Blood thrumming through his veins like fire, he set her away from him, unable to contain the groan of protest that worked up from his core and through his lips. He kept light hands on her shoulders. After several long moments, he steadied his breath enough to say, “I can’t conceive of anything you might tell me that could make me regret that kiss.”
She touched her lips, expression dazed.
“That is, unless you didn’t care for it?” he pressed when she still did not speak.
Wide blue eyes closed and opened owlishly. “Care for it? It was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt.”
Robert grinned with an undeniable surge of pride. “Was it? I can think of one or two other things you might enjoy even more.”
Her face went red. She sucked in a quick breath. “That’s just it. Your kisses are the best and the only ones I’ve ever felt.”
He’d guessed as much. What a worthless, soulless bastard the late marquess had been. That a man should win the right to touch the perfection that was Cecilia and not worship her should be a hanging offence. “I realize you may not have found proper joy in the marriage bed. If that’s your worry, I can assure you, I plan to take every consideration.”
“Proper joy?” She swallowed convulsively. “You misunderstand. That was my second kiss, and I’ve never been more than…than kissed. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“Never been more than…” He stared at her, taking in the bright red staining her cheeks. “Do you mean, your first marriage was unconsummated? You’re a virgin?”
She gave a shaky nod.
“And you’re worried that would upset me?” His chuckle was more relief than humor. “On the contrary. For your sake, I’m overjoyed to know that bastard didn’t put his hands on you.”
Her body jerked beneath the hands he clasped on her shoulders. Her gaze slid from his. “I didn’t say he never put his hands on me.” The words were whispered.
Robert went still inside, like a clockwork that had come unwound. He forced his grip to stay light, fortifying, not constraining. “What does that mean?”
She shook her head. Her hands were clasped before her again, knuckles white.
“Cecilia, what does that mean?” Robert asked with gentle insistence.
She darted a glance up, then down again. “He couldn’t…” The breath she drew in rattled. “That is, he would have consummated the union, but he was unable to, which angered him.”
She began to shake again. He pulled her to him, wrapped her in strong arms. A muffled sob left her. Once more cursing the lack of a sofa in his office, Robert lifted her into his arms. He carried her around the desk to the only cushioned chair in the room. He sat and cradled her. She gave no more evidence of tears, but he stroked her hair, holding her, until her trembling subsided.
Finally, her light form relaxed against him. Her palm came to rest against his chest. “Do you still wish to marry me?” she whispered.
He dropped a kiss to her silken curls. “More than anything.”
More, even, than he wished the old marquess back alive. In Egypt, they cut dead men’s organs out one by one and placed them in jars. It was a practice Robert wished he could have acquainted the marquess with, while the man was still alive.
Chapter Fourteen
Wearing one of her new day dresses, Cecilia rode in the Greydrake carriage, hers for the last time, Grace seated across from her. Cecilia faced forward, hands still in her lap, legs free of any jitter. A sublime smile curved her lips.
A frown marred Grace’s round face. Her look was an ongoing question that she often opened her mouth to voice, but thus far had not.
“You have until the end of this carriage ride to speak your mind,” Cecilia prompted. “We’re nearing the church.”
“Why the special license? Why not have bans read?” Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Even if you’ve been indulging yourselves since Dame Parson’s ball, you couldn’t possibly know you’re with child yet, so that can’t be the reason.”
“Grace Birkchester,” Cecilia exclaimed, shocked into blushing even if Grace did not. “Indulge ourselves, indeed. How could you think such a thing?”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean, you have not? But, you’re a widow, and he a widower. If you ask me, it’s the perfect opportunity to try out what you’re getting before you commit to a lifetime together.”
Cecilia could only stare, shocked beyond words.
Grace shrugged. “If I weren’t a virgin, and the gentleman was as noble as Lord Robert, so I knew he’d marry me if I quickened with his child, that’s what I should do.”
Cecilia hadn’t realized her face could grow any hotter. She dropped her gaze to hands that rested in her lap, now clenched tight.
“Heaven above,” Grace breathed. “You’re a virgin.”
“So are you,” Cecilia snapped, too embarrassed to look up.
“I’m meant to be, but if I’d known you were, I should have kept a closer watch on you.”
“Precisely,” Cecilia muttered.
“Have you told him? It would be best to warn him.”
Cecilia lifted her gaze to find sincere concern on Grace’s face. “Certainly, I told him, and do please leave off. We’re on our way to church, and this is how you talk?”
Grace smirked. “At least now I understand your haste.”
Her cheeks flamed anew, but Cecilia refused to look away. Instead, she glared at Grace. While Grace’s knowing look didn’t falter, she did them both the favor of turning to look out the window.
Cecilia smoothed her hands on her skirt, happy to let the matter drop. In truth, she didn’t know why Robert was in such a hurry for them to wed, with only Grace able to attend and no wedding breakfast planned, which rankled slightly. Since their words in his study, he’d treated her with a gentle coddling that was both sweet, aggravating and unnecessary.
What happened between her and the marquess lay seven years in her past, and she’d spent those years learning not to think on it. Not to let the marquess hold any power in her life. She wouldn’t even have brought up the incident had she not been in so rattled a state, and now Robert was being overly solicitous.
That Robert had a reason for the hurried nature of their union, she was certain. He was a reasonable man, after all. That he didn’t confide the impetus to her was worrying. They had time. They wouldn’t return to Egypt until after the birth of Lanora’s baby.
Not that waiting would make for a much larger ceremony. In three weeks, Lanora would be even further along, or a new mother. William, though, could have attended, had they held off.
“We’re here.” Grace turned back, smile bright. “Once you make your vows, you’re but hours away from your wedding night.”
“Grace,” Cecilia protested. She did not wish to enter the church with a flaming red face.
Grace laughed. “I’m only teasing. I’m very happy for you both, that you’ve found love.”
That drained the color from Cecilia’s face. Fortunately, the carriage door was pulled open, affording her a reason to turn away. If Grace guessed Cecilia and Robert had agreed on a loveless union, she would likely stand up and protest the marriage. She would never understand that Cecilia could accept friendship over love, if it meant wedding a man as good as Robert.
As it turned out, no one protested the marriage. Cecilia hadn’t expected anyone to, but an interruption would have made some sense out of Robert’s urgency. Instead, the priest rattled on through words Cecilia had heard many times before, had even spoken before God. As had Robert. Only, he’d meant them. She’d been too young to understand.
“With this ring I thee wed,” Robert said at the priest’s prompting. “With my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
He slipped a ring on her finger, and her hand didn’t shake at all. Gazing into those green eyes, Cecilia suppressed a sigh. If she didn’t know any better, if he didn
’t insist on his lack of deep feeling, she would swear he meant every syllable. Then again, the vows included no mention of love. Was that lack indicative of a different place and time, or of the secret truth behind so many unions?
Cecilia worked to dispel such sorrowful musings as the priest concluded the ceremony and presented them as husband and wife. Grace clapped and ran forward to embrace Cecilia. Both the Solworth and Hadler attorneys, called in as witnesses, offered their congratulations.
Robert placed her hand on his arm and escorted her from the church. He waved off the smiling footman and handed her into his carriage. She took her place riding backward. The conveyance dipped when he climbed in. The footman closed the door behind him.
Robert settled into his seat and knocked on the roof to set them moving. He turned his attention on her, expression assessing. “You didn’t choose to sit beside me,” he said in that overly calm, soothing tone he’d taken to using with her.
Cecilia pressed her lips together. She wasn’t a skittish filly he was trying to break. “Out of habit.”
“I didn’t mean my observation as censure. I know I rushed the ceremony but, rest assured, I don’t mean to hurry you in any way.”
For once, her diminutive proportions were a boon, for it was no trouble at all for Cecilia to switch seats. Once beside him, she pressed her shoulder to his arm, the slender length of her leg to his muscled one, hoping he would take the hint. They continued on in a swaying monotony of creaking wheels and verbal silence.
“This is pleasant,” he said in that same reassuring tone.
Cecilia rolled her eyes ceilingward. She’d waited her whole life to be kissed like Robert had kissed her, and now he was content with pleasant? She lifted his arm and ducked under it to wrap the strong limb about her shoulder.
He cleared his throat. “Even more pleasant.”
“For goodness sake,” Cecilia exclaimed. Marshaling her resolve to end his coddling, she twisted free of his arm and turned to clamber atop him. Slender hands pressed to either side of his stunned countenance, she said, “I am not made of porcelain, and while there is nice, there is also too nice, Robert.” She crushed her lips to his.
His arms wrapped about her. He returned her kiss with a fervor that chased away any doubts she was too wanton. Those doubts returned tenfold when his hands slid down her back, skimming her body until they came around to rest on her thighs. A large, strong hand clasped each leg, his touch igniting her skin through the bunched fabric of her skirt.
Cecilia’s heart pounded. She wanted this, wanted marital relations with her husband, but she wasn’t certain that in a carriage, on the short drive from the church to his home, would afford them the moment she’d dreamed of. It occurred to her, as well, that the curtains weren’t closed.
As if aware of her sudden reluctance, he dragged his lips from hers. She took in his dilated pupils, the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest. A grin turned up his lips.
“You play with fire, Cecilia Hadler,” he murmured.
Cecilia Hadler. The name echoed in her mind. She was a Greydrake no more. She was free, finally and completely free, of the marquess. Open curtains or not, Cecilia sought Robert’s lips.
Fortunately for her ultimate dignity, the carriage rolled to a halt before things got too out of hand. Cecilia scrambled back to her own seat a moment before the door opened. She took in Robert’s flattened cravat, his simmering gaze. Two hats and two sets of gloves lay discarded on the carriage floor. Her curls were in disarray. She couldn’t suppress the silly grin that stretched across her face.
She also couldn’t leave the carriage and climb the steps of his London home quickly enough. She had a practical understanding of what was to come next between them. If the carriage ride was any indication, with Robert, reality would far surpass learned description.
The front door opened to reveal his butler, alone in the elegant foyer. She’d half expected his staff to be assembled to greet them and wondered at the foresight on his part that they were not. When Robert, who’d left their hats and gloves on the floor of the carriage, made to lead her past the man, the butler cleared his throat.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, my lady,” the butler said.
As one, they turned back to face him. Cecilia took in the man’s pale visage. Worry wriggled its way through the glorious haze that engulfed her.
The butler proffered a silver tray where a thin, folded sheet lay in dull contrast to the gleaming metal. “I would not trouble you were it not terribly urgent. The sheet was slid under the door not ten minutes ago, unfolded.”
Meaning the man had read whatever was contained therein, Cecilia realized, and deemed the content so worthy of Robert’s attention as to warrant interrupting the duke’s wedding day. She cast Robert a worried glance.
He plucked up the folded page with a frown. He turned the thin sheet over, then held it to the light. He must see, as she did, that it was an inferior page. Cheap, as any shopkeeper or clerk might use. Not embossed or stamped with any identifying mark.
He lowered the page and flipped it open, with no effort to hide the content from her. Cecilia leaned over his arm to read.
The special license was very cleverly done, my lord. I nearly missed your nuptial, waiting as I was for bans to be read. You may believe you’ve outsmarted me. You may feel you and your new bride, and any brats she bears you, will be secure in Egypt. You’re correct as to my lack of reach.
What, however, of those you’ll leave behind? What secrets do they have that might be ferreted out? How much scandal and defamation can your daughter and her husband withstand? What of the soon to be born babe?
Do not consummate your marriage. The union must be annulled. Retire with immediacy to your ducal estate. There, the remainder of my terms will be provided. Make haste, my lord.
In the way of such crafty cowardice, there was no signature. Shock radiated through Cecilia. She looked up from the page to find Robert’s jaw clenched.
“Everly,” Robert growled. His hand closed about the page.
“You don’t think he knows about--” Cecilia broke off, belatedly recalling the silent butler. “That is, what could anyone possibly learn about William and Lanora that could be used against them? There are no two better people.”
“I doubt he needs truth to slander them. He’ll work as easily with lies.”
Cecilia tugged the crumpled page from Robert’s hand and smoothed the wrinkles. Was the handwriting familiar? She thought it might be the same as on the message Porter gave Grace the day of the kidnapping, but she wasn’t certain. Should she tell Robert about the threat that ended that note? Could Porter somehow be free? Dodger had seen him arrested.
“Are you certain it’s Mister Everly?” Cecilia asked. “Why would your cousin send you such a terrible letter?”
Robert nodded, brows pulled low in a glower. “It’s him. He is my heir, unless I beget a new one. I can’t imagine who else could wish our union unconsummated and annulled.”
She flushed slightly, struggling to tamp down any thoughts on consummation. “Only, this isn’t what I would expect of his penmanship.” She underscored a line with her finger. “It’s so neat and compact, the letters rigidly upright.”
Some of the anger left Robert’s face as his gaze settled on her. “You make a good point.” He dropped his attention back to the page. “What would you expect his handwriting to be like?”
Cecilia shrugged. “Messy. Illegible. Lazy.”
Robert chuckled. “You paint a rather unflattering picture of the man.”
“Undeservedly so?” She’d thought him perfectly nice, until he’d tried to force kisses on her.
Robert’s expression folded into sever lines once more. He looked rather intimidating, his eyes agate-hard and his black hair utilitarian-short. “Very deservedly so.”
“It’s not only the neatness of the writing. I think it may be the same hand the kidnapper’s note was written in, though I can’t say for certain. I only saw t
he page for a moment.” She bit her lip. “That note, at the end, threatened Lanora and her baby.”
Robert’s scowl deepened. “I see.”
“It may not be the same hand,” she repeated. “I really can’t say. I recall the penmanship as neat, though. This could be a second attempt to ransom you, in the guise of Mister Everly, so you’ll go.”
He nodded. “I suppose it could be.”
“But you’re still going?”
Robert let out a long, slow breath. He looked about the foyer, then down at her. “I’d best go to my country seat, yes.”
“May I accompany you?” she asked, loath to be separated from him.
“No, not there.” He swallowed. Pain dimmed the anger in his eyes. “It’s best I see to this alone.”
Cecilia took in the lines of sorrow that etched his face, revealing his years. His country seat was where he’d lived, all those years ago, with his first wife. She placed a hand on his arm. “Are you certain?”
Robert gave a sharp nod. “I am, and certain as well that Everly is behind this letter, not a conspiracy of kidnappers. I’ll go put an end to this nonsense.” He mustered a smile for her, but the expression chased no sorrow from his eyes. “I’d hoped to enjoy your wedding gift with you, but it seems I shall have to settle for telling you of it instead. At least, you’ll be well occupied while I’m away.”
“Wedding gift?” Cecilia searched his face. “But, the arrangements were made so quickly. What could you possibly have had time to purchase?”
Delight finally restored a semblance of normalcy to his features. “Purchase? Nothing. Request, on the other hand…” His smile broadened. “I secured Dame Parson’s permission for you to avail yourself of her late husband’s medical texts.”
“Dame Parson’s library,” Cecilia exclaimed. She flung her arms about him, not recalling the letter until it crinkled against his back. “Oh Robert, thank you.”
His answering embrace was warm and showed no hesitance even though they stood in the foyer before his likely scandalized butler. Much of the tension left Robert as he rested his chin on her curls. The fear in the pit of Cecilia’s stomach eased as well. Robert was very capable. He’d set things right.
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