. Grant were acting as hosts for the evening, but Alice barely heard their welcome or their instructions, for behind them Helen had caught sight of her family and rushed on them, laughing, so like the child Alice missed that a lump sprang to her throat.

Helen hurled herself into her sister's arms. "There you are! I'm so glad you've come—I have loads to tell you!"

The strain of the previous week seemed to have entirely vanished from Helen's demeanor. She looked more beautiful than ever before. She truly was so radiant that Alice laughed with joy as she hugged her sister.

"You are happy," Alice whispered.

"Unbelievably so," Helen whispered back.

There was no time for more, for the rest of the family were all but dragging Helen off. Roderick, watching from a distance, had a surprisingly tender smile on his otherwise hard face. And beside him was Cornelius.

Though Alice made no conscious decision, she found herself walking toward the brothers with her hand held out.

Roderick took it but bent and kissed her cheek. "I am permitted to kiss my sister-in-law."

"Am I?" Cornelius asked teasingly.

"Too far removed," Roderick said. "Go away, Cornel. Come and play whist with me, Lady Alice."

"Only if Cornelius and I can play, too," Helen said, taking her husband's hand and actually tugging him between the close-set gaming tables.

Cornelius laughed. "It's good to see him being led by the nose. I haven't seen him so happy."

"Nor I Helen," Alice replied. "I won't deny that I had my doubts."

"We all did. Can you play whist?"

"Badly."

"Me too. We are made for each other."

Alice laughed as she was meant to, but heat rose into her cheeks and she had difficulty breathing as they squeezed close together between the tables. At Helen and Roderick's table, Cornelius held her chair, and she felt the faintest caress on her nape. Excitement soared.

We are made for each other .

Whether or not he meant it, was it true?

Life with Cornelius versus life without him. There was no longer a choice there—they were related by marriage and were bound to meet. But he was not her brother. He was not even merely a friend. No other friend filled her with such emotion, such hunger . No one else deprived her of breath and made her pulse race.

More, she knew him, from instinct as well as from his beautiful poetry. She loved him for so many reasons, so many traits—his sensitivity and perception, his care of the Black Hill tenants, his feeling for the land, his compassion… Even his loyalty to Cecily was admirable.

"Play, Alice," Helen urged.

Alice blinked at the cards on the table and played one from her hand at random. Helen laughed. Cornelius fixed his gaze to her face, which deprived her of any remaining powers of thought.

"Sorry," she said to Roderick when they lost the game. "I seem to be woolgathering."

"Pay up," said Felicia Maitland cheerfully, appearing beside them with her notebook to record the winnings, a percentage of which was going to the town hospital.

"Perhaps you need some air," Cornelius said behind Alice. He was holding her chair again.

She rose quickly, her heart thundering, and when he took her shawl from the back of the chair and placed it around her shoulders, his fingers brushed her skin. Her hand trembled when she took his arm. She hoped he could not feel it.

There was a moment of dismay when she saw her mother's eagle-eyed observation from across the room, and then, unexpectedly, Eleanor joined them and Mama's attention relaxed.

"Ten minutes," Eleanor murmured. "Or she'll send Gervaise to find you."

As Eleanor vanished, Alice laughed nervously. "What a fuss about a short walk outside a busy inn."

"Not a fuss," Cornelius said, holding the front door for her. "Is young Lady Braithwaite not telling us that not all your family would be against us?"

"Why would any of them be?"

"Because you are the earl's sister," Cornelius said, threading her hand into the crook of his arm once more. "And I am merely steward of my brother's lands, with few prospects and no desire to be anything else."

"We are related by marriage."

"Is that why I have missed you?"

Her gaze flew up to meet his. "Have you?" she whispered.

"Every moment you aren't with me." With peculiar, controlled violence, he said, "Ever since we met, I have been telling myself you are annoying, a scold, an eternal critic, that we cannot talk without quarreling."

It was as if someone had thrown a stone at her heart. She could not breathe for the pain.

"But we do talk," he said urgently. "Sometimes we quarrel—but what sort of friends, lovers, poets, musicians would we be if we could not disagree or accept criticism from each other? I've tried to tell myself that in kissing you, I am only trying to help you accept a husband when the right man comes along. But if that man ever comes, I will kill him, because I can't bear anyone else to touch you. Could you ever fall in love with me, Alice? Would you let me try to make you?"

Alice gasped for breath as she made sense of his words. They were walking around the inn, almost into the lights of the stable yard, so she drew back into the shadows of the building, tugging him with her.

"Why do you think I let you kiss me in the first place?" she demanded. Tears were spilling down her cheeks. "Why do you think I kiss you ? I have loved you since before I even met you, only I was too stupid to recog— Oh! "

She broke off as her mouth was suddenly lost in his. With a sob, she fell back against the wall, and he came with her, his body as hard as his mouth. She threw her arms around his neck in blind passion, opening wide to him and to every wild, sensual feeling he inspired in her. She was so utterly overwhelmed, it was some time before she realized she was not remotely frightened.

But by then, his fingers had found the silly dampness on her cheeks, and he gentled his embrace and his kiss.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her lips. "I love you so much—I never meant to make you cry."

She took back his mouth. "Love makes me cry," she murmured between kisses that deepened with every passing moment. He rested his hands on her hips, holding her to his as he moved against her with sweet, lazy sensuality. He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her throat, even nudging the neck of her dress to glide his mouth over the swell of her breasts. Her knees threatened to give way. Overcome by an impossible mix of delicious weakness and hunger, she would have given him anything. She wanted to give him everything, without being terribly sure what that entailed.

As his attention came back to her mouth, she adored the thundering of his heart against her. She moaned when he caressed her breast, flickering his thumb over her aching nipple, and arched into him. Wildly stroking his nape, she yearned to feel more of his skin, to have his body sliding naked over hers…

With a soft groan that was almost a laugh, he dragged his lips from hers, deliberately loosening his hold, though he did not release her.

He rested his forehead against hers.

"Alice, my Alice," he said huskily. "Are you my Alice?"

"If you are my Cornelius." And even if he was not.

"Cornelius, Simon, whatever… Does this mean you will consider marrying me? Without imagining I am after your dowry or your noble brother's favor?"

"Oh God, I want to cry again, or pound the pianoforte or something. Of course I don't imagine those things."

He raised his head, his excitingly warm, clouded eyes growing curious. "Why not? I am poorer than Atherstone or Glover or Daubin or any of your other suitors, I imagine."

"Because I know you." Until she said the words, she did not realize how true they were.

He kissed her once more, a soft, tender kiss this time, full of love, with only an echo of the wild desire that had so shaken her before. She was enchanted all over again.

Very reluctantly, she said, "We should go back before Gervaise comes and makes you marry me by Tuesday."

"I haven't compromised you yet by keeping you out all night."

She pressed her cheek to his, loving the feel of the faint stubble against her skin. "You can if you like. Shall we run away?"

"If you wish," he said at once. "But you might be more comfortable having the banns read and doing things at a more leisurely pace."

She sighed. "And I suppose you cannot abandon Black Hill at a moment's notice."

"I like that it entered your head. Do you truly trust me so much?"

"I seem to. I'm not afraid of anything anymore. Not even Cecily."

"You need never be afraid of Cecily or anyone else. But speaking of her, there is something I—"

Over his shoulder, a movement in the dark made her gasp. "Someone is there!"