“Now, now, my lady, I merely acted in what I saw as the best interests of a vulnerable young woman. The Duke is an odd man—who knows what such a man might be capable of,” Sir Gerald shrugged smoothly.
That was the final blow.
Cecilia could not put up with this boyish act of his any longer. “Or rather, such a man as you! It was you after all that caused my dress to be ruined,” she finally snapped, anger shaping her tone.
The slap from Aunt Margaret snapped her head to the side and left her cheek stinging. Cecilia gaped at her aunt in shock. Margaret was white, lips pressed together and eyes blazing.
“Don’t you dare cast aspersions on an honorable young man when you are the one who was caught red-handed, about to enter into very dishonorable behavior indeed!”
“I was not!” Cecilia protested.
“And still you remain so impertinent!” Rupert roared. “You have disgraced yourself and us. I will not hear another word from your mouth. Not one! I will cast you out and leave you to the poor house otherwise. Ungrateful child!”
Cecilia suppressed her anger at the injustice of the situation. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away furiously, biting her lip. They were not tears of fear or distress. Those tears were hot with rage. She had been assaulted and the man responsible was covering his crime by attaching it to another, casting Cecilia’s character into question at the same time.
Rupert was more than capable, she believed, of making good on his threat. She knew that her aunt and uncle resented her presence in their home—her dependence on them. Often, she had wondered why they continued to let her live with them at Hamilton Hall at all. They could very easily have moved her intoa cottage on the estate, there were many such places which had once belonged to weavers until the mills had begun to erode that trade. She had listened to her uncle bemoaning the loss of income many times, yet had never acted on it.
What she truly wanted now was to get up and walk out of the room, never to see either of them again. Alas, she could not. There was nowhere for her to go. Her brother’s estates were in the hands of her uncle. The home she had shared with Arthur was let out by Rupert, to recoup the cost of keeping Cecilia, according to him. And if she were without a home or means to support herself, she would be vulnerable to a man like Sir Gerald. So, she bit her tongue, clasped her hands in her lap, and endured.
Suddenly, the doors to the study flung open and Lionel stormed into the chamber.
“I am informed you have invited yourselves into my private study. I would like to know why,” he grated as he took a seat behind the enormous desk, hands planted on its polished surface.
“I am the one to demand, Your Grace,” Uncle Rupert shot back. “I found my niece in your servant’s quarters, dressed like a peasant because her own clothes were torn. From what activity, I know not, but you were seen with her last, alone. What is your explanation!”
Lionel glared at him. Rupert had risen, clutching his lapels as though making a speech. The glare dropped him to his seat aseffectively as a blow to the chin. Lionel’s eyes narrowed and he looked from Rupert to Cecilia. She felt a chill run through her body to be so regarded and hoped desperately that he did not think her in league with her aunt and uncle.
“Who told you her dress was ripped?” he asked quietly.
“I stopped a maid who was carrying it. I recognized the garment, having spoken to Miss Sinclair a few moments earlier,” Sir Gerald began.
“And why were you in the servant’s wing?” Lionel asked.
“I was lost,” he replied with a smile. “This is doubtless such a big house. Such a maze.”
Lionel’s eyes went back to Cecilia and she felt herself weighed and measured. She reminded herself that she should despise this man. He had killed Arthur! His cryptic statement to the contrary was meaningless unless he could offer proof. She had to keep that image of him in mind, because otherwise… otherwise, his magnetism would draw her like a siren song. His beauty, his physical perfection, the way he made her knees turn to jelly and her heart fly, she would be lost to him forever.
“I see. You believe that Miss Sinclair is compromised,” Lionel muttered.
“Of course she is!” Margaret almost shrieked, “And we demand satisfaction!”
Lionel smiled but without joy or mirth. “You wish to challenge me to a duel, madam? Or your husband? Or this tomfool?”
Margaret shifted in her seat and Rupert remained silent when she glanced at him. Sir Gerald cleared his throat.
“I would defend Miss Sinclair’s honor with my body. With my life even. Such is the duty of a gentleman. But I would always strive to resolve differences peaceably. It appears it is in your nature to resort to other measures.”
Lionel’s face grew dark. “Speak plainly, sir. You accuse me of being a violent man?”
“You are a man… ofviolence. I can personally attest to that. As can the late nephew of my good friends, the Sinclairs,” Sir Gerald replied matter-of-factly.
Lionel rose, hands still planted on the desk. He loomed above Sir Gerald and his face was one ready for murder. It seemed though, that his grip on the desk was anchoring him, keeping him from the other man’s throat.
“Enough of this posturing. You have been caught, Your Grace, in a compromising position with my niece. My husband and I, as her guardians, demand satisfaction, or…”
“Orwhat?” Lionel remarked, head whipping in her direction.
“Or we will ruin you,” Rupert stated calmly, and with a subtle smile exchanged with Sir Gerald.
