by Anna Bradley
Logically speaking, I never should have kissed Gideon—
“If you ask me, that nonsense about Lord Darlington being in love with Lady Leanora is partly to blame for the rumor he’d murdered his wife. They say he did away with Lady Cassandra so he could be with t’other one, but Mrs. Briggs says it’s all nonsense, and I—are you all right, Cecilia? You’re whiter than the sheets.”
“Yes, I’m…quite well.” Cecilia’s legs were quivering like a jelly still, but she rose from the chair and gave Amy a weak smile. “Pure nonsense, I’m sure, just as you said. Come on, then. Let’s finish up these beds, shall we?”
Much to Cecilia’s relief, the topic of Gideon and Lady Leanora didn’t come up again, but she couldn’t put it out of her mind for the rest of the day. By the time she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber that evening, Amy’s words felt as if they’d been carved into her skull.
Cecilia wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or ashamed at having avoided Gideon for the entire day, but either way, her luck ran out when she reached the landing on the second floor. He was in the small picture gallery, his body unnaturally still, staring up as if mesmerized at one of the portraits. At first Cecilia thought it must be his brother’s, but when she got closer, she saw it was the portrait of Lady Leanora that held all his attention.
He didn’t seem to notice Cecilia, not even when she crossed from the stairway to the end of the corridor and paused beside him. She studied his profile, wondering at the strange look on his face as he stared up at the beautiful woman on the canvas. His jaw was so tight it looked as if it would shatter at a touch, but there was despair in his gaze.
Slowly, Cecilia turned her attention to the portrait, stunned once again at Lady Leanora’s exquisite face. She’d never seen such pale, perfect skin or such luminous blue eyes, but there was something…unbearable about her beauty.
It wasn’t a warm or welcoming face, as Lady Cassandra’s had been, but overwhelming. Cecilia dragged her gaze away from it with a shudder, but if Lady Leanora’s beauty made her shrink back, it seemed to have a different effect on Gideon, who was still staring up at her as if he couldn’t bear to tear his gaze away.
Was it possible the villagers were right, and Gideon truly did have a tendre for his brother’s widow? He loved his niece, doted on her, in fact. Wasn’t it possible his affection for Isabella arose from a passionate attachment to her absent mother? Perhaps he was lavishing all his frustrated love for Lady Leanora on her daughter. Perhaps he’d refused to let her take Isabella with her when she fled because he’d hoped Isabella’s presence would lure her back to Darlington Castle.
Cecilia didn’t want to believe it, but the look on Gideon’s face, the way his breath seemed to be trapped inside his lungs…she cleared her throat, suddenly desperate to make him look away from that treacherous face. “I’ve never seen a more remarkable face than hers. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to see her in person. Overwhelming, I imagine.”
Gideon startled, as if only now realizing Cecilia was there. “It’s a good likeness of her.”
Cecilia nodded, but she avoided looking back up at the portrait as she fumbled for something more to say. She wanted to ask if Gideon thought she’d ever return to Darlington Castle—or if he hoped she would—but something made her bite her tongue, something she feared was a desire not to hear his answer.
“It was a good likeness of her, I should say. It was painted a decade ago, when she first came to Darlington Castle after she and Nathanial married. By the time she left again, she looked…quite different.”
“Different in what way?”
Gideon laughed, but it was a hard, ugly sound. “One’s face is a reflection of one’s heart. What’s inside your heart makes itself known on your face.”
Cecilia swallowed. “What was in Lady Leanora’s heart?”
Gideon turned to Cecilia, a bitter twist to his lips. “Ice.”
Ice. It seemed a strange word to describe the lady he loved, unless he felt she’d betrayed him. Then it was the perfect word, wasn’t it? Just the word a jilted lover would use.
“They were cousins, you know,” he added. “Lady Leanora and my wife.”
“Cousins?” Cecilia turned to him, surprised. “I-I didn’t realize.”
“Yes. After my brother’s death, Lady Leanora summoned Cassandra to Darlington Castle to act as her companion. I met Cassandra then, and we married six months later. Do you think they look alike?” Gideon’s attention had drifted back to Lady Leanora’s portrait again, an unreadable expression on his face.
Cecilia followed his gaze, but she flinched away before meeting Lady Leanora’s frigid blue eyes. Perhaps there was a similarity in their features, but to Cecilia’s eye, no two ladies could look less alike. “No.”
That caught Gideon’s attention. “Why not?”
One is a diamond, the other a ruby.
That was what Cecilia thought when she’d first seen Cassandra’s portrait—that Lady Leanora was like a dazzling, glittering diamond, so bright it hurt to look at her, whereas Cassandra…
“One is fire, and the other ice.”
Gideon traced his fingertip down the bridge of her nose, over her parted lips and across her jaw, his gaze following the path of the caress. “Cassandra’s heart was written on her face. Her beauty came from here.” He lay his palm in the center of Cecilia’s chest, over her heart. “Just as yours does.”
Cecilia gazed up at him, mesmerized. It seemed like a lifetime ago she’d looked into his eyes and thought them cold. When she looked into them now, she felt she could happily drown in those warm blue depths.
It didn’t occur to her they were standing in a place where anyone could pass by and see them. She didn’t think of that as Gideon’s lips drew closer to hers. She thought of the sweet warmth of his breath against her mouth, his large, gentle hand resting over her wildly beating heart. She never considered refusing him. She simply tilted her head back, and offered her mouth to him.
His lips hovered over hers with a desperate groan, as if he’d waited a lifetime to kiss her, and couldn’t wait another moment. But even so, he was slow, gentle, nibbling and teasing and taking tiny sips from her lips as if she were the sweetest wine, and he had all of eternity to taste her.
“Gideon.” Cecilia didn’t recognize her own voice. It was so husky, a plea hidden just at the edges, subtle, but Gideon heard it, and responded with another hungry groan.
Cecilia slid her fingers into his hair, her fingernails dragging over the back of his neck as she tugged his head down to hers. She opened her lips to him, urging him closer, making no secret of her desire for him.
He gasped against her mouth, cupping her face in his hands. He slid his tongue between her lips, the kiss going on and on until Cecilia was weak-kneed and breathless.
“I want to taste you here, sweetheart. Let me…” Gideon sank his hands into her hair to drop a dozen tiny kisses over her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. She cried out when his mouth, hot and open, pressed into the arch of her throat. “Gideon.”
He sucked and nipped at her tender skin, and Cecilia held onto him, overwhelmed with unfamiliar sensations. She wanted to touch him, with her hands and her mouth—his neck, his shoulders, the long, strong line of his back, his firm, rounded—
“Come with me, sweetheart.” Gideon tugged gently on her hand, drawing her away from the landing and further down the corridor where the shadows were deeper. “Yes. Here.”
She was already reaching for him as he drew her into the alcove. He kissed her again, the demand of his lips and tongue setting her alight until she was clinging to him, gasping for breath.
“Shh.” Gideon stroked her hair back from her face, his blue eyes tender as he gazed down at her. “We shouldn’t be…I don’t want to frighten you.”
Her body felt alive, stretched taut, as if tiny flames had burst all over her skin i
n the wake of his stroking fingertips, and she was one caress away from exploding. Cecilia caught his wrist and dragged his hand down her neck, and then lower, lower, where she needed his touch the most.
Bright color bloomed across his cheekbones as he cupped her breast with a groan. “We can’t…we shouldn’t be—”
Cecilia pressed her fingers against his lips. “I’m not afraid, Gideon.”
She was a little afraid, but not of him. Never of him.
She was afraid of herself, of how easy it would be to forget everything—her friends, Lady Clifford and Daniel, the reason she was here—and lose herself in him.
“So beautiful, Cecilia. So soft here.” He traced his fingertips over the curves of her breasts, his body going rigid against hers when she whimpered in response. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”
Cecilia couldn’t speak, but another soft cry broke from her lips as he brushed his thumb over a nipple, just the lightest stroke, a tease more than a caress, until he wrung another whimper from her. Then he began to stroke her in earnest, his gaze locked on her face as he caressed both her nipples, circling and pinching the stiff nubs until Cecilia cried out and grasped his forearms to steady herself, her fingernails digging into the expensive fabric of his coat.
“You’re so sensitive.” His tone was soothing, but his wicked fingers kept up the caress, dragging back and forth over the aching peaks. “Do you want my mouth on you?”
She did, oh, she did, but she was covered in layers of fabric—
“Oh, oh…” Cecilia dragged a trembling hand to her mouth, biting on her fingers to smother her moans as his hot mouth closed over a nipple and drew on her until she was shaking, and the fabric of her dress was clinging maddeningly to the straining peak.
She buried her fingers in his hair, urging him on with soft murmurs and pleas, but all at once he tensed and raised his head from her breast.
“No, Gideon. Don’t stop—”
He pressed gentle fingers to her lips, silencing her protest.
That was when Cecilia heard it.
Voices, on the stairwell. “…read you a story until Miss Cecilia comes.”
It was Amy, taking Isabella to her bedchamber for the evening.
Cecilia’s head fell against his chest as she drew deep, trembling breaths into her lungs. How had it gotten so late? She’d lost track of time, of Isabella …
Dear God, she’d lost track of herself. She’d let Gideon touch and kiss her—no, not let him, encouraged him, nearly begged him—on the second floor landing, mere steps from the staircase, where anyone might have seen them.
Cecilia braced her hands against Gideon’s chest and eased him away from her. “I should…Isabella, I need to—”
“I know. Not a moment too soon.” He let his forehead rest against hers before he drew away, an uncertain smile on his lips.
Cecilia was too mortified to return it. She fled, but before she could disappear around the corner, he stopped her with a word. “Cecilia.”
She froze, then turned to face him, her cheeks on fire. “Yes?”
“I…” Gideon dragged a hand through his hair. “Never mind. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Nineteen
Cecilia stood outside her bedchamber door for some time after she left Gideon, trying to catch her breath and waiting for the heat in her cheeks to subside.
Amy frowned at her as she stepped over the threshold. “You look a bit flushed, Cecilia. You’re not ill, are you?”
Ill, no. Unforgivably foolish and reckless, yes. “No, I’m—”
“Miss Cecilia!” Isabella launched herself across the room toward Cecilia as fast as her little legs would carry her.
Cecilia knelt down to catch her in her arms. “Hello, Isabella. Did you have a nice time with Mrs. Briggs today?”
“Yes. We had apple tartlets for tea.” Isabella toyed with a loose lock of Cecilia’s hair as she snuggled against her chest. “Mrs. Briggs’s mama said they were the best ones she’s ever had.”
“I’m sure they were.” Cecilia cuddled Isabella closer, some of the tension draining from her at the press of the small, warm body against hers.
“She’s stuffed to the brim with apple tartlets and nearly asleep on her feet.” Amy tugged fondly on one of Isabella’s golden-brown curls. The tangles had been brushed from her hair, and she was already wearing her nightdress.
Cecilia gave Amy a grateful look. “Thank you for your help. Go on and go to your bed.”
Amy’s frown returned as she studied Cecilia’s face. “If you’re sure? You look as if you’re ready to drop.”
“I’m sure. A song or two, and Isabella here will be fast asleep.”
Amy cast her another worried look. “I think we’ll save Mrs. Radcliffe for another night. I’ll let Duncan know, shall I?”
“Yes, please. Tomorrow night. I promise it. Now, Isabella.” Cecilia turned to her charge as the door closed behind Amy. “What songs shall we have tonight?”
“‘Death and the Lady’!” Isabella was still enamored of the golden crown and scepter, and made this same request every night. Tonight, though, the fair lady hardly had a chance to throw her costly robes aside before Isabella was fast asleep.
Cecilia lay her gently in her bed and drew the coverlet snugly around her chin. Then, not sure what to do with herself, she wandered over to the window and wrapped her arms around herself as she stared out into the darkness.
It was a deep, penetrating darkness tonight, the moon shrouded under a thick layer of clouds. There would be snow soon. Cecilia had smelled the crisp, dry scent of it lingering in the cold air when she’d taken her afternoon walk today.
If not tonight, then tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps.
She stood there for long, quiet moments, the only sound in the room the crackle of the fire and the gentle whoosh of Isabella’s deep breaths. Cecilia turned from the window at the sound, a smile rising to her lips at the sight of Isabella curled up in her little bed. Her outing today had done her a world of good. She’d drifted off into a peaceful slumber with her small hand cradled in Cecilia’s.
But Cecilia’s smile faded as she turned back to the window. Isabella was such a lovely little girl. She would never tire of burying her nose in those thick curls and inhaling her fresh, sweet scent. It was a difficult scent to describe, but it reminded Cecilia of clean skin and new milk.
And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? She rested her forehead against the cold glass, a sadness that was becoming familiar washing over her. That scent, the silky brush of Isabella’s curls against her cheek…
They didn’t belong to her. They weren’t hers to keep, any more than Gideon was.
Tonight, he’d said one’s face was a reflection of their heart. Cecilia had grown to love his face, but there were parts of Gideon’s heart that remained a dark mystery to her. How could she bear to delve into the deepest, darkest secrets he hid there, after she’d slept in his arms? How could she ever see him as anything but the man whose kiss weakened her knees, whose smile stole her breath, whose blue eyes made her heart soar in her chest?
If Lady Clifford thinks you’re fit for this business, lass, then you’re fit.
But she wasn’t fit, and she never had been. Lady Clifford should have sent Georgiana in her place, or Emma. Neither of them would have let her emotions run amok as Cecilia had done. Neither of them would have become overwrought, and made such a mess of things.
Neither of them would have fallen in love with him.
But Cecilia had. She was in love with Gideon, and there was no going back from that, no way to change it. No way she could ever look at him and see anyone other than the man she’d come to love.
The way Gideon touched her, so gently, and his expression when he gazed at her, so wary and hopeful at once. The love in his eyes when he looked at Isabella, the grief in his voice when he spok
e of his late wife…
How could such a man be a murderer?
He couldn’t.
Whoever Gideon was, whatever secrets he held in his heart, nothing would ever persuade Cecilia he could have committed such a violent crime. But while he made her heart flutter madly in her chest, Cecilia couldn’t guess as to the state of his heart.
The one thing she did know was he was keeping secrets from her.
Who was he chasing through the castle grounds at night? Cecilia was convinced he knew the identity of the White Lady, but he hadn’t confided in her. If he cared for her at all, why was he hiding the truth from her? Or were his kisses and caresses simply a diversion while he hoped and prayed for Lady Leanora’s return to Darlington Castle? Perhaps he truly did love Lady Leanora, and had all along. His betrothal to Fanny Honeywell may have been a ruse from the start, a way to lure Lady Leanora away from her betrothed, and back to him. As for Lady Cassandra…
Gideon hadn’t murdered his wife. Nothing would ever make Cecilia believe he had, or make her doubt the sincerity of his grief, but she had no way of knowing if he’d loved her or not. Mrs. Briggs had said Gideon worshipped his elder brother. Perhaps he’d hoped his marriage to Cassandra would put an end to his shameful passion for his late brother’s widow?
Cecilia’s head spun with unanswered questions, but in the end, none of it mattered. Lady Clifford had sent her to prevent Fanny Honeywell from marrying the Murderous Marquess. Miss Honeywell was gone, the betrothal broken, and now there was no longer any reason for Cecilia to remain at Darlington Castle. She’d done what she’d been sent here to do.
She’d hadn’t uncovered the whole truth, but if something dark had happened at Darlington Castle—if there was a mystery hidden inside these stone walls, if some evil had unfolded here—it hadn’t been at the hands of the Murderous Marquess.
Because he didn’t exist.
Gideon was no murderer. He was a man who’d suffered unspeakable loss, who’d nearly been broken by grief, and she…she’d lied to him. To all of them. Isabella, Amy and Duncan, and Mrs. Briggs. She could never make amends to them for that, but she could leave Darlington Castle, leave Gideon in peace before this wild passion between them went any further. Before Isabella grew more attached to her, only to have Cecilia abandon her in the end.
