‘You’re not built for a life of solitude,’ he said after a moment, his fingers tracing a lazy pattern over the back of her neck that made her want to sink deeper into his embrace.
‘I always thought I would marry,’ Cecilia said softly, voicing the thoughts that she’d kept inside for so long. ‘I wanted love and children and a home full of people...’
‘Not all men are like your guardian.’
‘I know.’ The truth was they might not all be like her guardian, but a good many she’d encountered in the past few years were more interested in her money than her. The worse thing was how adept so many were at hiding it. She’d been deceived more than once, sure someone was a true friend, only to find out they didn’t have any real interest in her beyond her fortune.
‘You say you’re worried about fortune hunters?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then just marry someone rich,’ Joe said with a shrug, as if it were as easy as that.
‘I was engaged once,’ Cecilia said. ‘Secretly. We planned to elope, to marry without anyone knowing. By the time we returned I would be Lady Melbry.’ She saw Joe’s eyes widen in surprise.
‘Melbry lost all his money, didn’t he?’ Joe asked quietly.
‘Gambling. Turns out he had a compulsion. And he wasn’t very good at it.’
‘But you didn’t know this when you became engaged to the man,’ Joe said, realisation dawning in his eyes.
‘He was still lauded as one of the wealthiest men in England. I thought he must love me as he said he did because he didn’t need my money.’ Cecilia heard the bitterness in her voice and knew that even after twenty years had passed she would still be hurting from what he’d done to her. He’d stolen the last of her innocence, her trust in people, and now there was no getting that back. ‘So you see I can’t just marry someone rich, I would still doubt their intentions.’
‘Most matches are made for reasons of money or status or property,’ Joe said slowly, but Cecilia could see he understood her reasoning a little more.
‘I know, but on Christmas Day, I turn twenty-one and I inherit my father’s fortune. I will have the freedom to make my own decisions, to go where I please, to live as I please. Why would I give that up, give my autonomy, my freedom and my fortune up, for marriage? If I married, my husband would own everything, including me.’
Joe was silent and suddenly Cecilia felt a little awkward sitting in his arms. It was entirely inappropriate, even though there wasn’t anyone there to witness it. She shifted forward, thinking she would get up and break the connection between them, but Joe’s hand caught her arm and held her back gently.
‘I understand,’ he said, waiting until her eyes came up to meet his to continue, ‘but promise me something.’
Cecilia found herself nodding before he continued.
‘Don’t rule out a different life yet.’
For one heady moment she thought he was offering her something and Cecilia felt the rush of excitement and happiness, followed by the cold realisation that he was speaking in general terms. It made her feel out of control, this sudden awareness that this was what she wanted. Not freedom, not autonomy to make her own decisions. This. Joe. She wanted him to enfold her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot everything but him.
‘I won’t,’ she said, trying to keep the sadness from her voice. She knew he wasn’t offering her anything more than a kiss and that made her heart tear inside her chest.
‘I just can’t see you happy as a spinster, living your life alone.’
She shrugged. It wasn’t the future she’d imagined for herself either. What young girl dreams of a life of solitude instead of charming princes come to sweep them off their feet?
‘I won’t be alone,’ she said. ‘It’s not as though I’m going to a convent. I can still socialise, have friends, it’s just a husband I’m deciding not to have.’
‘And children.’
She felt the pang of sadness, but pushed it away.
Gently he cupped her cheek. ‘As long as you’re happy,’ he said and, before Cecilia knew what was happening, he kissed her again. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.’
Wriggling off his lap, she returned to her own armchair, trying to push away all the entirely unrealistic hopes and dreams she was having about the man sitting a few feet away. He was kind, that was all, that was his only reason for all the questions about her future.
Chapter Seven
Joe pulled the thick curtains back and looked out grimly at the snow. It was still thick, but there were telltale signs of melting: the top of plants visible as dark specks in the blanket of white, little puddles under the icicles and the sound of dripping of melting snow.
Today they would have to return to reality. Cecilia would have to leave his little cottage and make her way to Hawthorn House and he would go back to being alone.
Restlessly he paced backwards and forward across the small chamber. He had insisted Cecilia take the main bedroom now the sheets were dry and had spent an uncomfortable night tossing and turning on the narrow bed of the second bedroom. If he was honest, it wasn’t the hardness of the bed or the inadequacy of the blankets that had kept him awake, but thoughts of the woman in the next room. He shouldn’t have kissed her, it hadn’t been gentlemanly to take advantage of an innocent young woman like that, however much she might have wanted it. Yet he knew if he relived that moment a hundred times he would always make the same decision.
Could you...? He shook his head, banishing the thought before it even formed. He wasn’t what Cecilia wanted or needed, even if he was in a fit state to share his life with someone. No, this little interlude had woken him up, given him a shake and shown him he couldn’t continue how he was, but that didn’t mean he was ready for a relationship. Especially with a woman as vibrant and alive as Cecilia. She needed a man to whisk her through society, to escort her to balls and show her the world wasn’t the awful place her guardian and those fortune hunters had made it out to be.
But maybe... It was tempting, the idea of sweeping Cecilia into his arms and planning a future with her. If he examined his feelings he knew it was what he wanted, but it wouldn’t be what was best for her.
With a grumble he pulled the curtains closed again and got dressed, avoiding looking at the puckered and shiny skin that covered the lower half of his left leg.
It wasn’t even the physical injury that was holding him back. Months of rehabilitation and work meant that he was now as strong as he had always been, even if he did walk with a limp. He knew Cecilia would never hold his injury against him, but that wasn’t all that had been taken away a year ago. He’d lost his purpose, his sense of self-belief, and he knew he needed to find that before he even considered drawing anyone else into the mess he called his life.
Downstairs he stacked the wood on the fire, set the kettle on the hook above it and sat back on one of the hard chairs to await Cecilia. There was still no sound of movement above him and as he sipped the hot cup of tea his mind began wandering to the envelope he’d been studiously ignoring for well over a week. Another request for him to work, no doubt, but this one he hadn’t sent back without looking like he had the rest. It was still sitting there, as yet unopened, but for the first time in a very long time he felt a flicker of curiosity.
Rising, he walked out of the kitchen and headed for the pile of papers, lifting the envelope and taking it back to the warm kitchen before setting it down on the table. Ten long seconds passed before he opened it, then, his mind made up, he tore a strip off the top and pulled out the thick stack of papers.
On the very top was a handwritten note, signed by Theodore Long, with noticeably no official heading or seal, just the familiar looping handwriting he recognised from his university days.
Crawley,
Take a look—see if you can figure it out.
I’ve got five men working on
it, no luck yet.
Would be good to exercise that brain of yours again, wouldn’t it?
Best wishes,
T. Long
He smiled at the note, imagining his friend’s clipped aristocratic voice with the always-present hint of humour. Putting aside the top sheet, he looked at the papers beneath, frowning at first as he tried to decipher what language it was written in. Joe was fluent in French, Spanish and Portuguese with a basic understanding of Russian as well. It only took him a moment to realise this wasn’t any recognisable language—the letters were strung together in an order that wouldn’t make sense, even in the most bizarre of languages. This was code.
It was just like Theodore Long to not even give him a clue as to the base language, who they had intercepted it from. Probably his old friend would think it would hinder any leaps in deduction on Joe’s part, preferring for him to look at it with a completely clear mind, no assumptions made.
Feeling a soft buzz of exhilaration, he soon became engrossed in the code, only pausing to fetch paper and a pencil to make his own scribblings on to avoid corrupting the original document. He was concentrating so hard he didn’t hear Cecilia rise and begin to move around upstairs and when she appeared at the kitchen door it was a full thirty seconds before he registered her presence.
‘Good morning,’ she said softly.
He looked up and instantly all thoughts of deciphering Long’s coded message flew from his mind.
‘Good morning,’ he said, taking in her tousled hair and flushed cheeks and wondering why seeing her in such a natural state should be so arousing.
‘The snow is beginning to melt,’ Cecilia said and he was pleased to hear the touch of sadness in her voice. It had been a pleasant interlude, these past few days, and he was glad he wasn’t the only one to find it so.
‘I shall escort you to Hawthorn House later this morning,’ he said.
‘There’s no need, I’m sure I can remember the way.’
‘There’s every need. The road will be treacherous in the ice and if you fell from your horse you may lay undiscovered for hours because there will be so few people venturing out.’ He said it brusquely to try to hide the true concern he felt at the idea of Cecilia travelling alone.
‘We shouldn’t arrive together,’ Cecilia said. ‘I know I’m not looking to marry, but I’d still like to preserve my reputation if at all possible.’
She would marry. Of course she would. A vibrant, attractive young woman like Cecilia couldn’t stay a spinster for ever. Once out of her guardian’s clutches she would slowly start to trust in people again, to see the good in the world. Then it would only be a matter of time before some young gentleman caught her eye. Perhaps it might take a little longer for her to trust her suitors, but eventually she would, he was sure of it. The idea of Cecilia sinking into someone else’s arms made him feel unsettled—it wasn’t an image he wanted to have.
* * *
As Cecilia placed her booted foot into Joe’s hand she pushed upwards and settled herself in the saddle. The pull in her ankle ached as she exerted herself, but as soon as she was settled the discomfort died away.
‘I never know how you ride that way,’ Joe murmured as he looked up at her.
Cecilia shrugged. Side-saddle was the only way she’d ever been allowed to ride. To sit astride, like a man, would be to invite gossip and the women of the ton loved to gossip, especially about someone as wealthy as she. Whenever she socialised her every move was scrutinised, pulled apart and appraised, and always Cecilia had felt as though she’d been found wanting.
She’d almost offered Joe her horse, but had caught herself at the last moment. There would be nothing he hated more than the perception that he was so invalided that he would take a mount from a woman. Reminding herself he’d walked the five miles here from Hawthorn House without any difficulty in the thick snow, she dismissed any thoughts that he might struggle physically and settled herself deeper into the saddle. Joe was not an invalid, he’d proved as much the previous evening when he’d wrapped those strong arms around her as she toppled into his lap. Cecilia’s next thought was of their kiss—that wonderful moment when his lips had met hers. The moment everything had seemed to change for her.
Sparing a sideways glance, she felt the disappointment bloom in her chest. Joe was now just as he’d always been with her. There was no hint he was torturing himself over their kiss. No hint that he wanted anything more than the pleasant interlude these last few days had been.
‘Shall we?’ he asked, motioning for her to lead the way.
For a few minutes she rode in silence, glancing back over her shoulder before they rounded the bend in the road for one last look at Rose Cottage. Despite the calamities of the first night her stay had been lovely and Cecilia couldn’t admit it out loud, but it was the happiest couple of days she’d had for a long time.
‘Do you know who will be at your parents’?’ she asked once the cottage had disappeared from view.
‘My mother was eager to point out all the fun young people she was inviting,’ Joe said with a grimace. ‘I think she hopes one day I might just give in and marry one of the debutantes she keeps trying to thrust at me.’ He paused and Cecilia wondered what exactly had happened with the woman he’d been engaged to. Rumour had it that she’d called the wedding off when confronted with the idea of an invalid for a husband, but Cecilia couldn’t see anyone being that heartless. And it wasn’t as though Joe was any less able to do anything physical now he’d recovered fully, even if he did have a little bit of a limp. ‘The usual crowd will be there, I’m sure. The Rutledges, the Growbers, the Freemantles, probably a few eligible young gentlemen in the hope someone will catch Elizabeth’s eye.’
‘I haven’t danced for so long,’ Cecilia said, feeling the first flush of excitement. Her guardian had kept her at Whiteburn Hall these past couple of months. As her twenty-first birthday approached he had become more desperate to somehow get his hands on her fortune and as such had given up all pretence of goodwill and kindness and had forbidden her to leave the house. With only him and The Wet Rag for company Cecilia had felt she was losing her mind sometimes, although even the promise of freedom wasn’t anywhere near enough incentive to get her to agree to marry Peter Turner.
She glanced down, wondering how it would feel to be swept around the ballroom in the arms of the man by her side. He had told her he didn’t dance, not after his injury, but she had seen him move around and wondered if his reluctance was more to do with his not wanting to socialise than with his physical prowess.
‘I love to dance, to feel the music taking hold of my body, to surrender myself to the steps.’ She paused, wondering whether to ask the question that was on her lips. ‘Did you dance, before your injury?’
‘A little.’ He was looking straight ahead as if thinking back to another time. She wondered if he was thinking about his ex-fiancée, Miss Rebecca Farnham, if he was remembering waltzing around a ballroom with her in his arms.
‘And when you were home on leave from the army?’ she asked.
He looked up at her with a smile on his lips, but one eyebrow raised as if in admonishment. ‘If you’re trying to get me to talk more about Miss Farnham, then you are going to be sorely disappointed.’
‘I wasn’t—’ Cecilia started to say.
‘I hope you aren’t thinking of lying to me, Lady Cecilia.’
‘You shouldn’t have such a murky and interesting past,’ Cecilia said, trying her best to look innocent and haughty at the same time.
‘I’d hardly call one ex-fiancée murky and interesting.’
‘Society would have to disagree. You were the talk of the town for weeks.’ She saw Joe grimace at the thought and wondered if she had said too much.
‘The things people choose to talk about,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Enough about me and my poor excuse of a foray into the world o
f romance. Let’s talk about you.’
‘Me?’ Cecilia said, feeling the full force of his regard as he turned to look at her.
‘You,’ he repeated.
‘I think in the three days we’ve been together you’ve probably found out all there is to know about me,’ she said, suddenly feeling inexplicably nervous. It was the way he was looking at her, half amused, half something else, something more primal and smouldering as if he wanted to eat her up. Thankfully her voice didn’t come out as the nervous squeak she’d imagined, but she heard the tremor there all the same.
‘I know a little about you,’ he said, pausing to brush the snow off his breeches. ‘I know you like a lot of butter on your toast. I know you talk to yourself when you disagree with something you read in a book. I know you really love bacon, but your good manners stop you from devouring it as you wish. I know how you frown when you concentrate so that little furrow appears between your eyebrows. I know all of that...’
‘You seem to mainly know about my culinary preferences,’ she grumbled.
‘It was an important part of your stay with me.’ He looked up at her, raising his hand to pat her horse on its flank and brushing her leg with his fingers at the same time. ‘I know a little more, of course. How you taste, how soft the skin on the back of your neck is, how you moan ever so quietly when you’re kissed.’
‘Joe,’ Cecilia hissed, scandalised. She looked around to check no one was hiding in the hedgerow. His words had ignited a flush of warmth inside her, something she was sure no well-brought-up young lady was supposed to feel. The memory of their kiss was seared into her brain and Cecilia knew that no other experience would ever come close to it. Whenever she thought of the few minutes she’d spent wrapped in his arms, her whole body suffused with a happiness she’d never felt before.
‘I think we’re quite safe,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Unless anyone is spying on us from a rabbit hole or the branches of a tree.’
Snowbound Surrender Page 21
