The Virgin Who Vindicated Lord Darlington

by Anna Bradley

  He didn’t speak for some time, but leaned back in his chair, his arctic blue eyes moving over her face. His posture bespoke casual ease, but Cecilia wasn’t fooled. There was nothing easy about the rigidity of his spine, the tightness of his lips, the clench of his fingers.

  She crossed her ankles under cover of her skirts, then recrossed them. She twiddled her thumbs, avoiding his gaze, but the silence stretched on for so long a bead of sweat gathered in the tightly bound hair at her nape and slid down the back of her neck. Finally, she glanced up at him, unable to bear the quiet another moment, and found him staring at her from the other side of his desk.

  Cecilia returned the stare, cocking her head. It was a great pity his eyes were such a cold blue, because with those long, dark lashes they were quite stunning.

  She blinked, surprised at herself.

  “This glowing reference from Lady Dunton.” Lord Darlington drew the page toward him across the desk, his gaze once again flicking over the signature. “If I were to contact her ladyship regarding your service, she’d verify every word written here. Is that right, Miss Gilchrist?”

  Lady Dunton was one of the Clifford School’s aristocratic, silent patrons. Not one word of the reference she’d written for Cecilia was true, but her ladyship would swear to Lord Darlington it was. So, Cecilia opened her mouth, and pushed another lie between her lips. “Of course, my lord.”

  Once again, he didn’t reply right away, just gazed at her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Cecilia was losing heart, her faith in her ability to convince him waning with every moment, but just as she’d given it up for lost, Lord Darlington spoke.

  “I don’t like liars, and I care even less for gossip and strangers prying into my private affairs. My servants are loyal to me, and they know better than to gossip. If I find you’ve carried any tales outside my home, I will dismiss you instantly, without references. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Cecilia gulped, both relief and dread pooling in her stomach. He was going to let her stay on as housemaid, but being his housemaid meant living at Darlington Castle under the cold, watchful eye of Lord Darlington, who seemed to have taken an immediate dislike to her.

  He looked hard at her, then gave a short nod. “It won’t be an easy post. I’ve lived in retirement for the past year, and the castle has been closed to guests. We’re short on staff, and a great deal of work is yet to be done before my betrothed arrives in Kent in a fortnight. You’ll be treated fairly, but you’ll be expected to work hard.”

  Cecilia had never been afraid of hard work. That is, she’d never worked as a housemaid before, but it couldn’t be any more difficult than mudlarking in the Thames, and she’d survived that for more than two years. “Yes, my lord.”

  “I suppose we’ll find out how sturdy you are, won’t we, Miss Gilchrist?”

  Heat rose in Cecilia’s cheeks, but instead of snapping that she was far sturdier than he’d ever imagine, she wisely kept her mouth closed.

  That dark eyebrow quirked once again at her silence. “Just one more thing, Miss Gilchrist. You are not, under any circumstances, to enter my late wife’s bedchamber. It’s kept locked at all times, so as not to tempt the curious, but it’s crucial all of my servants understand no one enters that room without my explicit permission.”

  Well, that was strange. Cecilia couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Darlington intended to do with the future Marchioness of Darlington if she wasn’t meant to take up residence in the marchioness’s apartments, but it didn’t seem a good idea to ask.

  “If you disobey me in this, you will be dismissed and sent from the castle immediately. Is that clear?” Lord Darlington leaned across the desk, pinning her with his gaze.

  “Yes, my lord.” They were the only three words Cecilia was still capable of uttering in his presence, it seemed.

  “Very well.” Lord Darlington rose from his chair—and rose, and rose, and rose, his long body seeming to take ages to unfold—and pulled the bell once again. Cecilia stumbled to her feet as well, and the two of them stared at each other in silence as they waited for Mrs. Briggs to answer the summons.

  Fortunately, she bustled into the study again in a matter of moments. “All right then, Lord Darlington? Come with me, Cecilia. We’ll drop off your case upstairs, then have a cup of tea in the kitchens and get to know one another, shall we?”

  For the first time since she’d entered Darlington Castle, Cecilia was able to draw a deep, calming breath. If Mrs. Briggs had been half as alarming as Lord Darlington, Cecilia likely would have taken to her heels and fled all the way back to Edenbridge, but the housekeeper was a matronly creature, with deep laugh lines fanning out from her kind brown eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, my lord.” Cecilia offered Lord Darlington an awkward curtsy. His only response was a brief nod of his head, but those frigid blue eyes were enough to pucker the skin on the back of her neck.

  Mrs. Briggs prattled cheerfully as she led Cecilia down the hallway. “Lord Darlington ordered the upper floor of the castle closed, there not being enough servants left to tend to it, so you’ll have a bedchamber on the second floor.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cecilia hurried after Mrs. Briggs, her traveling case bumping against her knees with every step.

  “It’s not a large room,” Mrs. Briggs went on. “It was intended for the marchioness’s lady’s maid, but you’ll have it all to yourself. Won’t that be nice?”

  It was unheard of for a mere housemaid to have a room to herself, so Cecilia took care to make all the appropriate appreciative noises, but as they made their way down the hallway, her attention was caught by the portraits hanging on the wall. One dour Darlington ancestor after another glared down at her from their ornate gilt frames. They were a grim-looking lot, not a smile amongst them, and the current Marquess of Darlington seemed to take after his forbears. He certainly looked a good deal like them, with his guarded blue eyes and severe mouth.

  Cecilia’s heart sank at the thought.

  Between Lord Darlington’s harsh demeanor and the row of his forbidding ancestors hanging on the wall, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d just accepted a post from Bluebeard himself.

  Chapter Four

  Gideon awoke the next morning to a thundering crash so powerful his bed—an enormous, solid mahogany affair with a towering canopy and enough heavy silk drapery to drown Darlington Castle—jumped half a foot across the floor.

  “What the devil?” He shot upright so quickly a pillow tumbled to the floor, wide awake in an instant. The noise had exploded in the quiet room with such an ear-splitting bang the thick, stone walls of the castle actually vibrated. Had the heavens run out of patience with him at last and struck his castle with a lightning bolt, or had the roof of Darlington Castle collapsed?

  “Oh, dear.” The voice was small in the sudden silence.

  Gideon dragged a hand through his rumpled hair, setting the dark locks on end. Not a lightning bolt, then. No, an entirely different force of nature was the cause of the deafening din.

  Cecilia Gilchrist.

  “For God’s sake, Cecilia, you’ve just aged me ten years in a single instant. What happened?” It was a foolish question really, given she was kneeling on the floor in front of the fireplace, her hands already black with soot from her frantic attempts to retrieve the scattered pieces of coal she’d dropped. The scuttle was beside her, tipped over on its side with the few remaining lumps of coal falling out of it.

  Her hand froze at the sound of his voice. She remained still for a moment, much like a fox when it realizes it’s been cornered, but then her chest heaved in a caught breath, and she raised her face to his. “I-I beg your pardon, Lord Darlington. I don’t know…” She trailed off, biting her lower lip as she took in the spilled coal in despair. “I don’t know what happened. It just s-slipped out of my hand.”

  “Slipped out of your hand.” A s
arcastic comment threatened—something about her hands being too dainty for a housemaid—but Gideon held his tongue, if only because he couldn’t quite excuse his own part in this mess. He’d goaded her yesterday about being too frail to carry the coal scuttle. Human nature being what it was, he’d as good as guaranteed she’d drop it this morning.

  “Yes, my lord.” There was a sound of scuffling feet, then the clink of coal being thrown piece by piece into the wooden bin.

  “It was an accident,” Gideon allowed, somewhat grudgingly. “Not the sort of accident one would expect from a housemaid who’s served eleven years with Lady Dunton, but an accident just the same.”

  A brief silence followed this ill-tempered observation, then she said meekly, “Yes, my lord.”

  Gideon stared up at the canopy above him with a frown. He never slept well these days, but last night had been a particularly fitful one. He’d lain awake for hours before dropping off at last. Being woken so early, and with such violence, didn’t put him in the best humor, but something about her timid response made his teeth clench. “What’s happened to your sharp tongue this morning, Cecilia?”

  The clink of the coal against the bin paused. Gideon waited, but then it resumed again without her answering.

  He peered around the edge of the pillow he’d pulled over his face. Cecilia was crawling around the floor on her knees, gathering up the spilled coal. The blue ribbons and expensive cloak were gone, and in their place was the plain gray dress, white apron, and ridiculous white caps his housemaids wore. Her hair had been scraped back and stuffed underneath it, but a few thick strands peeked out the edges.

  It was dark, like her eyes.

  She looked so different he wouldn’t have recognized her as the same woman who’d been tossing stones into Darlington Lake yesterday. He thought of the wide sweep of her arm, the flash of white skin where the sleeve of her cloak had pulled away from her wrist, the hesitant half-smile on her lips when she’d turned to face him…

  I’ve got excellent aim. Perhaps that might prove useful?

  There was no reason she should have made such an impression on him, but when he’d fallen asleep last night, it hadn’t been to blissful dreams of his betrothed. No, instead he’d found himself pondering Cecilia Gilchrist, with her fashionable blue ribbons and fine woolen cloak.

  Perhaps it was simply the surprise of finding her there in the courtyard, in the last place he’d expected to find movement, or sound, or anything so…alive. His first instinct had been to chase her away, to banish her from Darlington Castle before it smothered all the life out of her.

  But Mrs. Briggs had hired the girl, and she’d come to Kent in good faith to take up the position. His housekeeper appeared satisfied with her, and so the least he could do was give her a chance. God knew he had enough to worry him without quibbling over his servants’ ribbons and traveling cloaks.

  He needed a housemaid, and Cecilia was here. He had misgivings about her, yes. Despite the innocent widening of those enormous dark eyes, he knew she hadn’t been truthful with him yesterday. He wasn’t persuaded she came from Stoneleigh, or that she’d ever worked for Lady Dunton, and the accident this morning confirmed his suspicions. No housemaid who’d served in a country estate for eleven years dropped the bloody coal scuttle.

  But he’d allowed her to remain in his employ, and so he was obliged to be as patient with her as he was with all his servants. There’d been a time not so long ago he’d been a considerate gentleman, and a kind employer. He didn’t like to think the bitterness and grief of the past months had bled all the decency from him.

  “No need to take all day about it, Cecilia.” Gideon threw his coverlet aside with an irritable sigh, padded across the room in his bare feet, and joined Cecilia in front of the fireplace. He began tossing errant lumps of coal into the scuttle, but paused when he felt her gaze on him. When he looked up, she was sitting back on her heels, staring at him, her eyes wide. “What’s the matter now?”

  Her gaze darted between him and his empty bed, the coverlet trailing on the floor. “I…nothing, my lord.”

  No doubt she was stunned he’d left his bed to help her gather up the spilled coal. “There’s no need to look so shocked. I’d do the same for any of my servants.” That is, he assumed he would. He’d never known Amy, his other housemaid, to drop so much as a single piece of coal, never mind the whole scuttle.

  Gideon tossed the last piece into the bin and rose to his feet. He was dusting off his hands when he realized Cecilia had gone still. He glanced down at her, and found her staring up at him, her cheeks flaming. “What is it?”

  “You’re, ah…” She made a vague gesture toward him. “Your…”

  Gideon looked down at himself. He was dressed in the same breeches he’d been wearing when he came upon her in the courtyard yesterday, but before he’d fallen into his bed, he’d shed his boots, stripped off his coat and loosened the buttons at his neck. His white linen shirt gaped open from his throat to his mid-chest.

  It was his bare skin that had flustered her. At least, Gideon thought it must be that, because she couldn’t seem to look away from it. Even as her cheeks went scarlet with embarrassment, her avid gaze slid from the notch in his throat to the long lengths of his collarbones, then down, down, down, her pink lips parting on an indrawn breath as she took in the smattering of dark hair on his chest.

  As her dark eyes moved over him like a caress, touching skin so long neglected Gideon had nearly forgotten it was there, he became uncomfortably aware he’d also loosened the buttons at the waistband of his breeches before he’d climbed into his bed last night. Thankfully, the long tail of his shirt covered him to mid-thigh, otherwise Cecilia would have been witness to some unexpected, unwelcome, and ungentlemanly…

  Twitching.

  It wasn’t anything to do with her, specifically. Nothing at all. He was betrothed, and to an undisputed beauty. It was just that it had been so long since he’d had a woman in his bedchamber, and longer still since a woman had looked at him with anything other than suspicion or horror. His body was confused. It would have reacted the same way to any woman.

  But that didn’t stop heat from sweeping over him, blazing across every inch of his skin. He must have made a sound—a sigh, perhaps, or a choked gasp, but not a groan, certainly not that—because her gaze shot from his chest to his face and lingered there. Their breaths quickened as moment after moment unfurled, and neither of them was able to look away—

  “I…please, my lord, there’s no need for you to, to…” Cecilia made a frantic dive for the scuttle, and stumbled to her feet. She dragged an arm across her forehead, leaving a black smear on her pale skin.

  Gideon frowned at it, his fingers twitching with an odd urge to rub it away. “Wait, Cecilia, you have a mark on your—”

  “I apologize for my clumsiness, Lord Darlington. It won’t happen again.” Then she was gone in a whirl of skirts and coal dust, before Gideon could utter a single word.

  * * * *

  Cecilia flew down the corridor as fast as a lady could fly with a full coal scuttle tripping up her every step. She didn’t stop until she rounded the corner, then she dropped the scuttle—again—and fell against the wall at her back.

  That…hadn’t gone well.

  The sick plummeting of her stomach when she realized the bucket was slipping from her fingers—that she was, in fact going to drop it, just as he’d predicted she would—then the deafening crash when the overflowing bucket hit the floor, and the shocked look on Lord Darlington’s face…

  Each torturous moment of it had felt like a waking nightmare.

  It hadn’t occurred to her until that deafening crash Lord Darlington might be right—that she did lack the physical strength to make a proper housemaid. Cecilia had never been a lady of leisure, but teaching children their numbers and letters was far less taxing than hauling buckets of water and coal up d
ozens of stairs.

  She hadn’t been prepared for him to rise from his bed and cross the room to help her pick up the coal. Even now, she couldn’t make sense of it. He hadn’t hidden the fact he wasn’t delighted by her presence in his house, and God knew waking the lord of the manor with such a clumsy accident was reason enough for him to dismiss her.

  His ears were probably still ringing.

  Why had he helped her? She’d braced herself for an outraged shout, and perhaps some gloating, but the next thing she knew his bare chest had appeared, and—

  No. Not Lord Darlington’s chest, for pity’s sake. That is, his chest had appeared, but it was attached to Lord Darlington himself. She’d glanced up and found him on his knees beside her, his breeches pulled tight against his thighs and those fascinating dark hairs peeking from the opening of his shirt, and then she’d commenced that awful staring…

  Her cheeks burst into flames just thinking about it. How was she ever meant to look at him again without seeing that intriguing chest hair in her mind’s eye? She’d never seen a gentleman in a state of undress before, but instinct told her it would have been far better if her first glimpse had been of a man with less impressive musculature than Lord Darlington.

  Perhaps then she wouldn’t have made such an utter fool of herself.

  Then again, it likely wouldn’t matter, would it? He was sure to send her away now, and she’d have to return to London and admit to Lady Clifford that Lord Darlington had dismissed her not because she’d uncovered all his secrets with her brilliant sleuthing, but because she’d been caught gawking at his naked chest.

  But there was nothing for her to do but go downstairs and confess to Mrs. Briggs she’d made a mess of the first task she’d been given, and was likely to be dismissed by Lord Darlington before the morning was over.