by Tamara Gill
“That will be fine, my lord.” Within a few minutes, the carriage rocked to a halt outside the duchess’ London home, and Cecilia couldn’t help but look up at the massive, impressive Georgian structure and marvel at its size and the opulent wealth and power it portrayed to those looking in.
And yet, the duchess was a kind, honest woman who didn’t see people for what material things they had. No, she had a solid moral code and surrounded herself with people who helped others before themselves. Cecilia supposed somewhere within the marquess he must have a heart beating and more common sense than what she’d been privy to if the duchess called him her friend.
Bidding the duchess goodbye the carriage pulled back out into the busy London traffic. “Did you wish to return to you father’s offices or home, Miss Smith?”
“Actually, I’d prefer to return home. It’s in Cheapside I’m afraid, so you’ll be doubling back. I’ll talk to papa about what happened today in privacy and without the possible interruption of Mr. White.”
The marquess called out the change of direction and settled back in the squabs. He took out his flask and had a small sip before placing it back in his coat pocket. “The gentleman your father has as his successor is no gentleman at all. If you only ask, I shall ensure he’s removed from your father’s employ where he can never touch you again.”
Cecilia sighed, if only it were that easy. “Father wishes for me to marry him, and I suppose if he gets his way, Mr. White will be able to touch me whenever he wishes.”
“Never say such words. The thought of him touching you makes my blood run cold.”
The blood in her veins did the exact opposite. “I think you’ve been imbibing too much on that silver flask in your pocket, Lord Aaron,” she said it with a tinge of amusement, but his statement was anything but funny. His lordship would never look to her as a possible wife, she was too bossy, too opinionated and most of all, too common. A man like Lord Aaron would expect her to become a lady of leisure, sew, paint and be at home so other ladies of similar standing could call and they could all discuss the mundane news of tonnish life.
But then, the duchess didn’t live such an existence, she was involved with many charities and Cecilia had never heard her mention that she must be at home for appointments of that kind. So maybe life could be different… If he stopped drinking which by the looks of it would not stop anytime soon.
“No such thing. I may like my liquor, Miss Smith, but I still have my faculties, most of the time at least and I can assure you, seeing you married to Mr. White would not please me.”
“Really,” she said, raising one brow. “What would please you, my lord?” Did she really wish to know? His gaze met hers and the intent she read in his blue steely eyes would have made her weak in the knees had she been standing.
Hunter watched as Miss Smith, Cecilia bit her bottom lip. He wanted to reach for his flask, soothe the hunger he had for the liquor almost every moment of every day, but he didn’t. Another hunger rumbled within, one where he kissed the woman who sat across from him with abandon. Crush her lips against his and taste her sweet self that had haunted his dreams for days.
He leaned back against the squabs. “What an interesting question Miss Smith. What would please me? Do you really wish to know? You may not like what I say in return.”
“I think I shall be able to handle your reply.”
He shifted over to the seat beside her. Miss Smith merely raised her chin at his forward manner but didn’t move away. “Last chance to deny me.”
She shook her head. “No, I want to know. Please tell me,” she said, breathlessly.
“I want…I want to kiss you, remove all trace of that god-awful thing that was molesting you when I opened your carriage door.” His hand reached up, and he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “So soft.”
Her attention snapped to his lips. He had her now, and she was thinking possibly even imagining what it would be like to kiss him back.
“Do you think that would be a good idea? We’re in the middle of London, anyone could see us and what we were doing in here.”
Hunter quickly untied the carriage blinds and let them drop. Ensconced in privacy, he raised his brows, grinning. “Better, Miss Smith? Or are you too scared to kiss me.”
“I’m not scared of anything, least of all you,” she said, shuffling closer, clasping his jaw and kissing him just as he’d hoped.
For a moment he was stunned that she’d been the one to initiate the kiss, chaste as it was, but when she went to pull away, he put paid to that and wrenched her back. He’d wanted to kiss her for days now, and no way in hell would he leave today without tasting her. Her lips were soft, supple and kissing him with the expertise of a courtesan. For a moment he wondered where she’d learnt such skills before the light graze of her breasts against his chest made him lose all train of thought.
He ached with want of her, something he’d not experienced before, not even with his past mistresses. Her hand slid into his hair, tugged him closer still, and he didn’t deny her. His tongue touched hers, tentative at first and within a moment she was kissing him with as much need, as much enthusiasm as he was. He would never get enough of her.
Her hairpins gave way, and her long golden locks fell about her shoulders. He wanted to wrench away, see what she looked like in such disarray, but he couldn’t, no matter how much he tried.
The carriage rocked to a halt, and she drew away, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, her eyes wide and full of revelation.
“I hope that hasn’t scared you off, Miss Smith,” he managed to say, clearing his throat when it sounded too heavy with need, too deep with want.
“On the contrary Lord Aaron, it’s merely made me more curious.”
Although her words rang with truth, Miss Smith did in fact bolt from the carriage and toward her front door which opened when she started up the stairs. Hunter watched her go, even if he wanted to follow her and see where that kiss could lead. He took out his flask and the scent of the whisky smelt less tempting. There was something much more delicious and damn it, it had disappeared into the house without even a backward glance.
He tapped his cane on the roof, and the carriage pulled away. Where would he see her again? Or better yet, how could he manage to get them together again without being obvious. He would write to the duchess on his return home and see if she had any plans of inviting Miss Smith to any more events.
And if not, well, he would just have to ensure he ran into her somewhere. And somewhere soon.
Chapter 7
Cecilia sat in her father’s office at home, staring in disbelief as he chastised her for the atrocious behaviour she’d partaken in within the carriage the day before. For a moment, Cecilia had thought he’d learnt of her forwardness with Lord Aaron but was only slightly relieved to hear he was, in fact, talking about Mr. White.
“I was not at all in the wrong, papa. He forced me to kiss him. Something that has not, nor ever will interest me.”
Her father leaned forward on his desk, clasping his hands together atop the parchment that lay before him. “He is a good match for you, my dear. He’s also going to take over the business when I pass on. I would prefer that he marries someone in the family if only to keep the business in our hands. I would so hate for it to be lost.”
Cecilia stood and paced in front of the windows. “Father, I do not love him, nor do I find him at all attractive and even less so now that he took the liberty to insult me when he had no right. I’ll not put up with that from him or anyone else, and I’ll not do as you ask. If you want the company to stay in the family hands, I suggest you have another child with mother and try for a boy, or you leave it to me.”
“Cecilia, that isn’t fair,” her mother said. “You know we tried for other children, alas unsuccessfully.”
Her father’s face mottled in anger and for a moment Cecilia wondered if she’d pushed him too far with her words.
“How dare you, child. How dare you speak to u
s in such a way! I’m the head of this household, and under no circumstances shall you address me or your mother with so little regard or forethought.”
Cecilia took a calming breath. How dare she? How dare they try and make her marry a man that made her skin crawl. “I may be your daughter, I may be female and looked upon as a lesser person in our Society, but I know I’m smarter than Mr. White and more than capable of keeping the men who work under you in control, motivated and in employment under my authority. You do not need to give it away to Mr. White simply because he’s a man. You know, deep down what I’m saying is true, you simply have to trust me enough, love me enough to see that I’m worthy.”
“You are worthy dear, never think that we believe anything other than that,” her mother said, wringing her hands.
Her father shook his head, a deep frown line between his brows. “A woman would not be suitable, and it would only be a matter of time before people stopped seeking our services. I cannot risk the family’s livelihood, a company I’ve taken twenty years to build up, to lose it simply to make my daughter happy. No,” he said, standing and pouring himself a tumbler of brandy. “You shall marry Mr. White and inherit the firm through him. It is more proper and suitable.”
“Are you saying you’re going to force me to marry him?” The horror of such a thought made her reach out and clasp the wall for support. To imagine Mr. White touching her again, not just kissing her, but sleeping next to her in bed, laying with her over and over. Her stomach recoiled, and she covered her mouth fearing she’d vomit.
Her mother came over and took her hand. “Mr. White isn’t so bad, my dear. He’s from a respectable family and is not unkind. You could do worse.”
“While I do not want to force your hand, my dear, I will if you keep fighting me on this. I’ll give you this season to become accustomed to Mr. White and his ways. Get to know him a little better. He isn’t as bad as you may think, Cecilia.”
He was worse. Cecilia looked out the window and watched as a coal cart rumbled by. She would ruin herself before she allowed herself to be married to such a prig. A slimy one at that.
She walked from the room and didn’t reply. There was nothing left to say. Her parents’ mind seemed made up and unless she found someone more suitable than Mr. White, better connected and willing to take on her father’s firm, she would end up married to the man.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs. How could she bear such a life? She could not. She would not.
“Miss Smith, a letter from the Duchess of Athelby for you.”
Cecilia took the parchment and broke the ducal seal. Scanning the letter quickly it stated that she was invited to a masquerade ball to be held at their good friends London estate, his lordship Hamish Doherty, Earl Leighton. The letter also said she could bring a guest.
She would take Katherine with her. She’d love to attend such a high Society event, and it would be one night that her future with Mr. White would be out of her mind. She had the season to convince her father. Otherwise, she would have to take matters and her life into her own hands and walk away from the family. She would not marry simply to ensure her father’s company remained in their family. Such a bargain was neither fair nor right. She could become a teacher at one of the schools she’d opened. They raised their own funds, and other wealthy benefactors, such as the Duchess of Athelby might be willing to donate more to substitute the loss of her father’s patronage, which she’d no doubt lose.
Even living on limited means as such a change in circumstance would ensue, was better than marrying a man she did not love. She would do anything but that.
A week passed, and finally, it was the night of the ball. The masquerade was a crush. The array of gowns, jewels, laughter and candlelight made the room seem like a glittering dream and Cecilia, and Katherine stood at the doors as the Duke and Duchess of Athelby walked ahead of them into the throng.
“Oh my, Cecilia. What a magnificent spectacle!”
Cecilia smiled and entwined her arm with Katherine’s, pulling her forward. “It is truly a sight and one we shall never see again most likely. Promise me one thing tonight, my dear.”
“Anything,” Katherine said, her attention snapping from one costume to another.
There were many. The guests had outdone themselves with an array of characters present, jokers, pirates, mythical creatures and those who were less risqué, simply chose evening attire, silk gowns adorned with masks that sparked with jewels or feathers.
“That we forget where we’re from, we take the opportunity to have fun, dance and laugh and forget all else.”
“That sounds heavenly,” Katherine said, smiling when a gentleman bowed before her in a flourishing, very much over the top manner, and asked her to dance. The man’s costume was almost entirely black, foreboding even, and his mask covered his face entirely giving him an air of mystery.
Cecilia watched them disappear into the throng of dancers already on the ballroom floor and continued behind the duke and duchess.
They came to stand at the end of the long room beside the terrace doors which were open. Many of the guests were taking the opportunity to step out to take the air. The gardens were well lit, and outside looked just as pretty as the interior of the house.
Cecilia checked her attire. This evening she’d worn a white satin short sleeved gown with a green cape fastened on one of her shoulders that folded over her front, almost concealing her waist, but not quite. It was pinned to her hip by a pretty diamond paste broach her mother had loaned her for the evening. A single green plume was incorporated into her hair, and a plain silver mask concealing her eyes completed the outfit.
“Lord Leighton has gone to a lot of trouble for this ball. Does he hold it yearly?”
“He does,” the duchess said, taking the glass of champagne her husband passed to her, before giving it to Cecilia. “I remember last year when I attended, my husband who wasn’t my husband at the time didn’t approve.”
The duke looked down his nose at Darcy before he grinned. “I approve now, my dear.”
Cecilia looked away as it seemed a private, husband and wife conversation was happening between the pair and she didn’t want to intrude.
“I believe Lord Aaron will be here this evening.”
“As to that, my dear.” The duke scanned the crowd, frowning a little. “Hunter may be late. I believe he’s bringing a guest.”
“Really,” the duchess said, casting a glance in Cecilia’s direction. “Who?”
Cecilia picked out Lord Aaron well before the duke said anything else, and she watched as his lordship made his way over to them. Tonight Lord Aaron seemed bedraggled, his hair hardly tamed and the stubble growth of his beard barely covered by the mask that he wore. The woman holding his arm oozed breeding and rank, and she looked stunning in her red empire style gown with gold embroidered flowers about its hem.
Cecilia turned her attention back to the dancers and tried to ignore the ringing in her ears. The room spun, and distantly she heard the duke of Athelby curse. Unable to stop herself, her attention snapped back to the pair coming toward them while she tried not to die of humiliation. Did he make sport of kissing many women in carriages and then attend balls with new lovers? Not that he owed her anything. He’d surely not promised her courtship, or that their kiss was the beginning of an understanding, but really, what was he about. As it stood, he certainly looked like the ass he’d painted himself the first day she’d met him.
Lord Aaron bowed before them, hardly glancing in her direction when he bade her a good evening.
The duchess smiled at the woman and gestured her toward Cecilia. “Miss Smith, may I introduce you to Lady Henrietta Morton, recently from Bath if memory serves me correctly.”
Lady Morton curtsied. The woman’s eyes were glassy and a little bloodshot, similar to Lord Aaron’s. “Your grace, it’s lovely to be back in town. Bath, as you understand, is only very small, and when Lord Aaron begged me to come to town, well, how could I
refuse him?”
How indeed… “You live in Bath most of the time, your ladyship?” Cecilia asked, not wanting to seem rude and uninterested in Lord Aaron’s partner. She took a calming breath and smiled tentatively even though her hands shook in her silk gloves. What a fool she’d been. A silly little game to his lordship and now his new little game was smirking at her in return.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Lady Morton asked, inspecting her as if she were a bug.
Cecilia fought not to fidget. “I’m Miss Cecilia Smith, your ladyship.” Cecilia took a glass of ratafia from a passing footman, anything to help keep her hands from giving her unease away.
“Are you related to the Smiths of Hampshire? They reside at Woodrest Abbey.”
“Ah, no,” Cecilia said, taking a sip of her drink. “My father’s a barrister and runs J Smith and Sons law firm in Cheapside.”
Her ladyship laughed, and the duchess glared at the woman, but Lady Morton took no heed of the silent warning from her better, merely continued to chuckle. “And you’re here, why? I didn’t think these events allowed people of your ilk to attend.”
Cecilia bobbed a small curtsy. “The same could be said of you, Lady Morton for you have no manners and therefore no class. Please excuse me,” she said, heading toward the retirement room, hating the fact her ladyship’s cutting remarks had gotten the better of her. She needed to get away from the woman before she said anything else as rude as what her ladyship said.
Entering the foyer, she followed a small group of women who were talking and walking toward their mutual destination. How dare Lady Morton speak to her in such a way and how dare Lord Aaron allow it. She might be of a lower class, but she was friends with a duchess, that at least should afford her some meagre amount of respect.
An arm came about her waist and pulled her into a small sitting room opposite the retirement room that she was about to enter. Before she turned, Cecilia knew who was behind her, and she masked her features before facing Lord Aaron. He had played his cards and shown their value, and she would not be fooled again.
