by Anna Bradley
But to Gideon’s surprise, she only gazed hard at him for a moment when he returned to the bedchamber and seated himself in the rocking chair with the air of a man who intended to stay there.
“Very well, my lord,” she said, with a small smile. “Stay if you must, but mind you keep to that rocking chair.”
With that she was gone, and Gideon and Cecilia were left alone.
Chapter Twenty-two
Cecilia lay in the middle of her bed, her arms wrapped around herself, shivering with cold, and…something else. Anxiety, or anticipation? She couldn’t have said which in that moment, only that her entire attention was focused on the man now seated in the chair beside her.
She waited, her belly leaping with nerves, for him to say something, do something.
But he didn’t speak, didn’t reach for her, didn’t even sigh. He simply sat there, his body tensed, gazing at her.
She’d broken her promise to him. She’d sworn she wouldn’t venture outside the castle, then she’d done it anyway. Worse, she’d done it at night, and alone, utterly careless of her own safety.
Anything might have happened to her. It almost had happened.
“Gideon, I…I’m sorry I—”
Cecilia broke off with a gasp as he shot to his feet. She gazed up at him when he stopped beside her bed, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I know I promised I wouldn’t—”
She broke off again, this time with a faint cry as he leaned down, and without any warning or so much as a by your leave, scooped her up into his arms, coverlet and all.
“Gideon!” She clutched at his coat to steady herself, the fine wool wet to the touch, damp all the way through to the silk lining and his heated skin beneath. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. He strode across the room to the door that connected their bedchambers without a single word, and passed through it with her still in his arms. He didn’t stop until he reached his bed, then he lay her down and tugged his thick coverlet over her. “My bedchamber is warmer than yours. You’re staying here until you stop shaking with cold.”
Half-formed warnings, arguments, a protest that she shouldn’t be in his bedchamber, much less his bed, all rushed to Cecilia’s lips, but each of them died a withering death before she spoke them.
This was where she wanted to be, where she needed to be. Not because his bedchamber was warmer than hers, but because Gideon was here, and he was the warmest thing she’d ever known. Even if it was only for tonight, this was where she belonged. “Gideon, I—”
“Shhh.” He stirred the banked fire until it was blazing again, then turned back to her. “Are you warm enough?”
Cecilia nodded, eyes widening as he drew closer. His voice was gentle, but his lips were pressed into a stern line.
“You broke your promise to me, Cecilia. Why?” Gideon stopped halfway between the fireplace and the bed, waiting for her answer.
“I did, yes. I, ah…realized I’d left my sketchbook in the kitchen garden when I was out with Isabella the other day.” Cecilia swallowed. “I—it began to snow. I didn’t want it to be ruined, so I just nipped out to fetch it.”
“Your sketchbook,” Gideon repeated, searching her face.
“Yes. I’m sorry, Gideon. I should have waited until morning.” She was sorry, so sorry to lie to him, but there were so many unanswered questions still, so many mysteries as yet unsolved…
Cecilia peeked up at him from under her lashes, hesitating. She’d prodded and poked into every corner of this castle, searched his attics and quizzed his servants, but the one thing she hadn’t done was simply ask Gideon for the truth. “Gideon, why have you insisted Lady Cassandra’s bedchamber remain locked all these months?”
He blinked, surprised at the question. “Because of Isabella.”
“Isabella?” What did Isabella have to do with Lady Cassandra’s bedchamber?
Gideon blew out a breath. “A week after Cassandra died, Isabella woke in the night and crept into Cassandra’s bedchamber, searching for her. I found her there the next morning, huddled in Cassandra’s bed, shivering, with dried tears on her cheeks. It was…” He dragged a hand through his hair, his face pained. “Unbearable. After it happened a second time, I had the bedchamber doors locked.”
Cecilia gazed up at him, her throat working, and wondered why she hadn’t known it at once, when everything he was, everything he did, was for Isabella’s sake. “I…yes, I see.” She wanted to say more, to tell him everything then—her real reasons for venturing into the garden tonight, what she’d read in Cassandra’s diary, her suspicions about Cassandra’s death, but she bit her lip before any of these truths could spill out.
Because they weren’t truths. Not yet. They were suspicions only. She had no evidence, just her instincts and a half-dozen of the purple-tipped stalks she’d picked in the garden tonight, hidden in her apron pocket. There were too many uncertainties still, too many questions she had no answers to. She wouldn’t turn Gideon’s world upside down until she knew beyond a doubt that she was right.
“I asked you to remain inside the castle because I was concerned for your safety.” Gideon drew closer and pressed gentle fingers to her lips, hushing her when she tried to speak. “The Darlington Castle ghost, Cecilia. The White Lady. She’s my brother’s widow, Lady Leanora.”
Cecilia stared at him, stunned. Until this moment she hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to hear him tell her the truth, and how uncertain she’d been he ever would. “H-how long have you known? Since she first appeared?”
He shook his head. “No. Until a few days ago I thought the White Lady was just another rumor invented by the Edenbridge gossips. I still don’t know what she’s doing here—she’s meant to be marrying the Marquess of Aviemore in a few months. I foolishly allowed myself to believe we were safe from her until Miss Honeywell saw her. Then I realized there really was a White Lady. I knew then it must be Leanora.”
It made sense. Fanny Honeywell had no reason to lie about it, and every reason not to, given how determined her mother was for her to become Marchioness of Darlington.
“I believe she’s come back to take Isabella. She’s…not well, Cecilia. I didn’t want you to venture out because I can’t be certain what she’ll do, or how far she’ll go. Until tonight, I never believed she’d hurt anyone, but it must have been her who locked you in the kitchen garden.” Gideon met her gaze, his eyes bleak. “You might have frozen out there.”
“But I didn’t, Gideon. I’m perfectly well, as you can see. I climbed up the limbs of an espaliered apple tree to get out. That’s how I cut myself.” Cecilia tried a smile. “I did tell you I’m much heartier than I look, didn’t I?”
Gideon’s lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close. “You did, yes. I should have listened to you.”
“Certainly, you should have.” Cecilia settled against the pillows at her back with a huff. “Let that be a lesson to you, Lord Darlington.”
“It’s not the first lesson you’ve taught me. Not the last either, I imagine.” Gideon’s lips quirked in a smile, a real one this time.
“No, likely not.” Cecilia grinned at him, nestling further into his bed. It was warm and soft, the fire crackling in the grate, and Gideon…he was here, with her, so close she could touch him. “Your bedchamber is much warmer than mine. May I stay here with you tonight?”
He laughed softly. His eyes, such a deep blue tonight, drifted over her, and a smile of pure masculine satisfaction crossed his lips. “Did you think I’d let you go? I like seeing you in my bed.”
Cecilia shivered at the low rumble of his voice, the heat in those deep blue eyes that seemed to stroke every inch of her skin until the last vestiges of cold and fear still lingering in her body turned to pulsing warmth.
He watched every shift in her expression, every breath she took as he stripped off his
cloak and tossed it onto a chair near the bed. His riding coat followed, and then he set to work on his cravat, his long fingers working the knot until the length of white linen unraveled. He slid it free from his neck and wound it around his hand, his gaze still holding hers.
Cecilia’s breath caught as he tossed the cravat aside and moved his hands to his waist. He tugged his shirt free of his breeches, but paused, his fingers toying with the hem as he waited to see if she’d object.
She didn’t. Her teeth sank into her lower lip, her breath quickening as she watched him.
The white cotton clung damply to his skin as he dragged it up his torso and over his head, and then the muscular chest that had so fascinated her that first morning at Darlington Castle emerged, bare, sleek skin pulled over taut muscles, that smattering of dark hair, thicker in the center of his chest and around his navel before vanishing in a tempting line into the waist of his breeches.
Cecilia waited for him to come to her, to join her in the bed, to stretch out beside her and press his body to hers. Her fingertips ached to stroke his bare skin, but he paused beside the bed to take her chin gently between his fingers, and raise her face to his.
“Look at me, Cecilia.” His deep blue gaze flickered over her features, lingering on her parted lips, the flush on her cheeks, the madly beating pulse at the hollow of her throat.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Come to bed, Gideon. Come keep me warm.”
His eyes slid closed, and he drew in a long, shaky breath. Cecilia understood then he’d been waiting for her invitation, for her to welcome him. Her heart squeezed in her chest, a wrench both painful and sweet, and then she was in his arms, her cheek pressed to his warm skin, his steady heartbeat a rhythmic thump in her ear.
They were quiet for a time. Gideon ran his fingers through her hair in long, sensuous strokes, raising goosebumps over every inch of her skin. Finally, she lifted her head to glance up at him. “You—you’re not angry with me?”
“Not at the moment, no. I make no promises for tomorrow.” He nuzzled her neck, the rough stubble on his face scraping her sensitive skin.
Cecilia dragged her fingertips down his chest to his stomach, a small smile rising to her lips as his muscles tensed under the caress. Her skin felt as if it were about to burst into flames everywhere their bodies touched. She closed her eyes to savor the slow movement of Gideon’s hand in her hair. She listened to the crackle of the fire, and, just for now, she let herself float in his warmth, his touch, the crisp, masculine scent of his skin.
She should have fallen asleep, but even as the languorous warmth stole over her and her limbs melted against his, she remained awake, every inch of her alive and clamoring for his touch, a strange, hot knot pulled tight inside her lower belly.
“When I arrived home tonight and Amy said you were missing, I think I…went a little mad.” Gideon curled his big hand around her hip and pulled her tighter against him. “I was afraid for you. I…I can’t lose you. I’m in love with you, Cecilia.”
His voice was quiet, but his body was shaking against hers. Gideon, the strongest man she’d ever known, was shaking at the thought of losing her. Cecilia could feel his love for her in the way he held her, the break in his voice, the pounding of his heart against her ear.
Tears sprang to her eyes at the sweetness of him, this man who’d lost so much, yet could still feel so deeply, love so fiercely. She thought, fleetingly, of the Gothic romances she’d read, the lovers she’d found between the pages of her books, and wondered how she hadn’t realized, the moment she set foot in Darlington Castle, that Gideon wasn’t the villain, but the hero.
This was love. Love for a real, flesh-and-blood man who’d suffered unspeakable loss and grief, a man who had every reason to be bitter and angry, but still had the courage and strength to love again. “I love you too, Gideon.” She pressed a fervent kiss to the center of his chest. “I’m in love with you.”
Gideon’s breath caught, then his chest moved underneath her cheek in a sigh, as if he’d waited an eternity for those words. “Sweetheart,” he whispered, dropping a soft kiss on her temple.
Cecilia clung to him, joy and love and despair gathering like a storm inside her, both beautiful and heartbreaking at once. This love was more than anything she ever imagined love could be. She wanted to give him everything. All she carried inside her, everything she had, and everything she was, was his.
But it wouldn’t matter, in the end. He would lose her, or maybe it made more sense to say she’d lose him. They’d lose each other, because she’d lied to him about who she was, and her reasons for coming to Darlington Castle. Even if there hadn’t been lies between them, they came from two different worlds.
But now, tonight—just for this one night—she could make it matter. She raised her head from his chest and propped it on her hand. “Gideon, I…”
She fell silent, her tongue suddenly shy. What was she meant to say? She’d never been with a man before. Before Gideon, she’d never even kissed a man. She hadn’t any idea how to tell him she wanted him.
But perhaps he already knew. Cecilia’s lips curved. She was in his bed, clad in nothing but her night rail. Perhaps she didn’t need to say anything more.
“That’s an intriguing little smile.” Gideon’s gaze dropped to her mouth. He traced his thumb over her lower lip, but he made no move to kiss her.
So she reached for him, curling her hand around his jaw before dragging it slowly over his neck, and down his throat to his chest, the springy hairs tickling her palm. He watched her, his eyelids growing heavy as she eased her hands down his chest to his abdomen.
She trailed a finger over the skin just above the waistband of his breeches, but he caught her hand, stilling her. “Do you know what you’re doing, love?”
“Well, no.” She laughed softly, her hand still caressing his skin. “I was rather hoping you did.”
He dragged his knuckles down her cheek. He gazed at her for a long time without speaking, his blue eyes filled with heat and shadows. “I know this. If you stay here with me in my bed tonight, I won’t let you go until I’ve made you mine.”
His.
She’d never wanted anything more, and she told him so, in the best way she knew how—by gently pulling his hand from her face and placing a sweet, gentle kiss in the center of his palm.
Gideon went still for an instant, his body tensing, and then with a low growl he took her face in his hands, sank his fingers into her hair, and brought his mouth down on hers.
He kissed her like a drowning man gulps air into his lungs. Roughly, desperately at first, and then softer, tender, his mouth clinging to hers as he prodded delicately at the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, seeking entrance.
Cecilia didn’t hesitate. She twined her arms around his neck, pulled him closer, and opened her mouth under his.
He groaned in response and gathered her closer, nibbling and teasing at her lips until she went limp against him, boneless and breathless and stunned, that anything could feel as good as his mouth on hers, the angles of his warm, hard body pressing so perfectly into her soft curves there was no space left between them.
He kissed her again and again, until everything—the bedchamber around them, the crackle of the fire, his past, and their doomed future—faded from existence, and all she knew was the warmth of him, the hot, slick slide of his tongue, his sharp intake of breath when she let her fingernails graze the bare skin of his back.
“Ah God, sweetheart, you’re so…”
Cecilia never found out what she was, but it didn’t matter, because he was easing her back against the bed, his legs tangling with hers, one thick, hard thigh settling between hers as he moved over her, so close, but careful not to crush her with his weight.
“You need to be kissed everywhere. Every inch of you. Here.” He dropped a tiny kiss at one corner of her mouth, then th
e other. “Here,” he went on, raining sweet, open-mouthed kisses on her eyelids and cheeks, the pulse point at her throat. “And here,” he whispered, scraping his teeth lightly over her neck.
“Gideon.” Cecilia squirmed when his teeth closed over her earlobe, but her surprised gasp turned to a moan as he tugged gently, his warm breath in her ear as he toyed and played with her sensitive flesh. She sank her hands into his hair, wringing a hungry groan from his lips with each tug on the thick, dark strands.
When she couldn’t stand his teasing any longer, Cecilia guided his head gently down, down, down until his cheek was resting over her heart. “Kiss me here, Gideon,” she whispered, bringing his hand to the curve of her breast.
He let out a soft groan before cupping her breast in his palm. “You’re so pretty here, love, so perfect,” he murmured as he teased her nipple with his thumb, dragging it back and forth across the tender nub until it hardened and darkened to a deep pink, the blushing tip easily visible under the thin covering of her night rail. He pulled back to gaze down at her, his breath ragged, seemingly mesmerized by her breasts, by her nipple straining for his caresses. “Oh, yes, you need to be kissed here.” He licked his lips, hovering for a long, teasing moment over her before he leaned down and drew her nipple into his mouth.
Cecilia gasped and sank her trembling fingers into his hair to hold him against her. Dear God, his mouth was so hot, so insistent as he sucked and licked at her. He dallied there for long, breathless moments, wetting the fabric of her night rail before drawing back to gaze at her with hot blue eyes. He hung over her, a red flush across his cheekbones. “God, look at you, love, so hard, straining for me. Do you like my mouth on you?”
“Yes. Please.” She urged him back down to her breasts, crying out when he took her deep into the heated cavern of his mouth again, suckling and drawing mercilessly on one nipple while he stroked the other with his thumb. This exquisite torture went on and on until both her nipples were flushed and peaked for him, and Cecilia was squirming against the bed, unable to contain her breathless cries and whimpers.
