Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

C ecilia changed out of her spoiled clothes and into the dress of a maid called Peggy. It fitted her well, a plain dress of wool and cotton that would not be suitable for mingling in a ballroom.

Her ballgown was taken away by Peggy to be laundered for her and she had asked Blackwood about the possibility of a carriage to take her back to Hamilton Hall. She didn't know what her aunt and uncle would make of it. They would not miss her but would not take kindly to anything remotely smelling of scandal. Their niece needing to leave before the ball had truly gotten underway and not in her own clothes would be scandal enough. No proof of any wrongdoing existed but the circumstances were unusual enough that the gossipmongers of the ton would certainly invent their own. Blackwood had instructed her to remain in Peggy's room until he was ready to take her to the stable yard and the carriage. Cecilia sat on a wooden chair beside the bed, hands folded in her lap, and waited.

The room was simple, larger than the accommodation given to servants at Hamilton Hall. There was a bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table and chair. A small window looked out over a garden. Her own quarters at Hamilton Hall comprised what had once been a storeroom. Furniture had been put into the room for her but no other accommodation had been made. It was cold and drafty, never meant for human comfort.

Cecilia's thoughts went to the master of this house. She wondered at the sheer insanity that had gripped them both. Or was it merely an attraction so strong that it battered down the defenses of modesty and propriety? They had behaved abominably but she could not bring herself to regret it. Except, Lionel Grisham was the man who had killed her brother. How could she consider making love with him? She was not an animal, able to indulge in such an act without thought or emotion. But, then again, that was precisely how she had behaved. Hadn't she?

The feel of his body against her body, his lips against her own, filled her memory. It was still vivid. She could even recall the scent of him, the musky cologne that screamed masculinity. The woody aroma that came from his leather boots and his hair, speaking of time spent out of doors. The hardness of his physique, and in particular… Cecilia found herself blushing furiously. That had been a surprise. She was educated enough to know how sexual reproduction worked, the mechanics of it. But, it had never occurred to her exactly how it would feel. That pressure against her had been monumental, even a little frightening. A tingle swept through her that made her clench her legs together and curl up her toes. It was a wonderful feeling and brought on by the memory of Lionel's powerful form. She had been helpless before him. Had he so desired, he could have ravaged the clothes from her body. Rendered her naked and then there would have been no barrier between his hungry, insatiable yearning and her maidenhead.

She fanned her face with one hand, trying to think of anything else, not wanting to be blushing when Blackwood returned for her. The handle of the door turned and she spun to the window to hide her face.

"Miss Sinclair! What on earth!" exclaimed Sir Gerald Knightley.

Cecilia whirled at the voice.

"Cecilia! Explain yourself this instant!" her uncle snapped.

He stood behind Sir Gerald in the doorway. And behind him was her aunt, face crimson, and mouth open and aghast. Cecilia stood, frozen to the spot as Sir Gerald sauntered into the room. His feigned shock was replaced with a smug grin that she had come to recognize as his customary expression. He kept his back to her uncle so that he could not see it.

"I… I… wine was spilled on my dress. Lionel… I mean His Grace kindly offered to let me change my clothes," she stammered.

" Lionel is it!" Uncle Rupert exclaimed, "well, I see all too well what has been going on here. You were presumably going to rejoin the guests dressed like a servant. Did you think it would be a good joke to play on us?"

"The very notion! Oh, I have never been so mortified!" Aunt Margaret gasped, crowding closer, eyes going wider as her mouth became more pursed.

She and Rupert pushed their way into the room alongside Sir Gerald, closing the door behind them.

"I was not planning on going back to the ball dressed like this," Cecilia replied with indignation, "in fact, His Grace has arranged for a carriage to take me back to Hamilton Hall, as well as for my dress to be laundered."

"Oh, we know all about the dress, young lady," Aunt Margaret snapped, "that is what led us to you. It is fortunate that Sir Gerald caught a servant with your dress after becoming lost in this maze of a house. And recognized it too. He alerted us that something untoward was going on."

Cecilia glared at Sir Gerald who had put on a look of concern now that the other two could see his face. He frowned and nodded as Aunt Margaret spoke.

"The dress was torn, I observed," he noted somberly. "Naturally, I feared the worst."

"It was not torn!" Cecilia retorted.

Then she recalled the fall and subsequent tryst between herself and Lionel. In that confusion, could her dress have been ripped? How would it seem to an outsider that a young woman disappears with a Duke into a backroom of his home and emerges with a torn dress?

"Do not lie! Tell us what you have been up to!" Aunt Margaret chided.

"Tell us what that blackguard Thornhill made you do…" Uncle Rupert added gravely.

"You are among friends and safe now," Sir Gerald chimed in without a hint of the lie he was telling.

"That sinful man!" Aunt Margaret gasped theatrically.

There came a rap at the door which Uncle Rupert whirled to and snatched open. Blackwood was on the other side, looking surprised for a moment.

"Miss Sinclair, your carriage is prepared, as is your return journey," he declared with marvelous equanimity, choosing to completely ignore the situation.

" Pah! I do not think so. Send for your master at once!" Uncle Rupert spat. "She shall be returning home, but not in any conveyance of Thornhill's, I can assure you."

"And we will not see him in this… this dingy little room. Quite why he chose to hide away my niece in such a place is beyond me. What he intended here is all too obvious. We will receive him in his private study, away from the other guests. Convey us there, then run to your master," Aunt Margaret added haughtily.

If Blackwood was offended by the insinuations or surprised, he didn't show it. He merely bowed and withdrew from the room without uttering a sound. Moments later, a groom appeared to escort Cecilia and the others. Uncle Rupert and Aunt Margaret flanked Cecilia as though she were a prisoner, marching her through the labyrinthine stone hallways of Thornhill Castle with Sir Gerald following behind.

They were taken up several flights of stairs and shown into a stone-walled chamber with a high beamed ceiling. A large wooden desk stood in front of a fireplace the height of two tall men standing one atop the other. The room gleamed in the light cast by the fire, the deepest ruby. Bookcases coated the walls with reading tables and chairs scattered about. A rifle hung in a space between those bookcases. Cecilia looked at it as she was shown to a seat, practically pushed into it by Aunt Margaret.

"You are most fortunate to have a benefactor like Sir Gerald take an interest in you," she hissed lowly, "noticing how you were seduced into leaving the great hall by that nefarious man. Had he not, I shudder to think what might have happened!"

"Now, now, my lady, I merely acted in what I saw as the best interests of a vulnerable young woman. The Duke is an odd man—who knows what such a man might be capable of," Sir Gerald shrugged smoothly.

That was the final blow.

Cecilia could not put up with this boyish act of his any longer. "Or rather, such a man as you! It was you after all that caused my dress to be ruined," she finally snapped, anger shaping her tone.

The slap from Aunt Margaret snapped her head to the side and left her cheek stinging. Cecilia gaped at her aunt in shock. Margaret was white, lips pressed together and eyes blazing.

"Don't you dare cast aspersions on an honorable young man when you are the one who was caught red-handed, about to enter into very dishonorable behavior indeed!"

"I was not!" Cecilia protested.

"And still you remain so impertinent!" Rupert roared. "You have disgraced yourself and us. I will not hear another word from your mouth. Not one! I will cast you out and leave you to the poor house otherwise. Ungrateful child!"

Cecilia suppressed her anger at the injustice of the situation. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away furiously, biting her lip. They were not tears of fear or distress. Those tears were hot with rage. She had been assaulted and the man responsible was covering his crime by attaching it to another, casting Cecilia's character into question at the same time.

Rupert was more than capable, she believed, of making good on his threat. She knew that her aunt and uncle resented her presence in their home—her dependence on them. Often, she had wondered why they continued to let her live with them at Hamilton Hall at all. They could very easily have moved her into a cottage on the estate, there were many such places which had once belonged to weavers until the mills had begun to erode that trade. She had listened to her uncle bemoaning the loss of income many times, yet had never acted on it.

What she truly wanted now was to get up and walk out of the room, never to see either of them again. Alas, she could not. There was nowhere for her to go. Her brother's estates were in the hands of her uncle. The home she had shared with Arthur was let out by Rupert, to recoup the cost of keeping Cecilia, according to him. And if she were without a home or means to support herself, she would be vulnerable to a man like Sir Gerald. So, she bit her tongue, clasped her hands in her lap, and endured.

Suddenly, the doors to the study flung open and Lionel stormed into the chamber.

"I am informed you have invited yourselves into my private study. I would like to know why," he grated as he took a seat behind the enormous desk, hands planted on its polished surface.

"I am the one to demand, Your Grace," Uncle Rupert shot back. "I found my niece in your servant's quarters, dressed like a peasant because her own clothes were torn. From what activity, I know not, but you were seen with her last, alone. What is your explanation!"

Lionel glared at him. Rupert had risen, clutching his lapels as though making a speech. The glare dropped him to his seat as effectively as a blow to the chin. Lionel's eyes narrowed and he looked from Rupert to Cecilia. She felt a chill run through her body to be so regarded and hoped desperately that he did not think her in league with her aunt and uncle.

"Who told you her dress was ripped?" he asked quietly.

"I stopped a maid who was carrying it. I recognized the garment, having spoken to Miss Sinclair a few moments earlier," Sir Gerald began.

"And why were you in the servant's wing?" Lionel asked.

"I was lost," he replied with a smile. "This is doubtless such a big house. Such a maze."

Lionel's eyes went back to Cecilia and she felt herself weighed and measured. She reminded herself that she should despise this man. He had killed Arthur! His cryptic statement to the contrary was meaningless unless he could offer proof. She had to keep that image of him in mind, because otherwise… otherwise, his magnetism would draw her like a siren song. His beauty, his physical perfection, the way he made her knees turn to jelly and her heart fly, she would be lost to him forever.

"I see. You believe that Miss Sinclair is compromised," Lionel muttered.

"Of course she is!" Margaret almost shrieked, "And we demand satisfaction!"

Lionel smiled but without joy or mirth. "You wish to challenge me to a duel, madam? Or your husband? Or this tomfool?"

Margaret shifted in her seat and Rupert remained silent when she glanced at him. Sir Gerald cleared his throat.

"I would defend Miss Sinclair's honor with my body. With my life even. Such is the duty of a gentleman. But I would always strive to resolve differences peaceably. It appears it is in your nature to resort to other measures."

Lionel's face grew dark. "Speak plainly, sir. You accuse me of being a violent man?"

"You are a man… of violence . I can personally attest to that. As can the late nephew of my good friends, the Sinclairs," Sir Gerald replied matter-of-factly.

Lionel rose, hands still planted on the desk. He loomed above Sir Gerald and his face was one ready for murder. It seemed though, that his grip on the desk was anchoring him, keeping him from the other man's throat.

"Enough of this posturing. You have been caught, Your Grace, in a compromising position with my niece. My husband and I, as her guardians, demand satisfaction, or…"

"Or what ?" Lionel remarked, head whipping in her direction.

"Or we will ruin you," Rupert stated calmly, and with a subtle smile exchanged with Sir Gerald.