“I tracked you. Arthur taught me much about woodcraft. He was very skilled.”
Lionel looked down for a moment, when he looked back his gaze was sharper. The surprise of seeing her seemed to have been sloughed away like a discarded overcoat. Cecilia felt a drop of water on her forehead and squinted at the thick foliage above.
“Was that a drop of rain? I did not see a cloud in the sky when I left the castle.”
“What are you doing here, Cecilia?” Lionel said coldly.
The ice in his tone stung her but Cecilia firmed her jaw and returned his gaze steadily. Another, larger drop of rain struck the top of her head but she ignored it.
“I wanted to speak to my husband. I wanted my husband’s company after eight agonizing days spent in loneliness. I am sorry but no matter how many times you say it, I cannot reconcile myself to being less than your wife.”
“Did my absence not tell you something about my desire for company?”
“It did, but I wished to know precisely where I stand. And for you to know the same,” Cecilia replied.
The drops were coming thicker and faster now, filtering through the woodland canopy. Lionel glanced upward in irritation, then at her dress which was becoming darker in spots where the rain was striking it.
“For goodness sake, come inside. There is some shelter in here,” he finally said, stepping aside from the doorway.
But Cecilia did not move. She felt the uncomfortable wet, coldness of the rain and knew that it would soon completely ruin her dress. However, she was determined. If Lionel did not care for her then it would not matter if she got wet or even ended up in bed with a fever. It would solve his problem in fact—make the task of avoiding her far more simple.
Cecilia stood her ground, watching him. Her heart pounded as he studied her through narrowed eyes. This could be the moment that her happiness hung upon. He might shrug and tell her that not only did he wish to avoid scandal but had no further desire to touch her again. He might walk away and leave her cold, shivering, and alone. Or…
“Get inside woman. I did not have that dress made for you so it could be drenched in the rain. We can discuss it in the dry, can we not?” Lionel snapped.
He sounded exasperated, and actually stepped out through the door and extended a hand to her. He was only yards away but Cecilia hesitated, examining his face. Finally, she took his hand and allowed him to draw her into its interior.
Well, it could hardly be called an interior. Part of the ceiling survived to provide a sheltered corner in which there were two chairs and a bureau as well as a formidable-looking iron safe. Lionel ushered her beneath the dubious shelter of the ceiling, which tilted towards one corner and was producing a steady drip of rain from that edge. Cecilia shook her long, auburn hair, running fingers through it to stroke out the excess water that had begun to darken and dampen it. The restricted shelter meant that she now stood close to Lionel. He looked down at her silently and she was, once more, acutely aware of his powerful masculinity. It was as intoxicating as a potent wine, making her heart skip and her breathing come fast and hard.
“This is an odd place for a study, is it not?” Cecilia chimed.
She could see the shutters slamming shut behind his eyes at the question and cursed herself for it. It would just make it seem to him as though she was prying.
“I do not wish to know your secrets if you do not wish to share them. I was simply making an observation,” she added hurriedly.
“I apologize for how our last conversation ended rather… abruptly. I lost control of myself again,” Lionel muttered, as though he had not heard, “I gave in to a primitive drive that had nothing to do with reason or civilized behavior. And I have avoided you, in earnest, to prevent it from happening again.”
Cecilia could not help but laugh. It was sudden and involuntary, partially sparked by the look of utter seriousness on Lionel’s face. That face darkened at the laughter.
“Have I said something amusing?” he asked, quietly.
“I am sorry,” Cecilia smiled, quelling the laughter, “but surely civilization as we know it would not exist without that drive which you seek to demean by calling it… what? Animal? Primitive? You are more intelligent than that, Lionel.”
Her words clearly stung him. He moved away, face pinched and Cecilia regretted her levity. He was a proud man it seemed and did not like the idea of being made sport of.
“I do not say that to poke fun. I simply do not see what we have done as any kind of primitive urge. Merely a natural one. I apologize for laughing,” Cecilia continued.
Lionel turned back to her. “You realize how your words might make you seem in the eyes of some? A gentlewoman of England calling the things we have done as anything but animal lust? Surely, that is not the behavior of a gentleman?”
“Do you believe that?” Cecilia asked, astonished. “You took my maidenhead. As you would expect. I have never more than kissed a man before and even that was the innocence of girlhood. You may have lain with many women for all I am aware.”
“Not many, but some,” Lionel murmured.
“As I would expect. As I believe it normal for a young man of your age. I do not judge. How can you judge me for enjoying my husband’s body and the way he uses mine?”
There was a touch of anger in her now. Anger and frustration at having to justify what should have been beautiful and natural. Perhaps not every Duke and Duchess made love in the open air though. Perhaps not every Duke and Duchess reveled in their nakedness and the sheer sensuality of their conjoined bodies as they had done. Cecilia was prepared to accept that but not to be judged by a man who had been equal partner and participant.
“I do not judge you,” Lionel sighed, “never that. And I agree, there is no shame in what we did. It was primitive and animalistic but I would be a hypocrite if I said it was wrong.”
