Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

L ionel hoped that his astonishment had not been obvious to those who crowded around him. When his eyes had met those of the woman with the rich, bronze hair and fathomless brown eyes, he had recognized her instantly. That was Cecilia Sinclair. When he had first seen her on the arm of her brother, she had been a girl scarcely into womanhood. Yet she had possessed the charisma of a goddess, had drawn him like a moth to a flame. That girl had eclipsed even Arabella, whom he had believed to be the paragon of womanhood at that time. In five years, the girl had stepped through the doorway of womanhood and now commanded the room beyond. She had matured, her body acquiring the curves so enticing to a male. Her face had grown into its beauty, wearing it like a fine ballgown with confidence and assurance. She had stood out amid the crowd like a beacon fire, drawing him to her.

The constant interruptions of his guests had been an annoyance, like the tiny insects that emerged from the mere in summer to bite and swarm. Like those insects, Lionel had wanted to swat the impudent intruders aside, clear his path to reach Cecilia. Whether that was to look into her eyes, talk to her, or simply offer her his heartfelt condolences for the loss of her brother, he could not say.

In the wake of the murder, he had wandered a fever dream for weeks, straying in and out of consciousness. Blackwood had been his constant companion and nurse, but as time passed, so had the opportunity to reach out to Cecilia and share the grief they both wrestled with. Lionel felt guilty over that oversight. An eventual letter to her had received no reply. Lionel had then become obsessed with his quest for revenge and the demanding, draining task of teaching his body to walk again. Only occasionally had thoughts of Cecilia returned to him. Even less occasionally came thoughts of love, which had once been uppermost on his mind.

But those had been the times before Arabella had crushed his heart and tossed it to the side of the road. Before her betrayal, following hard on the heels of Lord Thorpe. Seeing Cecilia across the room had been the first he had truly thought on her for years.

As a man whose name he did not know and had not remembered from being given it, pestered him with demands for small talk, he looked back to the alcove where Cecilia had been standing. She was no longer there. Her absence struck him as an almost physical blow. A sense of loss yawned within him that he had not expected and he told himself it was pure foolishness. A young man with fashionable hair and dress was standing in her place, looking towards a door that led out to the west wing of the castle. Presently, he glanced around and then quickly walked towards it. Lionel frowned. The young man was a callow youth, shallow and privileged in a way that Lionel disapproved of. His invitation had been necessary as his family was prominent in the county set. But it did not sit well with Lionel that such a man was his guest.

The man slipped through the door and Lionel wondered if that was where Cecilia had vanished off to. He pursed his lips, answering absently to the small talk being directed at him. Not the nameless man now but another, made anonymous by his similarity to his predecessor. He forced a bright smile and put energy into his voice, looking at the man directly.

"Would you excuse me for a moment, good sir? A matter requires my attention but I look forward to hearing about your…" he racked his memory to recall what the man had been talking about just moments before, "…park in due course. Come and find me in a short while, if you will."

It was enough to allow Lionel to disengage and he strode briskly towards the west wing door. The guests had not yet all arrived so his absence for a short while would not be noticed. There would be an hour or so of mingling and chaos as the guests mixed and flowed together, renewing acquaintanceships, and forging new ones. Before the dancing began, they would expect a word from their host. He had perhaps an hour.

Face set and stride purposeful, none sought to interrupt him or divert him, for which he was grateful. The stop-start cadence of moving among the throng made his leg ache abominably. It took a huge amount of willpower not to limp or show the pain each step gave him. He was overdue a dose of the poppy juice and his body was crying out for its soothing milk.

His father had taught him from a very young age that he was not born into a life that permitted the display of weaknesses so freely. It was a lesson he strictly adhered to throughout his lifetime. The one time he set this rule aside, his betrothed had abandoned him. Ever since, he had sworn never to let anyone close to him again.

He put the thoughts of it to the back of his mind for now. It was not difficult for Cecilia was still lodged at the front of it, unable to be moved. He hoped that meeting her once again, speaking to her, would exorcize the feelings which the sight of her had engendered in him. No woman could possibly live up to the vision that she represented. He would speak to her and find her to be shallow, vapid, unintelligent, or simply dull. Then he would not think of her again.

Cecilia walked a maze of stone hallways. She fought to recall the tour she had been given by Lionel's curious manservant, Blackwood. He had been eloquent and knowledgeable and yet spoke in the vernacular of the roughest sailor. Looked forbidding and angry but treated her as though she were made of fine porcelain. But, the horror of events that had unfolded that day had driven her recollection of the tour from her mind. Five years had erased any memory she had and she had become thoroughly lost. Realizing that simply wandering randomly was doing her no good at all, she stopped and sat in a window seat that overlooked a small square of paving at the center of which was a circular pool. Shrubs were planted around the pool and four paths wove towards it from the four sides of the square. Each seemed to be carpeted in thick, lush moss. The sight of the greenery and the rippling water stirred by a breeze was peaceful.

"If only you were here to share it with me, Arthur," she murmured, feeling unutterable sadness welling within her at the thought of him.

"Do I find you talking to yourself? Or a suitor hidden in a cupboard?" came a voice.

Cecilia stood as Sir Gerald Knightley stepped into view. He held two glasses of wine. The smile on his face had become smug. It was the look of a boy unused to being denied, always expecting to be given everything he wanted. He sipped from one of the glasses and offered the other to Cecilia.

"I spoke to myself and I rarely take wine, good sir. Thank you for the offer."

"Oh, but you cannot come to such an event and not imbibe. It is practically the law," Sir Gerald continued, moving closer.

"I will not, thank you," Cecilia replied, stepping back but prevented from moving further by the window seat.

Sir Gerald moved smoothly into a position to block her escape, moving closer, his smile deepening. Cecilia began to feel extremely uncomfortable, moving along the window seat until she was backed into a corner formed by the window and the wall.

"I think that you wanted me to follow you. You advertised your desire for solitude plainly enough. Well, here we are. Two young people. All alone. None to judge us."

"Only ourselves," Cecilia muttered. "I must return to my aunt and uncle."

"Oh, but we have not discussed Penrose yet," Sir Gerald added.

"There is nothing to discuss. It is my uncle's property now. You must direct your interest to him."

"Your uncle?" Sir Gerald seemed surprised, pausing in his advance for a moment.

"Yes, the estate passed to my uncle following the death of my brother, the Earl of Penrose."

Sir Gerald's smile deepened and Cecilia had the distinct impression that he was silently laughing at her. She could not think what it was he found so amusing.

"Allow me to suggest that if you and I were to become better acquainted, that situation might change," he muttered cryptically.

Cecilia was momentarily intrigued, until he stepped closer, wine glass held out before him. She moved sharply to try and escape him and bumped the hand holding the glass.

She could not say if what happened next was the result of that accidental contact or had been deliberate, but the glass was suddenly emptied over the bodice of her dress. Sir Gerald stepped back, his wrist twisting as though he had deliberately upended the glass over her. But his mouth was open in shock and he hurriedly put the glass down and took out a handkerchief.

"Miss Sinclair, I do apologize. How clumsy of me. Here, allow me to help."

Cecilia squealed as he clumsily dabbed with his handkerchief at the wet path on her bosom. Squealed because he pressed firmly and it was clear that the act was merely a cover for placing his hand upon her breast. His lips came next, his face looming as he leaned in to kiss her. When she turned her head away, she felt them fasten upon her throat and reacted in a way that she had learned from the farm girls on the Hamilton estate. They had told her how to treat a bullish young man who would not take no for an answer. Seizing Sir Gerald by the front of his coat, she sharply lifted her knee into his groin. Breath rushed from the young man and his eyes bulged. When she released him, he staggered back and then fell, hands clutching his bruised manhood. The sound of dashing footsteps reached Cecilia as she picked up her skirts to run herself. But Sir Gerald reached out and seized her ankle, gripping with ferocious tenacity. Cecilia looked down to see his face contorted into a rictus of fury. He was staggering to his feet.

"What goes on here?" a voice suddenly demanded, sounding from down the hallway.

"This cow assaulted me, Your Grace!" Sir Gerald wheezed, getting to his feet and releasing Cecilia, "Expel her from the house immediately, she's nothing but a common whore!"

Lionel moved with the swiftness of rolling thunder. One moment he stood in the hallway and the next he had lifted Sir Gerald from his feet by his shirt front. Sir Gerald was swung through the air to slam into a wall, his feet six inches above the ground.

"Apologize or I will call you out," Lionel hissed between bared teeth.

"I… I apologize!" Sir Gerald stammered, eyes wide with fright.

Such was the grip that Lionel had on him, that his face was darkening from red to maroon, the blood prevented from reaching his face by the terrible choke in which he was held. The Duke released him, and as he stepped back, Cecilia saw his right leg buckle. For a moment he staggered, hand behind him seeking the support of the window seat. Cecilia moved instinctively, coming forward to support him with a hand to his back and another to his elbow. Sir Gerald looked at them with wide eyes for a moment and then ran back the way he had come, towards the hall. Lionel's breath hissed between his teeth, sharp and pained. Cecilia felt the strength of him where her hand rested against his back. The arm which she supported bulged with muscle. Standing this close to him, she was overpowered by his physicality.

This was a bull of a man. The thought made her giddy. By comparison, Sir Gerald was a lowing calf, a boy who could be snapped in two by Lionel without effort. She helped him to sit, taking a seat next to him, still with one hand on his back and the other on his arm.

"Are you quite well, Your Grace?" she asked.

"I am, Miss Sinclair. I recall once giving you leave to use my given name. I should like it very much if you did," he said, voice tight with pain.

He clutched at his right thigh, fingers kneading the muscle.

"You remember me?" Cecilia asked, surprised.

"Of course I do," Lionel added, looking at her for the first time. "The sister of my oldest and dearest friend. How could I forget?"

That reminded Cecilia of Arthur and how this man had not even acknowledged the loss he had caused by his incompetence. It sparked anger within her. Even now, he did not take the opportunity to tell her how sorry he was. She stood, suddenly acutely aware of their proximity and the fact that her hands were upon his person. She knew that she should rejoin the gathered guests but her dress was stained in the most obvious way, a splash of dark red wine across her front.

"Thank you, Lionel. For your gallantry. I should return to…"

"Like that? Surely not," Lionel replied, unsmiling.

She remembered that about him. Remembered how Arthur had joked about his serious friend.

"I… I cannot stay here. With you, I mean. It would not be…"

"I find myself suffering an acute attack of my old injury, Miss Sinclair. And you find yourself in acute need of a change of clothes. There is female attire in the castle, the Sunday best of one of the maids, she is about your size. If you would help me to the servant's wing?"

Cecilia was torn. Part of her wanted nothing more than to remain in this man's company. To be close to him again. The kind of closeness that would come inevitably from helping him to walk. Part of her wanted to be away from him. Wanted to be left alone to hate him for what he had done. That hate was hard to keep sharp in his company. His handsome face and titanesque presence dulled it. Her attraction to it eroded it like storm-tossed waves battering cliffs. She straightened her shoulders, his eyes still fixed on her. It felt like a physical touch and made her realize how much she yearned for that touch.

"Very well," she found herself saying, at once thrilled and appalled.