Even though Cecily had been more friendly, warmer to him, a bit of a grudge had lingered in her. Now, unexpectedly, it was gone; even the hurt had evaporated. She felt lighter, happier, and she gripped his hand tighter.
He looked across at her. “What is it? What are you thinking? You’ve been so quiet.”
“I was wondering what I could give you as a present, and now I know. I am going to give you the books! The leather-bound books in my flat. They’re the kind of history books you love.”
Miles was taken aback. “You can’t give them to me, Cecily. They’re worth a fortune.”
“Yes, I can. I can. They’re mine. I want you to have them. They’re all about Julius Caesar … they’re meant for you.”
* * *
Miles asked Cecily to dance, and she agreed. Now he led her out onto the dance floor, held her tightly, but not too close to him. He was afraid she would be annoyed if he did that. He didn’t want to step over the line.
She had been so much more relaxed with him lately, not so cold and aloof. And tonight she had almost been like her old self, obviously attempting to make him feel better. He must maintain the status quo.
“Thank you for being so nice,” he murmured against her hair. “It’s been a lovely evening with you, Ceci.”
“I wanted it to be fun,” she whispered back. “And you needed a happy evening. So did I.”
The slow foxtrot finished and abruptly the tempo of the music changed. Suddenly everyone was dancing the Charleston, Cecily included.
Miles stared at her. She was laughing, full of gaiety. He felt so heartened that he too took up this latest craze, and adroitly moved around Cecily, hopping and swaying as if his life depended on it.
* * *
Later, when they returned to the table, Cecily leaned forward and said, “I had some wonderful news from Dorothy today. I’ve had my biggest year ever in business.”
A huge smile spread across Miles’s face, and he exclaimed, “Congratulations! And why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
She shrugged and laughed. “I wanted to just be … with you … enjoying being together.”
“Well done, my darling Ceci.”
“Thank you. I was startled because Dottie told me we made a lot of money from the accessories, which I’ve been designing for the last six years, but more like a hobby.”
Looking into her eyes, he murmured, “You are the most remarkable person I’ve ever known, Cecily Swann.”
Twenty-six
Miles sat in front of the fire in the sitting room, holding the book. Earlier he had put a match to the paper and wood chips in the grate, since it had turned cold, and the fire burned brightly now, taking the chill out of the air.
He leaned back against the sofa cushions and finally looked down at the book, his right hand moving across the beautiful burgundy leather. Then he opened it and turned the pages. It was in perfect condition, a valuable book, and he did not want to take it, especially since it was part of a set. He knew he had no choice. She would be hurt if he refused to accept it.
She had put it in his hand when they had returned to her flat in Charles Street, after their lovely evening at the Savoy. Now she was in the kitchen making tea. She had given him a cognac when they had first got back, because he had told her he felt chilled to the bone. He reached for the balloon, took a swallow of the Napoleon brandy, then put it back on the table next to him.
He realized she had given him the book because she wanted him to have a special memory of tonight. They had often done that as children. And it was a good memory after a bad day. The evening had been unique, had made him feel happy, an emotion long absent in his sad life.
He smoothed his hand over the book again, liking its silkiness. It was about the childhood of Julius Caesar, a childhood he knew by heart. But he would read it again, because he couldn’t help himself. History had been his best subject at Eton; it was a hobby these days, one he shared with Harry. Her brother also found comfort, solace, and wisdom in the histories of great men, long dead. It was a bond between them.
Hearing her footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder. She had changed her clothes, was wearing the loose casual trousers she had made so popular with women the world over, and a floaty matching top, and he saw why they were such a favorite. Comfort, he thought.
“Here I am,” she exclaimed. “And I’ve brought lemon slices and a pot of honey for the tea. You know how prone to colds you are.”
He smiled inwardly at her comment, a line she had learned from Mrs. Jackson throughout their childhood. Cook had fussed over him like a mother hen. Seemingly it was Cecily’s turn to do the same.
Placing the tray on a circular table near the window, she poured cups of tea, plopped in teaspoonsful of honey, and brought the cups over to the fireplace.
“It’s warmer now, with the fire,” she murmured, and sat back in the chair. Her eyes fell on the book. “Every time I think you need a gift to cheer you up, I shall give you another book. There are ten in the set.”
“I know that, Ceci, and that’s why I didn’t want to take this one. They are too valuable, really they are. You must keep them.”
“Oh pooh! They’re meant for you. And I didn’t pay much for them anyway.”
“Because the woman probably didn’t know their true value.”
“But they are mine now, and I can do what I want with them.”
Miles sighed, placed the book on the table, and drank some of the tea. After a moment, he asked, “Why did you buy this flat in Chesterfield Street?”
Looking puzzled, she frowned. “It was the right size for me, with four bedrooms. I can have Harry and my parents to stay, and I still have the fourth bedroom, which I use as an office. Don’t you like it?”
“I do, yes, very much. It’s a nice size, you’re correct, Ceci.” A small smile flickered on his mouth. “I remember how you often said you wanted to live in Mayfair when you were living with your aunt Dorothy in Kensington.”
She laughed. “And now I do.”
“I also recall one night, years ago, when I walked up Curzon Street, feeling morose, somber, and ready to run as far away from Mayfair as I could get. And suddenly I was in South Audley Street, and standing outside your little hole-in-the-wall. I think I’d gone there purposely, just to feel your vibrations. It was late at night; I knew you weren’t there. But I hoped your spirit was floating about. I just wanted to be near you. There was a sign on the door. It said ‘Shop for Rent.’ I couldn’t believe it. I panicked, couldn’t imagine where you’d gone, I was so worried about you. I knew then, without the slightest doubt, that I would worry about you for the rest of my life. And love you for the rest of my life—”
Miles cut himself off, leaned back against the sofa, his throat tight with overwhelming emotion. He was unable to say another word as that awful night came rushing back to him in every painful detail.
Cecily, sitting in the chair opposite him, remained quiet, understanding his suffering. Her heart went out to him. Every vestige of her hurt and anger with him had dissipated in the last few weeks. She had only love for him now. Once she realized he had regained his equilibrium, she asked, “And what did you do then?”
Slowly, in a gruff voice, he explained, “At first, I did nothing. I just stood there. Frozen. I truly understood I was stuck in a place from which I could not retreat. There was no way out. And unexpectedly I thought of Caesar when he had stood at the Rubicon, wondering if he should cross the river and march on Rome. He was a Roman, about to make war on the senate and his own city. He fully understood that he would be committing treason. And for a moment he hesitated…”
Miles paused, took several deep swallows of the cognac, and was silent for a moment. Nursing the cognac, focusing on Cecily, he went on, “Caesar looked behind him and saw his great army. Thousands and thousands of men in armor geared up to do battle for him. He knew he had no choice. ‘The die is cast,’ he said to the general by his side. And so he marched on Rome. And there was I,
six years ago now, also caught in a trap. And I thought to myself, the die is cast. In other words, the decision has been made and is irrevocable.”
He shook his head and then put the cognac down on the table. “I knew I had to follow the road I’d been put on. Look where it got me! Unlike Caesar, who won, I did not. I lost you, and in doing so I lost everything of value in my life.” Miles put his head in his hands and began to weep, overcome by his feelings.
Cecily had tears in her eyes and she jumped up, went to sit next to him on the sofa. Reaching out, she gently pulled his hands away from his face, wiped away the tears on his cheeks with her fingertips.
She said quietly, her voice full of love, “It’s all right, Miles, I am here now. I’m going to be with you for the rest of my life. And yours. No matter what happens, I will never leave you. Never. I promise.”
For a split second, Miles thought he had not heard her correctly. Blinking, straightening, he stared at her, puzzlement lurking in his eyes. And at that moment he saw the yearning on her face, and the love and desire for him.
Instantly Miles grabbed hold of her, pulled her into his arms, and held her close. Against her hair, he said, “Oh God, I love you so much, Ceci. I can’t live without you. Life means nothing if you’re not by my side.”
“And I feel the same … we must be together now, whatever happens, Miles. We can’t worry about the rest of the world. It’s just the two of us now.”
They drew apart, stood up. Still clutching each other, they went out of the sitting room and down the corridor to Cecily’s bedroom. In the dim light they frantically struggled out of their clothes, then they stood apart, gazing at each other in disbelief.
At exactly the same moment, they moved toward each other, their arms outstretched, desire flooding their faces. They clung together in the middle of the bedroom.
The years fell away, and they were at ease with each other as they had always been. They knew what was going to happen.
They could hardly wait as thoughts of the pleasure and joy they would share took hold of them. Already their bodies were aflame, just as their thoughts were racing in great anticipation.
Cecily felt she was burning up. The heat started between her legs and was running all the way to her face.
Miles was pressing her closer to him, his hands tight on her buttocks, and she felt his hardness against her stomach. He had an enormous erection; a thrill shot through her. She could hardly wait to hold him in her arms, to love him, make him hers.
Taking a step backward, she took hold of his hand and led him to the bed.
They lay down together, stretched out side by side. Miles murmured, “I can’t believe we’re here together like this, Ceci. Like we used to be. It’s a miracle.”
“A miracle wrought by Charlotte Swann. And I, for one, am thankful. I can’t wait, Miles. I want us to make love. Now. Please touch me. Please. I want you so much.”
Pushing himself up on one elbow, Miles looked down at her, his love spilling out of him. “I want you too. I’m aching with desire for you, Ceci. I feel as if I’m about to explode. But I’m also afraid to touch you, to begin … because I’ll devour you too fast. I want to love you, give you pleasure, and savor you. It’s been so long, I want our loving to last for a while, not be over in a few minutes.”
Looking up into those bright blue eyes she had known and loved for as long as she could remember, she said, “Whatever you wish, Miles. I do know I need you to touch me everywhere, have your hands all over me. It must be the way it was before. We must do the same things we did to each other back then…” Her voice trailed off.
He remembered those years, before his marriage, and vividly so; her words only served to inflame him. He grew even harder, bent over her, kissed her passionately. His tongue went into her mouth, curled around hers. She responded ardently and he went on kissing her, their tongues entwined. Her arms were around his back, her hands tight on his shoulder blades. She was trembling, her passion for him soaring.
Responding to her fervency, Miles kissed her breasts and nipples. They hardened, exciting her more, and thrilling him. A moan escaped her lips and he knew instantly she was ready for him, wanted to possess him, have his body joined to hers.
He held himself still for a moment, endeavoring to control his own surging desire. And then he gave in to it; he just couldn’t help himself. They were both at fever pitch.
Slowly he began to stroke her breasts, running his hand down over her stomach and onto her thighs. He let it linger there for a moment, and then he found her womanhood, touched her the way she liked. As his strokes became more insistent, he felt the beginning of her spasms. She stiffened, crying out.
Miles stopped abruptly. He moved her legs, rolled on top of her, and slid into her expertly. Wanting to share her oncoming pleasure, he went deeper, filling her with himself. His hands slipped under her buttocks and he lifted her closer to him. Then he stopped moving, realizing he was on the very edge.
“Mine,” he mumbled, his voice thick with desire. “Mine.”
“Forever,” Cecily whispered, and thrust her body against his. Her long legs went high around his back, and she gave herself up to him completely. Her arms were hard against his shoulders, her hands in his hair.
“Is this what you want?” she asked, her voice as hoarse as his.
“Yes, oh yes,” he moaned. His passion flared, grew more intense. He was wallowing in the warm damp heat of her, the velvet softness. She was his woman. There could be no other. And he was her man, the only one who could turn her into this voluptuous lover, the only man who could give her pleasure.
Cecily was whispering his name over and over again. They were both filled with the same urgent passion they had shared time and again, aware it was a melding of their bodies and souls. They belonged to each other. Waves of intense pleasure carried them into a state of ecstasy, and when they reached the pinnacle they were one being, one soul, and were complete.
* * *
Miles lay on top of Cecily, for a moment unable to move. He was weak from pleasure, love, and total happiness.
Realizing he was probably too heavy, he slid out of her, curled his body around hers, and kissed the back of her neck. “I’d like to stay the night, Ceci. Can I?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she answered, smiling.
“Is Mrs. Granger off until Monday?” he asked.
“She is, yes.”
“Shall we stay in bed for the entire weekend then?” Miles said, grinning.
“I thought you’d never suggest it. Of course. And there’s plenty of food; we can have picnics in bed.”
“And make love,” Miles added, and pulled her into his arms. “Starting right now.”
Twenty-seven
After she hung up on Miles, Daphne’s hand remained resting on the receiver, her expression reflective, her mind on Cecily and Miles. He had spent the night with her. They were back together. They were in for trouble, she was certain of that.
She worried about Miles. What if Cecily decided she did not want to marry him? After all, she had a huge business. Cecily might break his heart in the long run, by rejecting him if he became free.
Daphne sat back in the chair, glancing around the library. She couldn’t help thinking, yet again, what an enormous room it was.
In fact, the whole house was enormous. They didn’t need a house as big as this in London; the family hardly spent any time here. We could sell it, she thought, her mind always on money these days. If her father agreed. Before going off on his honeymoon, he had confided that he planned to spend more time in London, now that he was married to Charlotte.
Sighing under her breath, Daphne rang the bell for Eric Swann, the butler, whom they called Eric because there were so many Swanns around.
She walked over to the fireplace and stood with her back to it, liking the warmth of the flames. It was a cool day for September, and there had been a chill in the air for several days.
A moment later
there was a knock on the door, and Eric entered. “Yes, m’lady, do you need me for something?”
“I do, Eric. Please close the door and come in. There are a couple of things I need to speak to you about.”
The butler nodded. Eric Swann had a good look of Walter Swann, Cecily’s father. They were first cousins but could easily be mistaken for brothers, so alike were they in appearance. Both of them were striking, tall, and carried themselves well. The London butler was as devoted to the Inghams as Hanson was in Yorkshire, and in particular to Lady Daphne.
Once Eric was standing next to her near the fireplace, Daphne said, sotto voce, “I have to confide something, Eric. I know it will go no further.”
“I took the oath, Lady Daphne,” Eric reminded her, putting out his clenched hand. “Loyalty binds me.”
She placed her clenched fist on the top of his, and repeated, “Loyalty binds me.” A moment later, she drew closer, and murmured in the same low voice, “Can you provide me with someone who can pick a lock?”
If the butler was startled he did not show it. “It all depends, my lady. If it’s an innocent picking of a lock, I can do that myself, with a small tool I have. Do you have a problem with a lock in the house, Lady Daphne?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t, and it’s not so innocent either, Eric, I’m afraid. That’s why I asked for your confidence. Let me explain.”
Eric listened attentively as she told him about the missing jewels and the discovery made in July, on the day of the earl’s marriage; the absence of Felicity on holiday in France; her return to London only recently; and now the necessity of reclaiming the pieces.
“It’s been very frustrating for me,” Daphne explained. “Not being able to do anything for so long. However, now that my mother is back I must go to her house and get the jewels. They’re in a locked cupboard. Wilson is my ally, and she will do anything to help. I just need a plan.”
“Doesn’t Wilson have the key to the cupboard, m’lady?”
“No, she doesn’t. My mother keeps that key herself. And Wilson has no idea where she hides it.”
The Cavendon Women Page 15
