Cecilia

by Bancroft, Blair

  Cecy buried her face in her hands. “That’s the trouble,” she admitted after a few deep breaths. “I feel like a mouse caught between two tomcats. I’m just an excuse for a fight. No matter what he says,” she added on a mutter.

  “And what was that?” Holly demanded, brown eyes sharpening.

  “He said he was planning vengeance because of what Longmere did to me.”

  “Gawd!” Holly exploded. “And you didn’t believe him?”

  “Why should I? Wasn’t that Rule One at the Academy? All men lie.”

  “You know right well Lady R never said that. She just warned us to be careful. Which didn’t make no nevermind when we went out into the world, now did it? Thought we were so clever, the pair of us, and look what happened. You should be thanking God you fell on your feet, my girl. Nick Black could’ve left you lying there. He could’ve taken you straight to his own bed, sold you to any one of a hundred brothels, or put you up for auction to the highest bidder.”

  “Stop!” Cecy rocked back and forth, hands over her ears.

  “It’s true and you know it,” Holly said sternly. “It’s time to swallow your fears, come down off your high horse, and pay the man back with the only coin you have. That’s the way the world works, and that’s a lesson Miss Chastity Singletary learned long before Lady R took her in hand.”

  Cecy gulped back a sob. Out of the mouth of a tavern wench . . . “You may not have had a governess, but your perception is sharp enough to cut,” she conceded. “I suspect you’re right. That night at Longmere’s I reverted to some echo of the Chastity of long ago, the proper Methodist miss before her days of rebellion. And it was that Chastity who woke in Nick Black’s arms, who’s been sitting at the head of Nick Black’s table. And now it’s some ghastly mix of the worst of Chastity and Cecilia who quakes in fear at the thought of trusting herself to a man ever again.”

  “And?”

  “I don’t know,” Cecy returned after a sound close to a whimper. “How can I ever be Cecilia Lilly again? Why would I want to be?”

  “Because Cecilia Lilly was strong and sharp and lived life to its fullest. She knew the risks and took them anyway. Because anything else would be cowardly. She smiled and laughed and enjoyed the world around her, including the men in it.” Falling back on the speech the Academy had attempted to drum out of her, Holly added, “‘N’ jes becuz our luck run out don’t mean it’s gone ferever.”

  “If only you’d been giving the sermons in my childhood instead of my father,” Cecy mused.

  “All I’m suggesting is that it’s more likely Cecilia Lilly who caught Nick Black’s eye, though all he got is Chastity Singletary.”

  “You think I don’t know how much I am indebted to him?” Cecy cried.

  Holly swept her friend into a hug. “Forgive me! Of course you do. It’s just . . . there’s not a female in this house wouldn’t give her right arm, maybe even a leg, to be living under Nick Black’s protection.”

  “I–I’m not sure I can do it,” Cecy murmured. “Not sure I want to. It’s like I’m looking down from the sky and seeing Cecilia Lilly for what she was, a shallow, vane creature as unworthy as the headstrong little hellion Chastity became in the final years before her father banished her from the house.” The truth hurt. Her stomach roiled. “I hope I’m not either one of those people any more.”

  “Maybe,” Holly offered, “you can take the best from the both of them . . .”

  If only.

  “What you need,” Holly added, “is to toss out your fears and add a good deal more love.”

  For a moment the old Cecy reared her head, a mean thought flitting across her brain. Look who’s giving advice—a woman close to birthing a bastard!

  The new Cecy winced. There but for the grace of God, went she. Nick Black had given her everything, and now that she knew she had the power to arouse him to lust . . .

  She’d been blind. She had created an elaborate fantasy of Nick and his molly men to avoid seeing what was right in front of her nose. Nick Black wanted her, and no matter how tight his control over his emotions, one day he would collect.

  The law said unwritten contracts were void, but Cecy knew the truth of it: debts must be paid. She shivered, honesty forcing her to admit her goosebumps were as much anticipation as fear. Summoning a bright smile, she changed the topic. “There is another matter I wished to discuss with you. I have an idea . . .”

  Chapter 12

  Eight days went by and Cecy did not so much as catch a glimpse of Nick Black. She presided at table alone, giving orders to Pike as if she were mistress of the house. No one questioned her authority.

  Nick was traveling, Charles Stark said, adding that not all his employer’s business enterprises were in London. Cecy knew better, of course. Nick, having lost control, if only for a few moments, had gone into hiding. The very concept of the all-powerful Nick Black hiding from a female was ludicrous. Yet she too dreaded the inevitable awkwardness of their next meeting. And besides, she had business to attend to, and having Nick gone suited her very well.

  But by the third day she was forced to admit she missed him. She missed their private conversations, the challenge of one sharp mind to another. She missed his penetrating questions about her suggestions for the children’s homes and Boone farm. His solemn nods of approval when she had talked him round. The occasional slips of his cold, fixed expression when she sang.

  Cecy tried not to cast forlorn glances at his empty chair at dinner, but . . .

  “I miss him too,” Fetch confided one evening at the dinner table, clearly attempting to please her as he pronounced his h’s with care. “Mr. Lovell says Nick’s a force of nature, and I reckon he’s right. Place seems empty without him.”

  A force of nature. Yes, that description suited him. Nick Black forged his own way through the world, heedless of the obstacles set before him. And now he rode atop the storm, as autocratic as a monarch, though far more alone. By the time he came back, he’d undoubtedly act as if the ugly scene in the carriage had never happened. They’d go back to the way things were . . .

  Impossible. Now that she knew he wanted her, they would find themselves in some uneasy limbo, every word weighed and measured, every sentence a bomb just waiting to explode.

  “Miss? You all right, miss?”

  “Yes, of course.” Cecy forked up a rather large bite of roast beef, chewing slowly to put an end to their dialogue. Fetch was sometimes as frightening as Nick Black. He saw things far beyond his years. Holly’s words drifted back to her: There’s not a female in this house wouldn’t give her right arm, maybe even a leg, to be living under Nick Black’s protection. Fetch too, Cecy thought. And he had sense enough to be grateful. While Cecilia Lilly, the little tart, acted as if Nick Black should be grateful for the opportunity to help her. All Grandfather Kingsbury’s fault. Cecy’s lips curled in a rueful smile. The absurdity of playing the role of the high and mighty lady tolerating the boot boy struck home. With his father a marquess, Nick Black’s blood was more blue than her own.

  On the ninth day Cecy could feel the change in the house on Princes Street as soon as Emerson brought up her breakfast. The house was alive again. Nick was back. “Come in the night, he did,” the maid declared. “From all the hustle and bustle, you’d think he’d been gone for years!”

  “It seemed like it,” Cecy offered, keeping her gaze fixed on her cup of hot chocolate.

  “Lor’, miss, but sometimes that man fair takes my breath away.”

  Me too. Though she’d never admit it. She was sitting in her chaste bed, garbed in voluminous white nightwear that covered her from chin to wrists and ankles, yet every inch of her was tingling, particularly her more intimate parts. She felt his presence so strongly he might as well have been standing in the doorway, peering in. How on earth was she going to cope with actually seeing him, talking to him? The Aphrodite Academy had covered many delicate topics but offered no advice on how to cope with a man you had suspected of preferring sex wi
th his own gender and who had demonstrated, most graphically, that he did not.

  Cecy winced, and breakfasted slowly. When she could procrastinate no longer, she crawled out of bed, ordered Emerson to lay out her drab visiting garments then call for her carriage. Twenty minutes later she descended the stairs on tip-toe, scurried across the hall, expecting Pike to call her back at any moment. She ran down the front steps and scrambled into the carriage, calling out, “Soho” to the coachman as Burt gave her a hand up before slamming the door shut behind her.

  As if sensing the urgency of the moment, the coachmen set the wheels rolling immediately. With a great sigh, Cecy leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Coward!

  Well, of course she was. Who wouldn’t be afraid of Nick Black?

  What you fear isn’t what other people fear.

  A whimper escaped her lips. She didn’t want to relive the surge of joy that followed hard on the heels of the shock of finding him fully aroused by her presence. She didn’t want the tingling pull of an attraction so strong she’d wanted to fly down the stairs and track him to the dining room, bookroom—wherever he was—and cast herself into his arms . . .

  Hell’s Hounds! She’d truly gone mad. The thought of being with a man, any man, still sickened her. Her fantasies might soar for a moment, but like Icarus when he flew too close to the sun, if she came too close to Nick Black, the crash was inevitable. There was nothing for her at the house on Princes Street but fear and misery. She needed to run as far and as fast as she could. Lady R would help her escape.

  And leave behind a debt of monstrous proportions? As well as an enigmatic man about whom she had so many conflicting emotions it was difficult to single any one of them out. Well. . . at the moment mortification probably triumphed. She simply could not face him. Her only hope—he seemed to feel the same.

  How long could two people living in the same house go without encountering each other? Could any amount of time erase the shock and humiliation of their last moments together?

  Cecy’s spirits revived a bit as she surveyed the changes in the children’s home in Soho. The girls had new pinafores in cheerful shades of rose, sky blue, and daffodil yellow. The boys now wore neckerchiefs in a startling variety of shades they had chosen for themselves. Workmen were in the process of brightening the rooms with trim in red, royal blue, and golden yellow. The children’s smiles were brighter, she thought, the staff as well. But what would she find in Seven Dials? After answering a barrage of questions about Fetch and Nick Black as best she could, she ordered the carriage on to the most notorious intersection of streets in St. Giles.

  Here the change was even more noticeable—more pleasant faces, brighter eyes, a few open smiles, where all had been in short supply on her first visit. Mrs. Dawes and her staff looked less grumpy, less wary the courtesan was going to wreak havoc with their routine then move on with nary a backward glance. The matron even went as far as to say, “Thankee, miss. I never thought a bit of color could do so much, else I’d’ve asked Mr. Nick fer it long ago.” She frowned. “Though being a man, I reckon he wouldn’t have understood. Took a female like you to make him listen, now didn’t it?”

  Having no idea what to say to that, Cecy managed a weak smile and a murmured thanks. After bidding good-bye to both children and staff, she returned to the carriage, dread creeping back the moment she ordered the coachman to return to Princes Street. Could she simply scoot up to her room, say she was too tired to come down to dinner . . .?

  But the first words out of Pike’s mouth when he opened the door were, “Mr. Nick is waiting for you in his office, miss.”

  It would be convenient if she could faint, but subterfuge—though a helpful talent for any woman attempting to deal with a man—wasn’t part of her nature. She was direct, not cunning. Perhaps that’s why her stay at the pinnacle of high-flyers had been so short . . .

  He was waiting for her behind his oversize desk, his most expressionless mask in place as his index finger pointed to the chair in front of his desk. Breathless, Cecy sat. He did not offer a greeting. She could feel anger bristling from him like quills on a hedgehog. Anger? If anyone should be angry, surely it was she.

  He reached inside his coat—something clattered as he dropped it on the desktop. Cecy’s eyes widened as his hand moved away and she saw a double-tiered pearl necklace designed to be worn as a band around the throat. Inset in the middle was a large rectangular-cut ruby—a distinctive piece of jewelry she recognized immediately.

  “Well?” Nick demanded. “Aren’t you going to ask how I have it?”

  Cecy straightened her shoulders, faced him squarely. “I would be more interested in knowing why you have it?”

  “It is yours. I thought you would wish to have such an expensive bauble returned to you.”

  “It is not mine. I sold it to Rundell and Bridge.”

  “Why?”

  “Why I sold a piece of jewelry given to me by Longmere is none of your concern.”

  “Anything to do with you is my concern.”

  Heat flared, her mouth opened . . . she closed it again.

  “Were you planning on running away, my dove?” he inquired smoothly. “Leaving your debt unpaid?”

  “Of course not!” The indignant words popped out before she could control her tongue. And what was he going to make of that? Devil take it! She was going to have to tell him the truth.

  Cecy swallowed, fisting her hands in her lap. “I believe I have mentioned my friend Holly Hammond?” He nodded. “I wished her to be able to retire to the country, posing as a widow. We even made up a story—a husband and how he died. That way she can keep her babe and lead a respectable life, perhaps even find a good man, a husband . . .”

  Hearing the plea for understanding in her voice, Cecy stopped, firmed her face and body into defiance, and added, “The necklace was mine to do with as I please. You had no right to interfere.”

  “I take it Miss Hammond has the money?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then there is no problem. She is set up, and you still have the necklace.”

  “Which is now added to my debt!”

  “Oh yes,” he murmured. And offered his predator’s smile.

  Cecy stood, unable to keep herself from having the last word. “How odd,” she murmured. “I never thought Nick Black would have to pay for a woman.”

  She stalked out, aware that he hadn’t moved. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing, yet she felt a ball of fire aimed at her back, ready to consume her at any moment.

  Weak-kneed and short of breath, Cecy closed the door to her bedchamber behind her, leaned back against it, and closed her eyes. She had to leave, but darkness had closed in, Thornhill Manor, her only refuge, too great a distance to travel alone at night. Besides, it was doubtful the stableboy would hitch up her carriage at this hour without approval from his master. Nor, for the same reason, could she call for Nick’s carriage. Fine! She had run from Longmere with no more than the clothes on her back . . .

  And look where that had gotten her!

  Cecy huffed and sat down hard on her bed.

  Her hand hurt. Slowly, she unclenched it, to discover she was holding the necklace so tightly the large ruby had made creases in her palm. Merde! She should have thrown it in his face. Instead, like some grasping harpie, she’d taken it with her. Disgusted, she dropped the necklace onto the coverlet, glaring at it as if it were some particularly loathsome carcass washed up on the bank of the Thames. She had been proud of herself, giving up some of her precious nest-egg for the future in order to help Holly.

  And Nick Black had ruined it all. Pulling in the reins, reminding her she was as much his property as she’d been Longmere’s whore. Reducing her to . . . nothing. Nothing at all.

  She would leave. Anything was preferable to being chattel. Even living on Lady R’s charity.

  We are all chattel. Cecy heard the words as clearly as if the Baroness Rivenhall were standing before her. Only if a woman is fortun
ate enough to become the widow of a wealthy man does she have any modicum of independence. Or if she accumulates enough wealth during her years as a courtesan to retire in comfort.

  Retire in comfort. The grand goal. Cecy snorted, her lips curling into a bitter grimace. Her independence was such a distant goal it no longer even hovered on the horizon. She was a failure, through and through.

  There were the children, her common sense reminded her. Holly. The other women she was attempting to help.

  Sham work. Nick Black finding an excuse to keep her under his roof for his own nefarious purposes.

  Nick Black, who had sent her back to Lady R to recover when all he had to do was claim her for his own.

  Nick Black, who had given her a position of responsibility in a man’s world and put his money where his mouth was, supporting her requests for improvements.

  Nick Black, who was plotting vengeance against Longmere. And would not hesitate to use her while doing it.

  Nick Black, the coldest, most controlled man in London . . . who wanted her. With what she was beginning to suspect was a passion as hot as his outward demeanor was cold. Heat shot from her head to her toes, with her most private parts threatening to burst into flame. She gasped, buried her face in her hands. Terror surged, overwhelming any temptation to softer emotions.

  Leave. She had to leave now.

  Chapter 13

  A brief knock, and Emerson stepped into the room. “Miss, I’m to tell you they’re all at table. The master won’t give the order to serve until you take your place.”

  “I’ll have a tray in my room tonight.”

  “Ah, miss, I can’t! ’Twas Pike who told me, but I caught a glimpse of the master’s face as I passed the dining room. You’d best go down.”

  She’d walk straight out into the dark with naught but the clothes on her back before . . .