One Whisper Away (13 page)

She replied, but her words were lost as they moved away. At least, Jonathan thought as he skirted the edge of the formal front walk, Lord Drury hadn’t been the one to spot their approach to the mansion. If he had been, Jonathan had the feeling there might have been a much more heated confrontation.

The gate into the back gardens was locked, and yes, the place was walled, but Jonathan scaled the brick barrier without much effort, landed on the other side, and dusted off his hands. Then he strolled back toward the house, passing, as James predicted, more than a few stray couples in the gardens, until he gained the veranda.

Even if the rest of the ball proved to be as dull as the beginning, this had turned out to be quite a memorable evening.

 

At least Roderick wasn’t scowling at her the entire ride home—he chose to go off to White’s instead of accompanying them, and while Lord Drury might have noticed her absence, it didn’t seem that everyone else had, for her grandmother was in good spirits and chatting about who had attended and the quality of the food and the music.

Cecily must have given the appropriate responses, but she noticed that Eleanor replied in monosyllables, and instead of participating in the conversation, she eyed Cecily speculatively from across the carriage the entire short distance home.

Damn it all
, she thought, and then stifled an inner laugh, for she wondered if thinking in an unladylike curse might be the result of even a short time in Jonathan’s company.

Once they reached the enormous house in Mayfair, built generations ago by some ostentatious Duke of Eddington, and alighted, Eleanor followed determinedly up the grand staircase behind her, her silk skirts gathered in her hands. Cecily knew better by this time than to try to escape the coming discussion. She opened the door to her bedroom with resignation, and saw that her maid had turned down the bed and left out her nightdress.

Though she and Eleanor didn’t share a room, they did usually help each other unfasten their gowns enough so they could undress themselves and not keep their maids up to all hours waiting. Her sister shut the door firmly behind them, and said without preamble, “I think you need to explain to me what happened this evening.”

Since Roderick could easily have already told her, Cecily pulled off a glove and tossed it on an embroidered Queen Anne chair, then replied, “I went for a short walk with Lord Augustine. Please don’t tell me you didn’t think the ballroom wasn’t terribly stuffy.”

“All ballrooms are stuffy. It has never made you leave alone with a gentleman before. Really, Cecily, quite honestly, I cannot believe you were led so easily. Yes, the earl is attractive in an overpowering kind of way, I’ll grant you, but you are not a flighty miss, swayed by a few whispered words.”

“He didn’t lead me.”

“Are you telling me this ill-advised walk was your idea, when you have so much to lose?”

Unfortunately, Cecily knew exactly what she meant. Lose Lord Drury as a husband. She and her sister had always been forthright with each other until this—until now—when the issue of romance had arisen.

How to diplomatically skirt this issue?

Perhaps to just tell the shocking truth. Cecily deliberately pulled off the other glove, kicked off her satin slippers, and sank down on the bed. She clasped her hands in her lap and confessed, “He kissed me.”

Eleanor tripped over the hem of her gown and sat down hard in an opposite chair with an unladylike grunt. “He
what
?”

This evening Elle was particularly beautiful in a lemon yellow gown that set off her dark gold hair and, though tastefully modest, showcased the voluptuousness of her form. Her wide-set eyes were clear and very blue, and her skin was the color of new milk, without a single blemish. Why every man in the
haut ton
was not down on his knees was a mystery and nothing less. Besides her physical appeal she was also kind, intelligent, and insightful, which was sometimes unfortunate because of her candid nature.

“Twice.” Cecily could vividly recall the way his mouth had slanted seductively over hers, the firm, unforgettable smoothness of his lips and the wicked brush of his tongue.

Her sister stared at her, and deduced the truth easily enough. “From the look on your face, it wasn’t an unpleasant event.”

“Far from it.” She supposed she shouldn’t have been so wanton as to openly enjoy it, but she
had
enjoyed it. “I don’t know exactly how I imagined the experience. . . . I mean, I assumed kissing would be agreeable or people would not be so fond of doing it. But quite frankly, though I can’t describe it really, it was . . . exhilarating, I suppose. It is the closest I can come.”

“Was it really?” Her sister looked intrigued, effectively distracted from her disapproving lecture. “How did it come about?”

“We were walking along and he stopped in a shadowed spot . . . and, well . . .” Cecily felt a wash of heat into her face, not in true embarrassment, for this was just Elle and they had always confided in one another—apparently with the exception of her sister’s feelings for Lord Drury—but there was a surge of recollection of how Jonathan had pulled her possessively into his arms.

It had been unforgivably forward.

It had been unforgettably wonderful.

“And, well, what?” Eleanor prompted, leaning forward just a little, her blue eyes openly curious. “I’ve always wondered as well how it would be. What female doesn’t, I would guess. A first kiss must be a turning point in a woman’s life. Go on.”

“It just happened.” Cecily helplessly lifted her shoulders. “Of course, you are standing very close, so that of itself is quite startling, and he is quite tall and much larger and his arms very strong—”

“He didn’t force himself on you, did he?”

“Of course not!” She responded to the interruption scathingly. “Good heavens, Elle, if he had would I be rhapsodizing over the experience? And secondly, Jonathan would never do such a thing.”

“Jonathan?” Her sister’s brows shot up at the use of his first name. “You know him so well?”

The skepticism irked her. “I know
that
about him. No force was needed, nor would he use it.”

“I see.” Eleanor sighed heavily. “I was afraid this would happen, Ci. You are becoming infatuated with Augustine. The other evening when he came and sat by you, I saw your face and wondered then if there wasn’t a cauldron of trouble ahead. Couldn’t you have chosen someone less scandalous?”

And I’ve seen your face when you look at Lord Drury
. She almost said it out loud but stopped herself. The admission of her sister’s feelings for the viscount had to come from Eleanor. If Cecily gave any hint of already knowing, her sister would suspect immediately that her refusal of his proposal had something to do with her.

It did, actually, but her opposition to the engagement had become much more complicated after those two passionate, enlightening kisses with Lord Augustine.

Was she infatuated? Maybe she was, for her pulse quickened at the thought of seeing him again tomorrow.

And if there was the
slightest
opportunity, she would make sure they had a moment alone.

“Do we get a choice?” she asked lightly, lifting her skirts to unfasten a garter and roll down a stocking. “I’m beginning to believe that what happens is fickle fate choosing for us. I’m drawn to him, Elle. I have been from that first moment when I thought he was going to offer me his handkerchief and he did something else entirely.”

“Yes, I remember it.” Eleanor pursed her mouth, but there was a flash of amusement in her eyes. “The collective gasp from the ballroom was heard by all.”

“He doesn’t lack in audacity.”

“No.” Eleanor glanced away and then squared her shoulders. “I understand he has a child.”

It wasn’t as if she expected Eleanor, of all people, to skirt the subject. Cecily said neutrally, “So I’ve heard as well.”

“Word has it he wouldn’t marry her mother.”

“I have no idea what happened between them.” Although if she admitted it, Cecily
was
curious. Maybe—after those meltingly tender kisses, maybe even a bit envious of this mysterious woman who had enjoyed his passion . . . borne his child. . . . She needed to stop right there.

This was about her thwarted engagement to Lord Drury.

Wasn’t it?

After that romantic walk, she wasn’t as sure.

A
dela was sleeping soundly, small in the large bed because he’d refused to make her stay in the nursery on another floor. He wanted her close by, so she had a room in the family wing just down the hall from the earl’s suite.

It wasn’t how it was done, but then again, he wasn’t exactly a proper English gentleman anyway, and when it came to his child, he was just a concerned father.

Her long dark hair was soft under his fingers as he sat in the chair at her bedside, a faint smile curving his mouth when he saw the doll clutched in her arms. His father had given it to her on his last visit, the delicate gift all porcelain pale face and golden curls, with an elaborate lace-trimmed gown and even a proper English parasol. Addie had been entirely too young at the time for such an expensive possession, but from the moment she saw it, she adored it and never slept without it.

Her nursemaid, clad in a robe, was used to his nightly visits and bobbed a curtsy from the doorway, evidently having heard him come in. Then she went back into the adjoining room.

He wanted more children.

Considering Cecily’s proposal, perhaps it was.

It was a startling realization, but then again, it had been an unusual day. Had that feeling always been there? he asked himself, staring at his sleeping little daughter. It was hard to sift out the complex reactions of being a parent from the equally perplexing emotions involved in any relationship between a man and a woman, but yes, as he bent over and lightly kissed his daughter’s cheek, he knew without equivocation that he wanted more children. He needed an heir anyway, didn’t he?

Jonathan rose and left, quietly closing the door behind him and heading down the hall toward his suite.

To his surprise Lillian was still awake. Jonathan could see the line of light under the door, which meant she was in her sitting room, no doubt reading again, for that seemed to be her favorite pastime. He walked by on the way to his own suite, stopped, hesitated, and then turned around to go and knock lightly.

It had been an evening of impulsive behavior already, he thought wryly. His half sister opened the door, clad in her nightdress and robe, her rich hair loose. She gazed at him in open question. “Oh, it’s you. . . . It’s rather late, my lord.”

The prim edge in her voice didn’t deter him. “Yet we are both still awake. May I come in?”

For a moment he thought maybe she would refuse, but she grudgingly inclined her head and stepped back. “It is your house, after all.”

He was beginning to experience a certain level of irritation with her stubborn attitude over his new role as earl, though he did understand it to an extent.

Yet they had
both
lost their father, and he felt it keenly too, even though he had been far away at the time and wasn’t now dependent on someone else. However, they needed a truce of some kind, and whether she liked it or not, Jonathan wasn’t inclined to let her shut herself away. If she didn’t wish to marry, he would support her comfortably, of course, but in his experience hiding from a problem usually made it worse, and he was beginning to think that was exactly what she was doing.

While Carole and Betsy were ingenuously open, chattering about the ball on the carriage ride home, laughing with the simple enjoyment of young ladies who were in the full flush of their debut, Lillian was a much more complicated proposition.

He was right about the books. They were scattered everywhere: on the marble-topped table, by a Queen Anne chair near the fireplace, on the mantel, the floor . . .

Jonathan picked up an open volume of Shakespearean sonnets on a settee and sat down opposite his sister, murmuring, “Are there any left in the library?”

That won him a smile—albeit a small one. Lillian regarded him with those crystalline blue eyes. “I think maybe a few are still on the shelves. Did you wish to talk to me about my reading habits at this hour? I thought you usually were out on that wild horse of yours.”

“He’s hardly wild. He lets Addie sit on his back and walks around as placid as a pony.”

“I would never risk that.”

“If it was a risk, neither would I.” Jonathan stretched out his legs negligently and held her gaze. “Is there some new inventive reason you did not accompany us this evening?”

“I had a headache.”

“Perhaps you should see a physician. It seems to be a persistent problem, Lily.”

Her hair fell in a curtain across her face as she bowed her head and looked at her clasped hands, but the supplicant pose lasted only a moment. He’d already learned that Lady Lillian did not relish sympathy of any kind. Her chin came up, her gaze level. “I’ve already told you I am ruined. Why would I endure the sly looks and whispers if instead I can have a quiet evening at home and enjoy a good book?”

“I wonder if it would be as bad as you think. No one has said a word to me about whatever blemish you think is on your past.”

Her brief laugh this time held derision. “Of course not. They are all afraid of you. Trust me, Jonathan, no one is going to insult me in your presence.”

Earl Savage
. He supposed he should be amused that his notoriety was actually useful in that aspect, but truthfully he sensed the hurt in the dignified way she held herself so upright in her chair. In the steadiness of how she met his eyes without flinching and, more than that, in the stubborn set of her mouth. She’d inherited that from their father. Jonathan remembered it very well. After a moment of careful consideration, he responded, “Then why not attend some social engagements with me? No one will slight you, and you might enjoy yourself.”