Once Upon an Accident 02 - Lessons in Seduction

by Melissa Schroeder

  “But you foresee the possibility of a reason to in the future?”

  Douglas nodded, once.

  “Well, then I believe that is all we have to say.”

  Colleen let herself into Sebastian’s study, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with her cousin. Before he left, Douglas had said little, evading her questions with a smile and promise to meet them at the theater later in the evening. Bridgerton told her to mind her own business.

  Still, she was too smart to think it was nothing more than a visit between friends. The three men had stayed ensconced in the study for quite some time after Anna and she had left, even longer after Cicely had left them. Whatever could they have had to discuss? Something else was going on. Anna was not the only one in the house who wanted to be a part of the happenings, especially when there was such a large chance it involved her in some way, shape or form.

  Colleen had known by Sebastian’s action that he had every intention of distracting her, but she would not be deterred. Something was going on with Cicely and Colleen was determined to find out.

  Sebastian’s head lifted from reading some papers and the instant he saw her, he smiled.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure to, as if I didn’t know.”

  She walked around his desk and when he pushed his chair back, she settled in his lap. It was, after all, her favorite chair in the house.

  “Tell me.”

  He didn’t even pretend that he did not know what she was asking about. With a resigned sigh, he leaned back in his chair.

  “I told your cousin not to tell you and here I am about to spill the gossip. If I do, you must swear to not let her know you know.”

  “I swear.”

  He pursed his lips, then kissed her collarbone. “This is big.”

  “I swear. Now tell me, Sebastian.”

  “First, let me say that it is under control. Second, no one can know. It quite upset Cicely, as you saw yourself.”

  She nodded.

  “It seems that Cummings accosted Cicely last night.”

  She gasped. “She did not say a word.”

  “Well, Douglas made it there before anything happened, thank God, but after a few heated exchanges, one of which Cummings apparently gloated about the fact he compromised her, Douglas challenged him to a duel.”

  “He cannot fight a duel.”

  Sebastian chuckled. “Your cousin is very capable of fighting a duel, sweetheart. But I don’t think that will be tested. In Cummings’ case, I have a feeling he will tuck tail and run away. The reason I tell you is threefold.” He took her delicate hand in his. “One, I know you would drive me batty until I told you. Two, I think that you should be prepared in case Cicely ever feels the need to talk to another woman about what she experienced. She still seemed a bit shook up when we spoke. And three, I think that you were right about our cousins.”

  A grin lit her beautiful face. “I told you I saw something in the way he looked at her.”

  “Well, that something is a bit more than it was last night. I could feel the spark between them.”

  Pleased, she slipped her hands up to his shoulders and behind his neck. Both Cicely and Douglas deserved happiness. She hoped they found it.

  “Are you busy at the moment?” she asked.

  His hand flexed on her thigh. “Actually, I just finished working on some investments. I was thinking of taking a break.”

  “Ahhh, and I am at loose ends now that Cicely has left for the lending library and your mother and Anna are out for a ride with Dewhurst. Oh, and I locked the door.”

  As he brushed his mouth against hers, he chuckled. “How could a man want more from his countess?”

  Cicely studied the weak selections on the history shelf and sighed. All that seemed to be left were historical romances. While she loved romances, she needed a good book detailing the Reign of Terror in England. There had been several intriguing clues, certain parties, people the writer knew, that might help Cicely start piecing together who the author of the diary was. If it was actually a true accounting and not fiction. Lately, as she read, her skin crawled. She felt as if she were being watched. She’d glance up furtively even though she knew Sebastian’s house was exceedingly safe.

  It was the book. It had that power. It sucked her in. She felt its danger, its promise. There were times she found herself lost in novels, wanting to escape into a world of the author’s imagination. But this was different. Knowing there was a chance it was genuine, it was as if she were flung back into the time of the Terror. Cicely had even entertained the notion that the diary was written by a spy. In her hands was a living, breathing piece of history. How many counts of murder and intrigue had she already read through? If the men behaved even close to how they were described in the pages of the diary, she had every reason to catch her breath. They were treacherous men who protected themselves and their cause by any means necessary.

  “So nice to see you, Lady Cicely,” Lord Oglithorpe intoned from behind her.

  She suppressed a groan and turned to face him. “Oglithorpe, how are you today?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Beautiful weather and now a beautiful woman.”

  He looked over her shoulder then focused his attention on her again. “I see you, too, have come looking for history books.”

  It took every effort not to yell at the older man. She had been a member of The Historical Society since the age of nineteen. And here he acted surprised by her interest in the subject. She drew in a deep breath.

  Perhaps it was not censure or surprise. Perhaps the older man was pleased to see her browsing through the tomes.

  “I was looking for a good book on England during the Time of Terror.”

  He smiled knowingly. “Ah, yes, your little diary.”

  His patronizing tone made her grit her teeth. This time she did not try to hide her irritation. “Yes, my diary. Thus far, it has been a fascinating read. It has sparked my interest in the time period. At the society,” she said pointedly, “we spend so much time on the classics.”

  “I was wondering if you had shown it to anyone else. Sometimes that is just what a small piece of work needs. Mayhap you require an expert to look at it.”

  She chewed the inside of her bottom lip. “No, I have not.”

  “Possibly I could look at it. Give you my opinion.”

  She blinked at him, amazed at his interest. “But your expertise lies with the Roman Empire. While, yes, many of the same military or strategic plot devices seem to have been shared and employed in the subject’s methodology, I don’t see how that could help.”

  “All roads lead to Rome.” He chuckled. “I find myself with some free time, and I thought I would offer some assistance.”

  His avid interest sent a chill down her spine. Other than to tell her she was wrong about every assumption she voiced during debates, Oglithorpe rarely paid attention to her. Until the last meeting. He paid her breasts more interest than he had ever given any of her discussions on history. Perhaps that was what caught her eye.

  “I do not have it with me.”

  “I could—”

  “Lady Cicely, so pleasant to see you,” Dewhurst said.

  When she saw the young earl standing close by, a concerned expression on his face, Cicely’s muscles relaxed and relief rushed through her.

  “Dewhurst?” Oglithorpe asked. “Just what the devil are you doing here?”

  Dewhurst smiled. “Why, looking for some reading material. I would assume the same as you.”

  Oglithorpe mumbled something she did not quite hear and then said, “I will see you next week at the meeting, Lady Cicely. Remember my offer.”

  Rudely ignoring Dewhurst, the older lord hobbled off toward the entrance. She watched him go, wondering just what the man was about.

  He had never shown interest in her prior to the diary. Even then, the first time she’d mentioned it, he had promptly dismissed her. Excitement skittered over her skin. Maybe there was som
ething to it. A man with Oglithorpe’s connections in government would know if there had been a plot against the Crown. That is, if the Crown itself knew.

  “Lady Cicely?”

  She shook herself from her fantastical thoughts and refocused on Dewhurst. The young lord studied her with concern.

  “I am sorry, Dewhurst. I was woolgathering.” Then she remembered he had a date to drive about the park with Anna. “I did not expect to see you here.”

  He grinned and she was again struck by his looks and good humor. If only she could love a man who was so amiable.

  “I just returned from my ride with Lady Anna and her mother and decided to stop by for a book or two.”

  “And I am ever so grateful that you did. Otherwise, Oglithorpe would never have left me alone.”

  “He did not overset you, did he?”

  She chuckled. “Oh, no. Oglithorpe is not a problem. More of a bother, really. The only thing I worry about is being smothered by his pompous personality. Did you enjoy your ride with my cousin?”

  Heat crept into his face. Oh, splendid. It seemed that to some degree Dewhurst returned Anna’s feelings. Since Anna had never shown a particular interest in any gentleman, Cicely was glad that Anna’s regard was returned by Dewhurst.

  “The weather was superb and the company even more so. I had thought you would join us, but Anna said you were attending your own schedule this day. She did say you’d mentioned the lending library.”

  “Yes, I was looking for some information on the latter part of last century, but alas, there is not a good book to be found. Not that I am lacking in reading material,” she said, glancing at the book in her hand.

  “I need to be off since we are going to be attending the theater tonight. I daresay I will see you there?”

  He nodded. “I would be honored to escort you home.”

  “Oh, no thank you. I have a footman waiting for me, and the Ware carriage. I suppose I should dawdle no longer, as it is. Thank you for rescuing me from that painfully dull discourse.”

  After bidding the young earl goodbye, she checked out her book and headed through the front door. When she stepped onto the street, she searched for John, the footman who was to be waiting for her and was puzzled when she did not see him. She noticed the Ware carriage parked down the street so she turned in that direction, thinking John must have misunderstood her directions.

  As she walked along, her thoughts drifted back to Oglithorpe and his odd behavior. The man never showed interest in last century historical study. In fact, she had heard him on more than one occasion say that nothing of importance could be studied until all those involved were dead. So why had he given so much attention to the diary? Could he somehow be connected?

  A hand wrapped around her elbow, the fingers digging into her skin even through the fabric of her clothes. Before she could turn, she felt the prick of a knife in her side.

  “Do not say a word, me lady, or I will split your gullet.”

  He need not fear. The same bewildering detachment she had felt when cornered by Cummings rushed over her, effectively cutting off her ability to run, to scream, to move.

  Chapter Twelve

  In which Dewhurst plays the hero.

  Cold fingers of fear slid down Cicely’s spine as she nodded to her captor. He pulled her off the street and into a nearby alley. As she desperately tried to devise some way to break free of his hold, her gaze took in the activity on the street seeking to find one person to help. This particular corner was deserted, the two closest shops no longer open.

  Why had she not accepted Dewhurst’s offer of escort?

  The stench of rotted food filled her nostrils. Bile rose in her throat as her fear doubled. Her mind whirled as she tried to come up with something—anything—to free herself of the hold of the ruffian. He was stronger than she’d gathered upon first impression. Regardless of strength, she reminded herself, the knife he held to her side cared little for station, size or shape. It could cut them all the same. She shuddered, tripping over her own feet.

  “Stop your antics. I’m warnin’ ya.”

  When he had them far enough away from the street so no one could hear her scream, or if they did, they would not think to look, he released her, pushing her roughly against the brick wall. She stumbled, but caught herself before her face connected with the unyielding brick. Even through her gloves, she felt the scrape.

  When she turned to face him, her first full assessing glance at her captor stunned her. The young man could not be more than fifteen, if that. Not that it calmed her fears in the least. She knew that desperation could make anyone deadly. She had firsthand experience. The lad’s hair was dark and overly long, brushing over the frayed collar of his thin coat.

  The cold, determined look in his black eyes sent an icy wave of horror over her soul. This was a young man who had seen the worst in life and survived, but at what cost? And at what cost was he willing to continue?

  That gave her an idea. Perhaps she could plead with his more entrepreneurial spirit.

  He wet his cracked lips. “I need the book.”

  For a second, she did not react. The comment was not what she expected. Already terrified, it took her a few seconds to work through what he had asked.

  “The book?”

  He glanced down at her arms, and she followed his gaze. She was holding the book she had checked out from the library against her breasts as if that could save her.

  He gestured with the knife. “Come on, lady. I need—”

  “Lady Cicely!”

  She turned, relief replacing the terror when she saw Dewhurst running down the alley. The ruffian used the momentary distraction to grab the book from her arms and run deeper into the alley.

  Dewhurst reached her. If should could just make her mind stop spinning she would be fine. It was then she noticed that John was with Dewhurst, a gash on his forehead, blood oozing from the wound. She slumped backward. The young earl grabbed her by her upper arms to steady her.

  It helped, slightly, but she still could not stand.

  With a sigh, she slid all the way to the filthy street. She must have surprised Dewhurst with the action, because he let go of her. The cold ground seeped through her gowns, but she didn’t care how cold her bum grew or how nasty the ground was. At least she would not topple face first into the mess. Blackness pushed at the edge of her vision.

  Dewhurst bent down, peering into her face. “Lady Cicely, are you all right?”

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  “I am ever so sorry, my lady. One minute I was waiting for you, the next I was waking up in an alley several blocks away,” John said.

  She looked over at the injured footman and finally found her voice.

  “Oh, John, we should get you home. Someone needs to stitch that up.”

  He touched the wound and flinched.

  “The important question is, are you okay?” Dewhurst posed the query and she turned her attention back to him. It was a mistake. The movement was too fast. She planted her hands on the ground on either side of her hips. She took three deep breaths and felt markedly more in control. Her racing heart had slowed to a fast canter.

  “I am perfectly fine, except for having a bit of a fright. I just need a moment to compose myself, then we can go.”

  Crouched in front of her, Dewhurst asked, “What did he want?”

  “The book. He took my book.”

  “Your book?”

  The bewilderment in his voice brought a small smile to Cicely’s lips.

  “Yes, such a silly thing, really. I have no idea why he would want a book from the lending library enough to threaten a woman with a dagger.”

  “Just what the bloody hell is going on here? Dewhurst? Unhand Lady Cicely.”

  Douglas’ deep baritone sounded down the crowded alley as he strode toward them. Giddy, warm relief filled her at the sight of him. Dewhurst, apparently taking Douglas at his word, released her.

  She blinked repeatedly.
She should try to stand.

  Dewhurst and John jerked to attention, greeting Douglas with awe and respect. Cicely fought the bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to break free. Her nerves were raw from the strange turn of events over the day and even though she felt comfort that Douglas had appeared, she could not seem to calm her heart.

  When he reached her, anger darkened his eyes, and his expression was unemotional, cold. He scowled first at John, then Dewhurst. Finally he turned his stormy gaze to her, along with his steely presence and unwavering attention.

  “Please forgive me for the oversight, Your Grace, but I do not believe I shall be able to curtsy.”

  The muscles in his cheek flexed as if he were grinding his teeth.

  Her fragile will buckled, her world spun, her heart beat loudly in her ears for two, maybe three beats and then Lady Cicely sank into darkness.

  Douglas’ heart was still lodged firmly in his throat as he stepped through the front door of the Ware household. Cicely, in his arms because he had been unable to let her go, had come to once in the carriage, but had since been out cold. His breath labored and speaking nearly impossible, Douglas walked through the foyer. Fitzgerald gaped first at Cicely, then at him.

  “Your Grace?” The aged butler’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  Swallowing the panic that felt as if it would consume him, Douglas said, “Please summon Penwyth and Lady Victoria.”

  “Immediately, Your Grace.”

  But when Fitzgerald turned to leave, Penwyth was already striding down the stairs.

  “Good God, Ethingham, what are you doing?”

  “I am holding your cousin, who”—his voice had risen, so he modulated it—“I am to understand, was accosted over a book she checked out from the lending library this afternoon.”

  The earl’s frown was fierce as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “I am sure that Ethingham would like to get Lady Cicely settled.”

  Penwyth started at the sound of Dewhurt’s voice, apparently not noticing the younger man had followed behind them. When Douglas glanced over his shoulder, he found Dewhurst helping John through the door. Dewhurst fairly staggered under the young footman’s weight as he guided him across the floor. The handkerchief Douglas had given him was now soaked in blood, and John had gotten lightheaded in the carriage.