by Anna Bradley
Chapter Twenty-one
It looks like a nightmare.
Gideon stopped in front of the iron-studded oak portcullis, and Haslemere and the half-dozen men they’d brought back to Darlington Castle with them drew their horses to a halt behind him.
Had it only been three weeks ago he’d stood in front of the castle that had once been his home, and cursed it as a living nightmare, the withered heart at the center of all his shattered dreams?
It looked as grim now as it had then, but when he gazed up at it, his chest no longer tightened with bitterness. No shudders of revulsion rolled down his spine. His stomach wasn’t clenched with anger, and he wasn’t choking on grief.
Everything had changed, and there was only one way to account for it.
A smile drifted over his lips as he recalled his first glimpse of Cecilia, wrapped from head to toe in a dark traveling cloak, tossing pebbles into Darlington Lake.
I wanted to know how deep it is.
Perhaps he should have realized even then she’d tilt everything sideways, turn it upside down then right side up again, but forever changed. Perhaps he should have known she’d do the same thing to his heart. Such a small woman, to cause such an upheaval. Such a quiet coup. She’d conquered him before he realized he was under siege.
As they’d plodded toward the castle through the darkness this evening, he’d sworn a hundred oaths he’d wait until tomorrow to see her—that it was too dark, too late, terribly improper to bother her tonight.
What a fool he was. What a blind, arrogant fool. He could no more resist her than he could refuse to draw his next breath—
“Well, Darlington? Do you intend to enter the castle at some point this evening, or are we all to sleep on the drawbridge tonight?”
Gideon turned in the saddle. Haslemere was watching him, a sly grin on his lips. How long had he been lingering here, staring up at the castle, lost in dreams of Cecilia? Long enough to put a knowing smirk on Haslemere’s face, at least.
“Careful, Haslemere, or I’ll put you in the moat,” Gideon replied mildly as he urged his horse into a walk and led the party forward.
“You’re distracted tonight, Darlington. Why is that, I wonder? Ah well, it’s not my concern.” Haslemere leapt down from his horse, gathered his reins, then held out his hand for Gideon’s. “Well, go on then, give them here. I’ll take him in. He deserves better than to have a distracted marquess pawing at him.”
Gideon dismounted and handed his reins over, his lips quirking. “You’re a diligent horseman, Haslemere, and a good friend.”
“I am, indeed, both of those things.” Haslemere shrugged, but he looked pleased. “Come on, men. The stables are this way.”
Gideon forced himself to wait until the men had rounded the side of the castle before he hurried over the footbridge. He was a marquess, after all, and it wouldn’t do to sacrifice all his dignity by scrambling about like an overeager puppy. But as soon as they were out of sight he darted through the courtyard and into the entrance hall.
He took the stairs two at a time. He didn’t pause to remove his coat or boots when he reached his bedchamber, but rushed through the connecting door, his heart soaring with desire and love and anticipation.
Only to crash again when he entered Isabella’s bedchamber. His niece was sound asleep in her bed, but it wasn’t Cecilia dozing in the rocking chair by her side.
It was Amy.
The thud of his boots echoed in his ears as he hurried across the room. He crouched in front of the rocking chair so he wouldn’t frighten Amy by looming over her, then nudged her gently awake. “Amy? Where’s Cecilia?”
Amy blinked groggily, frowning at Gideon as if she’d never seen him before. “Who?”
“Cecilia, Amy. It’s late. Where is she?” Gideon was making a great effort not to shake Amy into full consciousness and interrogate her as if she were a criminal.
“Lord Darlington?” Amy rubbed her bleary eyes and blinked again before focusing on him. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my lord. I must have dozed off.” She sat up straighter in the chair. “Isabella—”
“Isabella is fine. She’s fast asleep. Where is Cecilia?” Gideon repeated with growing urgency. There was no reason to be alarmed, as Amy often watched Isabella when Cecilia left the room, but a knot of foreboding was gathering at the base of his spine.
Amy stared at him in confusion for another moment, but then understanding dawned, and she shot up from the chair so quickly she nearly knocked Gideon backward. “Oh, my goodness. What time is it?”
“It’s late, Amy. Past midnight.”
“Oh, dear.” Amy wrung her hands, her face turning pale. “That’s not…she should have been back ages ago.”
Gideon didn’t like the panicked look on Amy’s face, but he wasn’t yet ready to alarm the whole castle. He took a deep breath, and forced himself to speak calmly. “Back from where? Where did she go?”
“Down to the kitchens, to have a bite of dinner. Cecilia stayed with Isabella until she fell asleep, as she always does, but Isabella was fussy, and Cecilia missed her meal. But that was hours ago, Lord Darlington!”
An icy chill rushed over Gideon, followed by a dark, nameless dread. “How long, Amy? One hour? Two? When did you last see her?”
“Eight o’clock or so, I think? She said she’d come right back up, but I fell asleep, and didn’t realize how much time had passed.”
Hours. Four at least, maybe more, and no sign of her? It seemed an eternity. Gideon fought back the fear clawing at his throat. “The last you knew, then, she was going to the kitchens?” Perhaps Mrs. Briggs had seen her.
“Yes, she…you don’t suppose she ventured out onto the grounds alone again?” Amy looked panicked. “She wouldn’t be so foolish as that, would she?”
“No,” Gideon said, with more conviction than he felt. Cecilia had promised him she wouldn’t leave the castle today, but she had a mind of her own. She wouldn’t hesitate to disregard her promise if she felt it necessary. She’d never risk Isabella’s safety, but God knew she wasn’t nearly as careful of her own.
“I don’t like this.” Amy began pacing in front of the fireplace, her fingers twisted in her apron. “Where could she have got to?”
“It’s all right, Amy. I’ll find her.” If Cecilia had turned up in the kitchens, Mrs. Briggs must have seen her. He’d have to wake his housekeeper, but there was no help for it. “Stay here with Isabella until I return.”
Gideon didn’t wait for Amy’s reply, but strode from the bedchamber into the corridor, every instinct urging him to rush outside and have Haslemere order his men to search the grounds while he and Gideon tore the castle apart, stone by stone, until they found Cecilia.
Four hours. Good Lord, anything could have happened to her in that time. He pounded down the stairs, his head spinning as he examined and then discarded one possible explanation after the next. Had she been trapped in some remote part of the castle? The attics, perhaps? Or had she fallen, and was lying in some out-of-the-way place, unconscious and bleeding? By the time he reached the last stair he’d conjured a dozen nightmare scenarios in his head, all of which included Cecilia’s broken body at the bottom of a flight of stairs.
He ran straight toward the entrance hall, bypassing Mrs. Briggs’s apartments. There was no time to speak to his housekeeper now. No, he’d go to the stables first, and fetch Haslemere. They had ten good, strong men, including Duncan and Fraser. He’d put a half-dozen of them on the grounds—three mounted, and three on foot, while he, Haslemere, Duncan, and Fraser searched the castle.
Surely between them all, they’d make quick work of finding one small woman? She couldn’t have gotten far. Damn it, where was she? Where—
Just as he reached the door, he stopped with his hand on the latch, a noise making him freeze in his tracks. It sounded like…a moan, or gasping breaths? He turned in a circle
, his body tensed, but he wasn’t sure where it was coming from.
He waited, ears straining and every muscle twitching until at last he heard it again, a cry so faint he might have believed he’d imagined it. Not a moan this time, but a plea for help coming from the direction of the drive. Gideon sprang forward, throwing the front door open with a crash, but what he found on the other side made him stumble backward in horror.
It was Cecilia—thank God, it was her—but even in this dim light he could see how deathly pale she was, her strange clumsiness and the slow, heavy steps with which she crept up the drive. She was limping, and her arms were thrust out at her sides as if she thought she’d topple over at any moment.
“Cecilia.” Her name left his lips on a strangled breath. “Cecilia.”
Her gaze had been fixed on the gravel beneath her feet as she made her painstaking way up the drive, but at the sound of his voice her head came up, and when she saw him there, her face just…crumpled. “Gideon.”
She swayed where she stood, but Gideon leapt for her, catching her before her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the gravel drive. “Shhh, love. I’ve got you.” He wrapped his arms around her trembling body and swept her up, gathering her tightly against his chest.
“I…I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was doing anything dangerous. I broke my promise—”
“Hush, it’s all right.” Gideon stroked her hair back from her damp forehead. “You’re all right.”
But she wasn’t all right, because his hand came away wet with blood.
Gideon was shaking badly, but he managed to turn her head toward him with a gentle nudge of her chin, and that was when he saw it. Blood, livid against her pale skin, running from her temple down her neck. Her dark hair was matted with it, her white apron stained with it, as if she’d used it to try and staunch the flow. Her hands were scraped bloody as well, her palms torn to shreds, and the hem of her gray skirt was ripped.
She was clutching at his shirt, mumbling something about the kitchen garden and footsteps and a locked door, but Gideon hardly heard a word of it. He just kept murmuring to her, his voice low and soothing as he carried her into the castle.
As it happened, Haslemere and his men entered behind him, having finished in the stables. “Darlington, what are you…” Haslemere began, but he trailed off with a curse when he caught sight of Cecilia, limp and bleeding in Gideon’s arms. “Jesus, what happened? Is she—”
“She’ll be all right.” She would be, because Gideon wouldn’t hear of anything else. “But I need to get her upstairs and into bed. Summon Mrs. Briggs for me, will you, Haslemere? Have her find Duncan and Fraser, as well. I want everyone accounted for.”
Haslemere nodded. “Of course.”
“Good man.” Gideon didn’t wait, but turned and hurried up the stairs with Cecilia in his arms. She was shaking like a leaf, her eyes glassy. She didn’t seem to quite understand what was happening, but she let her head fall against his chest with a grateful little sigh.
That sigh went straight to Gideon’s heart. She trusted him. Him, the man half of England feared, and every soul in Edenbridge would swear had killed his wife.
Him, the Murderous Marquess.
She trusted him.
Behind him, he could hear Haslemere speaking to his men. “Search out Darlington’s men, then meet me on the second floor for further instructions. Look sharp, boys. We don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“Aye, my lord.” It was Fletcher, Haslemere’s top man. “Ye heard his lordship, lads. Off we go.”
In the end, there was no need for Haslemere to wake Mrs. Briggs. The sound of half a dozen men mounting her staircase was enough to bring her running. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw what was taking place, eyes wide and fingers clutching at the neckline of her robe. “Heavens above, Lord Haslemere. Where did all these men come from? What’s happened?”
“Cecilia’s been injured. I’m not sure of the details, but I believe Lord Darlington would appreciate your presence, Mrs. Briggs.”
“Injured? Oh, my goodness. Yes, of course.” Mrs. Briggs didn’t wait to ask any further questions, but scurried up the stairs, her robe flapping against her ankles.
Amy was pacing and muttering to herself when Gideon returned to Isabella’s bedchamber with Cecilia. When she saw her friend pale and bleeding in Gideon’s arms she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no. What’s happened?”
“Something to do with the kitchen garden, footsteps, and a locked door. That’s all I know.” Gideon carried Cecilia across the room and lay her gently in her bed.
“Cold.” Cecilia scrabbled for the blankets, her hands shaking. “So cold.”
Amy made a strangled noise and started toward Cecilia, but she hadn’t gotten a step before Mrs. Briggs swept into the room, instructions already on her lips. “Amy, dear, will you fetch some hot water from the kitchen, and a few rags from the scrap pile, too.”
Amy ran to do Mrs. Briggs’s bidding, but she jerked to a halt when she reached the bedchamber door. Haslemere and his men had joined the party by now, with Duncan and Fraser in tow. The entire castle was gathered outside Isabella’s bedchamber, shuffling their booted feet and whispering among themselves.
Amy fell back with a gasp. “There’s a crowd of men in the hallway!”
“Yes, I know, dear. Those are Lord Haslemere’s men, and I daresay they’re harmless enough. Go on now, there’s a good girl.”
Amy skirted around the men, eyes as big as saucers, and fled down the stairs.
“Now then, Cecilia. No, no, don’t close your eyes, dear. We can’t let you sleep quite yet.” Mrs. Briggs inspected the wound at Cecilia’s temple, prodding gently with her fingers. “It’s quite a gash, my lord. Deep, but not dangerous.”
“Are you certain?” Gideon was hovering over the bed. He’d seen his share of bloody wounds, including a gentleman whose shoulder had been run through with a sword in a duel, but nothing had ever disturbed him as much as the blood smeared across Cecilia’s pale skin.
“There. It’s all right. I’m all done,” Mrs. Briggs soothed when Cecilia flinched. She patted Cecilia’s hand before turning to Gideon. “Quite certain, yes. As you know, my lord, I’ve seen my share of cuts and scratches.”
“But how can you tell anything with so much blood?” Mrs. Briggs had tended to his injuries when he was a child, and Gideon didn’t doubt her nursing skills, but he wasn’t taking any chances with Cecilia.
“Yes, head injuries do tend to bleed, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Briggs replied cheerfully. “It’s a bit alarming, I know, my lord, but blood doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a serious injury. I’ll be able to tell more once we’ve cleaned her up, but I shouldn’t worry. Cecilia’s sturdier than she looks.”
“She doesn’t look that sturdy to me,” Gideon muttered. To his anxious eye, she looked like a crumpled rag doll tossed aside by a careless child. “Her hands are torn up, as well, and she was limping up the drive.”
“Oh, dear, your hands are a bit of a mess, aren’t they?” Mrs. Briggs tutted as she inspected Cecilia’s palms. “I imagine those cuts hurt, don’t they, Cecilia?”
“Not too much, really.” Cecilia’s dark gaze was fixed on Gideon’s face over Mrs. Briggs’s shoulder. “They sting a little.”
Mrs. Briggs chuckled. “Well, you’re not the complaining sort. I knew that from the first moment I met you.”
They heard Amy’s voice in the hallway then, shooing the men away from the door. A moment later she appeared with the basin and cloths, which she brought to Mrs. Briggs.
“Thank you, Amy. Now, take Isabella back to your bedchamber with you for the night, dear. She’ll be better off there, where it’s quiet.”
Incredibly, Isabella had slept through the chaos. She murmured sleepily when Amy scooped her up, but she didn’t wake. Gideon followed Amy out the door, and motion
ed Haslemere aside.
“What happened?” Haslemere’s voice was grim.
“I’m not sure yet. Cecilia’s a little incoherent, but it sounds as if she may have gotten locked inside the kitchen garden. I’ll find out more when Mrs. Briggs is finished with her.”
“Locked outside, in this cold?” Haslemere’s mouth fell open. “Jesus, Darlington. She might have frozen to death.”
“I think that was the idea, Haslemere.” Gideon looked steadily into his friend’s eyes, so there’d be no mistaking his meaning.
Haslemere nodded, then turned to address his men. “Fletcher, I want you, Hobbes, and Thompson on horseback. The others can go on foot—”
“No. There’s no use in chasing after her tonight, Haslemere. You can be sure she’s long gone by now. But let’s keep two men on each bedchamber door, just to be safe. Duncan and Fraser can keep watch over Amy and Isabella, and two of your men on Mrs. Briggs’s door. The others can keep watch at the doors leading outside, and in a few hours we’ll switch off.”
“What of Cecilia? Who will watch over her?”
“Me,” Gideon said, in a tone that discouraged argument.
But Haslemere, being Haslemere, did argue. “That’s not a good idea, Darlington. Why not let Mrs. Briggs stay with her?”
“No. I’ll stay with her.”
“Darlington, be reasonable. Her reputation—”
“Do you truly think I’ll let Cecilia out of my sight after what happened to her tonight, Haslemere? I won’t risk her safety.” As for Cecilia’s reputation, no one here would carry tales into the village, but even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.
She was his, and he wasn’t giving her up.
Ever.
Haslemere held up his hands in surrender. “All right then, if you insist. I don’t envy you the wrangle you’ll have with Mrs. Briggs over it. She’s far more alarming than I am.”
Alarming? Gideon had once seen Mrs. Briggs take a broom to a footman who’d tried to steal a kiss from one of her housemaids. She wasn’t alarming, she was downright terrifying, and never more so than when a scoundrel tried to trifle with one of her girls.
