Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

L ionel paced the dark, chilly hallways of Thornhill Castle. He seethed inside, seeing the trap that had been set for him. A trap he had blundered into. He did not understand the connection between Sir Gerald and the Sinclairs. They were very clearly allies. Had Sir Gerald simply seized the moment after being caught in the act of assaulting Cecilia, turning the tables on Lionel? Or was there a prior connection between the lot of them?

Cecilia must be part of it, he reasoned. She had been sent to entrap him. And for a very obvious purpose. That purpose had been spoken, coldly and clearly by Lady Margaret. Marry Cecilia or the scandal will become public. Lionel could not afford the distraction of a scandal, it would interfere with his plans. Nor did he want to drag his family name through the mud a second time. After the tragic death of Arthur, there had been much speculation about what really happened. The fact that Lionel's truth was not believed was infuriating. The fact that the lie that everyone accepted as reality cast Lionel as the villain, shooting Arthur either by accident or design, was utterly maddening. The Sinful Duke, he had been labeled.

When the ultimatum had been given, Cecilia had uttered a sob and risen from her seat to run from the room. Her aunt and uncle had demanded that she return and Sir Gerald had risen to pursue her. Lionel had come around the desk and casually shoved the young man back into his seat, stating that he would summon servants to find the young lady. He then left the room intent on nothing less than finding her himself. He would get to the bottom of this plot, if a plot it was.

Instinct told him that she would make for the quieter, more secluded parts of the castle, avoiding the bustle of the gathering guests. She did not know the castle except for the one guided tour she had been given five years ago. But, to head in the opposite direction to the clamor of the visitors was a simple enough strategy.

Lionel did the same, seeking the quietest staircases, passageways, and rooms until he had left the sounds of merriment far behind. Windows to his right looked out over a jumble of roofs. Beyond was the dark mass of the Thorn Wood, which covered the grounds to the east, swallowing the old ornamental gardens that had once lain there.

He paused to ease the pressure on his aching leg, watching a thrush skip among the rooftops and briefly alight on the stone windowsill. It picked up a snail which it found there and tapped its shell a few times against the sill before taking flight once more. The passageway was utterly silent and dark beyond the oasis of pale daylight that spilled through the window. The east wing was to have been refurbished for his marriage to Arabella, to create guest wings for her family and friends. She had taken delight in the design of it, picking out wallpaper, paint, and fabrics. In the wake of her abandonment, that work had also been abandoned, as had the east wing. Rooms were left to dust, fireplaces cold and unlit.

A sound reached him, breaking the stone silence. The soft sound of a woman's footsteps. Lionel's head turned towards them just as Cecilia emerged from a spiral staircase at the end of the hallway. Her face had a smattering of dust, as did her hands, from her journey through the neglected wing of Thornhill. Her eyes were red-rimmed and tears glistened on her cheeks. The sight of her so obvious distress struck a chord within Lionel. His first instinct was to go to her, to comfort her. Even beneath the tears and the dirt, her beauty shone through, brighter than the sunbeams that fought through the grimy glass of the window. Lionel lurched to his feet but Cecilia was as flighty as a deer. She spun and dashed back the way she had come.

"Miss Sinclair, come back!" Lionel called out, stumbling after her.

His leg betrayed him, refusing to let him move at a speed that would enable him to catch up with Cecilia. But he fought against the pain, hauling himself up the stairs with gritted teeth. He knew every inch of his home, had been a recluse within it for most of the last five years. Reaching the top of the staircase, he turned in the opposite direction to that which he could hear Cecilia's fleeing footsteps emanating from. Slowing his pace, he walked with occasional support from the wall along a corridor that turned abruptly more than once, until he stood before an ancient door. It was banded with rusted black metal and stood ajar, one of its hinges since lost to the crumbling red-orange of decay.

He waited, and a moment later, heard Cecilia's footsteps. The door creaked as she pushed at it. Lionel stepped forward, seizing the metal ring on his side of the door, and pulling on it. The door scraped along the floor and Cecilia screamed at the sight of him. He did not expect what happened next. Cecilia did not turn and run, nor did she shy away from him. Instead, she launched herself at him and slapped him across the face.

He staggered, taken completely unawares. As she tried to slip past him though, he managed to get a hand to her elbow, holding fast.

"Let me go!" Cecilia demanded.

"Not until you talk to me," Lionel insisted.

"I have nothing to say to you. What they accuse you of is true. You are a seducer. You took advantage of me at the first opportunity. You are also a murderer!"

The words cut deeply, and Lionel released her. His anger at her evaporated.

While he told himself that he did not care what her opinion of him was, the truth was, her words had hurt him. The why was unfathomable to him, except that perhaps he was the kind of man whose head could be turned by a beautiful face. Which he knew he was not.

He slumped back against the wall, running a hand through his hair and sighing. Cecilia took a couple of steps away from him and then stopped, confusion on her face.

"If you have convinced yourself of those things, then return to your aunt and uncle. You do not have to speak to me, nor see me. We will live completely separate lives within this castle."

"I will not marry you," Cecilia retorted, "no matter what threats my family make."

"We have no choice, you and I. I must protect my family name from disgrace. As I placed it in jeopardy, I must remedy the situation. You have even more to lose. If a scandal such as this touches you, it will destroy you. Women always come out of these situations worse than men. That is the world we live in."

Cecilia shook her head but she did not run. "This is a nightmare. I will awake in my room at any moment. This cannot be."

"It is," Lionel exhaled, feeling sympathy for her plight, even while he was not entirely convinced she was not involved in the ruse, a willing participant . "I have been snared in a trap, and your family's goal is clear—my wealth and title."

"But it is not my goal. And I am not like them!" Cecilia cried out.

"How am I to know that? I did not look for this. I helped you and now I am enmeshed in a scandal. What else am I to think but that you were complicit."

"Because I am not like my Uncle Rupert or Aunt Margaret! I am like my brother, remember him? A man of honor and chivalry. A man who raised his young sister after the death of our parents. I am that manner of Sinclair ! Perhaps you have forgotten what a good man Arthur was. Perhaps you have made yourself forget in order to assuage your guilt!"

Tears flowed freely and the words caught in her throat. Lionel felt stinging at his own eyes at her pain and the memory of his friend, his brother in all but name.

"I feel no guilt except for the guilt that I could not bring his killer to justice," Lionel responded blankly.

"You are his killer!" Cecilia accused, stepping closer to him in her anger.

"No. It was another," Lionel blurted.

He immediately wanted the words back. He did not know if he could trust Cecilia—if she was friend or foe. That information needed to be kept close. He ground his teeth, closing his eyes as he tried to marshal his thoughts and calm himself. He was giving too much away, had been manipulated enough. No more could be allowed.

"Who? Why?"

Lionel growled in his throat and pushed himself away from the wall, favoring his strong leg. "Let us return to your aunt and uncle and discuss my surrender. You have won, be content and let my secrets remain so," he muttered harshly.

Cecilia reached out, putting her fingers to his chest. He stopped, held in place by her delicate, gentle touch.

"I swear to you on my brother's memory that I am not in league with my aunt and uncle, nor with that despicable cretin, Sir Gerald. I give you my word that the only thing holding me to Hamilton Hall is the fear of the poor house. That is where my uncle would have me sent immediately after cutting me off with nothing."

There was something in her words that quelled Lionel's irritation. He looked into her eyes, wanting to believe her. It was offensive that such beauty could be dishonest and deceitful, but then Arabella had also been a beauty. And she had abandoned him in moments when learning she might be marrying a cripple.

"I wish I could believe you," he whispered, lost in those hazel-flecked eyes, "but I have learned through bitter experience that trust is a weapon to be used against one. The only defense is not to give it in the first place."

"Then I shall prove it to you," she said resolutely.

Cecilia still held him by the touch of her fingertips against his chest. He could feel that touch as though she pressed her entire hand against his bare skin. The point of contact was the focus of his every sense. He felt his breathing coming fast and hard, knew that she too could feel it, could see it. Their eyes were locked together. He did not want to look away, not ever. She appeared to possess the same reluctance, the same desire to remain lost in the gaze of the other.

Lionel wanted to kiss her. It was an overwhelming desire, dwarfing the craving he felt for poppy juice when the pain in his leg became too great. He wavered, leaning forward imperceptibly, his chest pressing against her touch, deepening it. Cecilia gasped as the distance between them narrowed.

He was conflicted. He did not want to trust, could not trust, yet he wanted the intimacy with Cecilia that only trust could bring. Could he trust her after all? She had sworn on Arthur's memory. To a decent person, that kind of oath should not be taken lightly. Yet there were many indecent people. People capable of committing murder and hiding it beneath sheathes of lies.

"And how could you prove it to me?" Lionel whispered, "I can see no way."

"I will consent to marry you. To spare your name and escape the scandal. And as your wife, I will prove myself worthy of your trust. I will show you that I am worthy to bear my brother's name," Cecilia said in a breathless rush. "…And in return, I wish to know the truth of that night."

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes seemed to glow with life. Her lips were rosy, half tilted into a smile. It was the nervous smile of one who knew they had committed a reckless act, a frightening gamble. Someone who rolls the dice and feels the exhilaration of it.

Lionel felt the path of his life mapped out for him then. He would marry her. It was the only way to kill the scandal.