She looked so very fragile, so very lost and alone that he simply could not stand there and do nothing.
“Come here,” he murmured, relieved when she made no attempt to evade him and instead moved into the shelter of his arms. He could understand her confusion. If he was honest, he was more than a little confused with the latest events that had transpired in Tissington himself, but he couldn’t tell her that either.
She felt so very right in his arms. The top of her head came to just beneath his jaw, and he took the moment to rest his chin on the silken curls of her hair and simply breathe in her essence while savouring the feel of her in his arms.
“I am sorry,” Cecily whispered several moments later. She felt so relaxed, so warm and comforted that she knew she could stay there all day. But, this was a brief moment of respite in a stormy sea that was wild and unpredictable. It was wonderful to just be able to take a few moments out of the madness and simply enjoy being with someone like Jamie. She knew that he had no intentions toward her, and saw her as nothing more than a weak and helpless female who needed help. He was chivalrous enough to offer her a port in her own personal storm, and for that she was very grateful. If only she could ignore the tiny, yet growing pang of hurt that began to unfurl deep within her that someone like her could never attract the attentions of a man like Jamie.
She reluctantly eased back in his arms and glanced up at the smoky depths of his eyes that were so very close to hers. She knew she should put some distance between them. The inference of the staff in the kitchens echoed in her eyes, but she couldn’t break the mesmerising hold he seemed to have woven around her far too easily.
In a silken web of confusion she watched his head slowly descend toward hers. She should protest. She must. But she didn’t. Instead, she held her breath and waited for the first silken glide of his lips against hers.
The warmth of his breath brushed her lips before the gentlest pressure teased the pouting curve of her lower lip. One large palm slid into her hair, holding her head perfectly still while he deepened the pressure.
Her breath quivered on a sigh. She could break the hold, but the sensual curl of enticement that began to swirl around deep inside was enticing. She was curious to know what it was like, being properly kissed by a man. She knew where her future lay, and it was on the opposite end of the spectrum to the man before her. Was she so wrong to want this one moment to feel normal, before it was all swept aside for a future that would be even more bleak and barren than her past?
Her heart hammered in her throat as his lips settled on her with no more force, but with a silent and skilful determination that she couldn’t ignore. Tipping her head back she gave herself over to the silken onslaught of her first kiss.
Jamie had to use all of his self control not to deepen the embrace. He could feel the fine tremors that coursed through her, and knew from the way she was leaning against him that she wasn’t afraid. He was delighted, yet unsurprised, to have confirmation that she was untried and had never even been kissed before. For that he was entirely grateful, if a little nonplussed. All of his previous lovers had been used to men, and had no qualms about meeting any of his demands. He had no idea how to proceed with anyone who was untried, especially one he wanted as his wife.
Still, it was not an insurmountable problem. While they didn’t have all the time in the world, they did have a few precious weeks in which to grow comfortable around each other before he took matters further.
He shifted when her delicate hands touched his arms. At first he wasn’t sure if she was trying to push him off and began to ease back from the honeyed warmth of her lips, but when her palms merely rested in place, he drew her ever closer and deepened the kiss the way he really wanted to.
Her sigh was all of the approval he needed and for several long moments they stood locked in sensual abandon.
A sudden ‘yip’ from the direction of the fireplace was as effective as a bucket of cold water. Cecily felt her cheeks burn as Jamie lifted his head and glanced over at Basil, who was sitting before the fire, frantically licking the end of his tail.
Cecily stared at Basil, and wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed and relieved. She could feel Jamie’s eyes studying her face and was acutely aware that he had yet to release his close hold on her, but how did she ask him to let her go? Reluctantly she returned her gaze to his, but could see nothing in the smoky grey depths than a gentleness that immediately relieved her anxiety. He wasn’t going to try to kiss her again, but wasn’t going to allow her to back away and pretend nothing had happened either.
“I am not going to apologise for it,” Jamie whispered, sensing her hesitation. “I have wanted to do that from the moment we first met at the Tissington ball,” he admitted ruefully, feeling her jolt against him. He regretted saying it as soon as the sudden wariness entered her eyes, and mentally cursed the numerous misunderstandings that still lay between them. “There is a lot we need to discuss, and a lot of questions I need to ask you about your father and the businessmen in Tissington. But I want you to consider this, Cecily,” he paused and waited for Cecily to draw her gaze away from his shirt front and look at him properly.
“What?” She whispered, her voice trembling. Her heart hammered at his mention of the first time they had met and the remembered disappointments of old came flooding back. Despite their overly familiar stance, there was so much she didn’t know about Jamie. She wondered if he was trying to take advantage of her because of her current helpless situation and, if so, if she really minded all that much.
“I want you to wait until all of this is over with the Star Elite and your father, find out about Portia and Archie, and then, and only then, make your decisions about your future. There is no rush and if you really don’t wish to remain here, there is the Dowager’s house at the end of the estate that lies empty. Stay there for a while, and consider what you want to do.”
“That is a very kind offer, but -”
Jamie squeezed her waist and dropped a kiss on her startled lips. “Not now. Think about it, that’s all I ask.”
Cecily nodded jerkily, more than a little bemused by his generosity and kindness. Although a part of her was relieved that he was kind and almost loving, a small part of her couldn’t ignore his behaviour back in Tissington, and the alternative reasons for his offer for her hand. As such, it acted as a stern warning that she shouldn’t take his actions now too seriously.
Still, a small voice reasoned, he hasn’t harmed you, and what damage can a comforting hug, and a few kisses do anyway? Cecily sighed. As long as he didn’t expect it to proceed to anything else, they were fine.
Still, his offer gave her a lot to think about. If he was being genuine, and he did really mean his offer of the Dowager house with no strings attached because of his friendship with Archie, her future brother-in-law, then would she be churlish for refusing him for no other reason than her pride?
“I have to get back to work, but I do have some more questions about Tissington. How about we get them out of the way after dinner?” Jamie asked, reluctantly breaking his hold and stepping back. It shook him to realise just how much of a wrench it was to release her, and wished they were close enough to be able to spend the afternoon together. As it was, he watched her move quietly toward the door with a slightly singed Basil at her heels.
“Yes, that’s fine. After dinner,” Cecily replied, smiling shyly as she left the room. In the corridor, Basil trotted toward the kitchens while Cecily moved to the staircase. She needed a few precious moments to herself and her room was the only haven she had.
A part of her was wildly giddy at what had just happened, while another part of her was just so very confused. She wanted to skip up the stairs, while inside she as frantically trying to battle the doubts and shadows that lingered. She didn’t know which way to turn, or what to think.
Placing her fingers against her tingling lips, a girlish smile broke out on her face anyway as she climbed the stairs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Breathing heavily, she turned toward the corridor leading to her room, and froze. Before her lay two corridors, but she couldn’t remember which one took her to her guest room. Turning around, she was faced with yet another row of doors, but they all looked so alike that it was difficult to remember which one she used. The walls were panelled with the same highly polished oak; the doors all looked identical with the same highly polished brass knobs.
Spinning on her heel she walked down the closest corridor, peering at each door carefully as she passed. When she had left the room earlier she had headed toward a door at the end. This corridor had a door at the end. Heading back out onto the main hallway she went to the second corridor and groaned when she spotted an identical door at the end of that long corridor too.
Puffing out her cheeks, she wondered if she should just go back downstairs and ask Doreen for help, but then felt embarrassed at having to call the busy woman away from her duties for something that should be so ridiculously easy. At this rate, she would still be wandering the corridors when Doreen brought her dinner tray up. Deciding that there was only one option for it, she took the first corridor and began trying each door as she passed.
The first three wouldn’t open, but the fourth did revealing a room very similar to hers, except that it was on the wrong side of the house. Muttering dire imprecations to herself, she tried opening the doors on the other side of the corridor, wondering how long it would be before it began to get dark. To her consternation, none of the rooms were hers. Determined not to be thwarted by her own lack of navigational skills, she headed back to the second corridor which was much further on than she had thought it was, and began to repeat the process.
Frowning darkly, she reached the end of the corridor and stared down the long row of doors, a tiny tendril of fear beginning to shiver up her spine. Was she losing her mind? She had tried each door to each room. Her room should be about half way down this corridor, she was certain of it. So why couldn’t she find it?
She suddenly felt so very tired. Rubbing her hands down her face, she leaned back against the wall behind her for a moment. There really was no other way, she was going to have to go down to the kitchens and get someone to show her to her room. She could only hope that she didn’t cross paths with Jamie.
Her scream was swallowed by the darkness as she began to tumble backwards. Wildly throwing her arms out to stop herself falling, she hit her forearm hard on the doorjamb as she disappeared into the gloomy depths behind her. Landing on her bottom with a dull thud, she watched in horror as the sight of the frustrating corridor of doors was solidly cut from view and she was encased in the blackest, most suffocating darkness she had ever experienced in her entire life.
Where was she? What had happened?
Fighting clawing panic, she rose and began to pat the wall before her, searching for a doorknob, a latch, anything that would get her out of the darkness. A cool breeze wafted around her ankles. Something tickled her cheek. Her stomach dipped, and she sucked in a huge breath only to cough as dust motes attacked her lungs.
“God in heaven,” she whispered, freezing in place as a strange noise began to filter through the darkness.
It sounded like faint whispering, or was that clothing rustling? Were there rats? She closed her eyes and began to pray. Peering into the darkness, her fists clenched into hard balls of readiness, she bravely peered all around her but could see nothing. Turning around she glanced the other way, putting her hands out before her to try to find the wall.
Unless she was mistaken, she was in a secret corridor. A corridor without lighting that could lead to anywhere. Did Doreen know about it? Did Jamie? If so, why had nobody warned her?
“Hello!” She shouted thumping on the wall in front of her. She patted the panelling over and over, but couldn’t find anything that might get her back out of her claustrophobic confinement. “Hello! Can someone get me out, please?”
Silence was her answer.
She hammered on the door again with all of her might, but knew that in reality nobody was nearby to hear her cries. Deciding there was nothing else for it, she had to find out where the cold air was coming from. Where there was air there was daylight, and a possible way out. She began to shuffle sideways, patting the air before her like a determined sleepwalker.
The corridor seemed to go on and on. But how could that be? The servants stairs ran around here somewhere, she had passed it earlier that morning with Doreen. Glancing down, she knew that she would feel a lot happier if she was only able to see her feet. Through the gloom she could see nothing, not even her hand before her face and that was unnerving. She wasn’t usually afraid of the dark, but there was something about this space that held an air of expectancy about it that was forbidding.
“Get a hold of yourself, Cecily,” she muttered, shuffling along.
A wild surge of elation swept through her when a particularly large gust of cold air swept gently over her. Glancing in the direction it came from, a scream lodged in her throat as the shadows before her turned grey and began to shift.
Her eyes grew wide and she stared into the darkness that had now turned a lighter grey in colour. Unless she was mistaken, there was someone in the corridor with her; a man, and he was walking away from her carrying a candle.
“Wait!” She cried, stumbling after him. “Please, help me, I am stuck,” she called, her eyes locked on the back of the moving shadows. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Was it her wayward imagination? She couldn’t be sure. The man was barely visible in the darkness, but she was certain he was there. Lengthening her stride, she grew alarmingly aware that when she did manage to close the distance between her and the moving figure, she grew considerably colder. Why wasn’t he stopping to talk to her?
She couldn’t see much of him in the darkness, but she could see that he was wearing breeches much the same as Jamie’s, and a white shirt, but other than that there was nothing about him that was decipherable. She couldn’t see his hands and didn’t know if he had one candle or two. If he had a candle, he was certainly keeping it to himself because it might light his way, but it did little to help eradicate the darkness around her.
“Please, sir,” Cecily gasped, staring at the man’s shirt. Something hit her head, and she instinctively cried out at the blast of pain that lanced across her forehead. She paused for a moment and fought the stomach churning sickness that made her stomach turn over and the world swim alarmingly around her. Tears pooled in her eyes and she wished fervently that she was downstairs in Jamie’s study, preferably somewhere warm and safe, like in his arms. Her head began to pound fiercely and she had to blink against the swirling blackness.
Sucking in a breath she felt the trickle of tears against her cheek and glanced up to find the man standing sideways, apparently waiting for her. She studied what she could see of his face, and judged him to be tall and lithe, and somewhere round his mid-sixties. He looked so much like an older version of Jamie that she wondered if he was his father, but didn’t even know if Jamie’s father had passed, or was still alive and kicking.
The man made no attempt to talk to her or come back to assist her, and she felt a bit annoyed at his clear unwillingness to do anything but stand there.
Rubbing her head, she winced when her fingers met a particularly sore spot and rubbed her fingertips together, wincing at the sticky moisture she felt.
“Wonderful,” she whispered bleakly. Now she was going to have to sit and chat with Jamie with her hair all mangled, messy and covered in blood.
She walked toward the man on knees that were all wobbly. Her eyes were captured by the faintly flickering candle he was holding. It was a candle, but then it wasn’t like any candle she had ever seen before. Glancing frantically behind her, she could see nothing but impenetrable blackness and started to wonder if she was going quietly mad.
Turning back to the man, her eyes locked on the gentle smile he gave her as she cautiously approached him. Once she was several feet away,
he began to move onward, leaving her to follow. Several feet later, he slowly began to go down some stairs. They were a bit like the servants’ stairs she had seen on Doreen’s tour, only narrower. Each time the man took a step, he held the candle aloft so Cecily could see the stairs. With very little option, she followed him all the way down until they were standing in yet another corridor.
She was really starting to hate corridors.
It seemed to take an age but then it was no time at all before matters took an even more confusing turn. They walked down another long corridor for several moments, before the man drew to a stop, facing away from her.
Her heart began to pound heavily and she wondered what she was going to do if he turned sinister or threatening. To her relief, he merely moved sideways and nodded at the wall, giving her a gentle smile.
Warily, Cecily merely watched the man as he lifted the candle and pointed to a small circular latch half way down the door. With a quiet nod he turned and walked away – straight through the wall behind him.
“Oh, God,” Cecily whispered, her eyes growing wide with horror. Turning toward the door he had just pointed to, she stumbled forward, panic taking her in its firm grip. Fumbling with clumsy fingers, she twisted the latch and pushed frantically for several long seconds before she finally co-ordinated herself enough to push the door open.
The blessed sight of daylight temporarily blinded her, but was heaven alongside the cool flow of fresh air that greeted her. It was wonderful to be free at last and, for a moment, she simply stood perfectly still, dragging in several deep gulps of air. A quiet click behind her made her spin around, and she stared at the trellis that was now covering the doorway.
Frowning in consternation, she began to rummage through the roses to find the latch. It wasn’t that she had any intention of going back into that awful tunnel, but she wanted to know where the door was. For some reason, she knew she needed to know how to get back in.
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