“Touche,” Arthur replied.
“I was just saying to Arthur how remarkable this house is, Lionel,” Cecilia said, her voice soft and inviting, “would it be imposing to ask for a tour and perhaps something of its history?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “My sister has an inordinate interest in such dreary subjects as history and literature, I’m afraid. Give me sport and a mug of ale over a book any day.
Lionel’s mouth twitched at the corner and his eyes narrowed. “I remember from our days at Westlands. Your love of sport saw you whipped far more often than I.”
“Worth every stroke,” Arthur grinned, “books are for librarians.”
Cecilia giggled softly. “I have never heard those stories! I suppose that is why you insisted I learn fencing, brother. To be entirely truthful, Lionel, my brother’s insistence on these lessons meant I had heard quite a bit about you even before our acquaintance.”
Lionel’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a spark of intrigue lighting in his eyes. “You? Fencing?”
“Oh, indeed,” Cecilia replied, her gaze holding his a moment longer than necessary. “Arthur mentioned more than once that his skills were sharpened under your tutelage, if I’m correct?”
Lionel chuckled, stepping slightly closer to her, the space between them becoming tantalizingly small. “I had no idea. Perhaps one day we might spar together. I would love to see if your brother’s teachings did my lessons justice.”
Arthur groaned good-naturedly, breaking the moment. “Enough of that. When are we to start the hunt, Lionel? My patience wanes.”
“Soon enough, old boy. We await one more guest, a friend of Arabella’s. And as for the tour, Miss Sinclair, I will ask my man, Blackwood, to show you around the castle and give you an account of its history. He has served my family since birth and knows more about Thornhill than any man living.”
Cecilia found herself smiling brightly, touched at the consideration Lionel was taking. She knew that while the men who had been invited to Thornhill were hunting, the womenwould be gathered in a drawing room and would talk over tea. She had little aptitude for the kind of gossip that was the primary discourse in those gatherings, remembering hours of tedium as a young girl, sitting beside her mother and listening to the conversations going back and forth. Afterward, her mother would translate the seemingly innocuous comments, stripping away the surface meaning to expose petty squabbles and sniping. The prospect of exploring such a dramatic residence as Thornhill Castle was much more appealing to her.
“I should be delighted, Lionel. Thank you very much.”
Lionel actually smiled, and it transformed his face. The austere expression was gone and a joyous life seemed to appear like a blossoming sunrise. His green eyes, previously the hardest emerald, became the light shade of grass, soft and comfortable. Cecilia, always quick to smile by nature, found herself mirroring his expression while lost in the verdant depths of his eyes. A moment stretched into eternity and then Arthur cleared his throat. Cecilia jumped and Lionel blinked, turning away hurriedly.
“Yes, well, I shall lay that on for you. Come through and meet the company, both of you. No one you haven’t met before, Penrose. Several people for your brother to introduce you to, Cecilia… I mean, Miss Sinclair. Yes, come through, come through.”
He was talking in a breathless rush and hurrying away. Cecilia found herself blushing with such fury, she could feel the heat of her cheeks. Arthur looked from one to the other with a raised eyebrow and a quizzical expression. He offered hisarm to Cecilia, who gave him a wide-eyed stare above lips compressed to a white line. It told him she would tolerate no teasing. Duke Lionel Grisham of Thornhill was a man engaged to be married. There would be no flirtation and the moment that had just passed between them was a mere trifle. Hardly worth commenting on. So she wouldn’t. And neither would her maddeningly mischievous brother. Or there would be consequences.
“Shall I give you a moment to dispel those scarlet cheeks, dear sister?” he smirked.
“You will not,” Cecilia said with as much dignity as she could muster.
Lionel was a man happily promised to another. Doubtless Arabella Wycliff was a famed beauty and a woman of accomplishment and rank. Cecilia Sinclair, orphan and ward of her brother, the Earl of Penrose, would be no competition. Even that thought increased the heat in her cheeks. The very thought that there could be any question of competition with herself as the victor in particular. Nonsense. But she could not forget the frisson she had felt when looking into Lionel’s eyes. The quake that had begun somewhere deep within her at the proximity of such masculinity. His height and the breadth of both chest and shoulders made her breathless to think of.
She smoothed the cream skirt of her new dress, bought for her by Arthur from London for her birthday the month before. Its bodice was a pale green that complimented her brown eyes and bronze hair. Wearing it made Cecilia feel beautiful. It was thefinest gown she had ever worn and it gave her a thrill to know that Lionel had seen her in it, that he had seen her at her best. Once again, Cecilia berated herself for a foolish fantasy that could never come to be. Best to forget Arthur’s handsome and enigmatic friend.
Lionel stood at the door in the screen that led to the part of the Great Hall in which his other guests were mingling and talking. As Cecilia and Arthur reached him, there came a raised voice from the far end of the hall. Cecilia happened to be looking at Lionel as the voice rang out and saw his expression change. Green eyes narrowed and his chin lifted. There was tension in the muscles of his neck and jaw and a hand at his side clenched into a fist. Arthur turned and Cecilia saw the tightness in his features. Arthur was a happy, smiling man but now there was almost an expression of open hostility on his face. She looked for the cause of this sudden tension.
Approaching across the hall was a man with black hair, curling close to his scalp and short. His skin was pale and his body slender. As he approached, she saw that he had pale blue eyes and something of a resemblance to Lionel. But while the Duke was powerful and strong, this man was lean and whip-like. On his arm was a beautiful woman. She had golden hair and was tall, moving with grace and deliberation. Her lips possessed a pout that made them seem full and luscious but her blue eyes were cold. Cecilia was left with the impression that her beauty was the product of a great deal of work rather than something bestowed by nature.
“Your Grace!” the slender man said, looking at Lionel, “I do so apologize for my tardiness. But look who I bumped into as I arrived!”
“Lord Thorpe. Welcome,” Lionel replied stiffly.
The blonde woman left Thorpe’s side and crossed to Lionel, kissing his cheek and taking his arm.
“Cecilia, may I introduce my fiancée, Arabella Wycliff. Arabella, this is Cecilia Sinclair, sister to Lord Penrose, whom you already know.”
Icy blue eyes swept over Cecilia and rosebud lips smiled. Cecilia was left feeling that she had been weighed and measured by those eyes.
“Miss Sinclair. How nice to meet you,” she spoke.
“My Lady,” Cecilia replied politely.
“And may I introduce Lord Gordon Locke, Viscount of Thorpe,” Lionel continued.
