“I’m sorry. I know you do not like to talk of revenge.”
“I do not like to think of anything that might put you in harm’s way,” Cecilia corrected. “Revenge can be double-edged, can it not? Able to cut the wielder of its blade as well as its target.”
“Not if properly wielded. Have no more thoughts of it. I will ensure that I am not cut,” he murmured with dark conviction, before patting her on her shoulder twice and making to stand, presumably to meet with Mr. Lennox once more.
Cecilia's heart ached with a longing she could not voice. For she felt she had no right to control her husband’s life—the guilt of possibly ruining his name and trapping him in a marriage to begin with still lingered, despite everything.
“I think I will get some rest,” she sighed, before making for the bed.
“Grand idea. I shall find you in a few hours.”
CHAPTER 23
“Menzies is waiting for me in the breakfast room,” Lionel said.
Cecilia blinked blearily at the bright sunlight flooding the room the following morning. Lionel was dressing, covering his wonderful body with those dratted clothes that society demanded they cover themselves in. Cecilia stretched languidly beneath the bedclothes, tensing her arms and legs from fingertips to toes. There was a delicious feeling of soreness to her body, the kind that only comes from strenuous activity.
She took pride in the scratches on Lionel’s back that were soon hidden by the shirt he pulled on over his head. They were the symbols of her ownership of him. But they were also the marks made in their nocturnal battles of passion, marks of her struggle for dominance and eventual submission to his strength. A glorious submission, but one that she made him earn.
He had sought her out the previous day, but not in a few hours like he’d promised. Rather, it was late into the night when he hadreturned to their bedchamber and stirred her from her slumber. She was very ready to be angry with him for making her wait so long, but those feelings were very quickly assuaged when she found he had prepared her a small midnight feast as an apology—an apology that had led to something so much more.
Cecilia propped herself on her elbow as Lionel turned. The bedclothes fell away from her breasts and she did not attempt to replace them. His eyes went from hers to her breasts, lingering there. His hands slowed in the act of tying the string of his shirt. Cecilia languidly pushed the bedclothes lower, to the swell of her hip. One arm lay over her leg which she pushed forward to shadow the naked heart of her womanhood.
She smiled at his distraction.
“Are you sure that he cannot wait just a little while longer?” she asked, innocently.
Lionel’s hands fell to his sides and he walked to the bed, leaning over it. Cecilia lay back, letting her arms fall back to the pillow, helpless and submissive. He kissed her, long and deep. She writhed at the pleasure of his touch. Then he was standing again.
“Menzies is an old and loyal friend, and I would not be so rude to him,” Lionel said, stepping away from the bed.
“Tease!” Cecilia cried, playfully.
She grabbed for a pillow and hurled it at him. Lionel laughed as he danced aside and the pillow plopped to the floor.
“I will meet you for luncheon and you can brief me on the plans for our social calendar over the next few weeks.”
He skipped away from the room before she could reach for another pillow. Cecilia found herself smiling at the exchange. Partly. It was mostly at the memory of the night before. One of wanton, carnal play that had taken pleasure to new heights. But it was only partly, for she felt a deep loneliness settling in over these past few days. Lionel breaking a promise on a previously agreed engagement with her was not a mere oversight at this point—it had almost become a rule over the past weeks.
Though he did seem to put in an effort to make it up to her at times, she could not escape the feeling that he was slowly drifting away out of reach.
And there was little she could do.
Plates of soup grew cold before Cecilia. A platter of delicately made sandwiches completed a simple but well-made luncheon. A plate of soup had been put before her and another put out for Lionel. But Lionel was now fifteen minutes late. Finally, Cecilia folded her napkin and rose from her place. She decided to remind her husband of the time and the need to eat. Picking up two plates of soup and two soup spoons, she marched out of the dining room.
Nearing the study she could not hear voices but instead the quiet sounds of earnest study. The pages of a book or ledger being turned and the regular scratchings of a pen nib. The door was closed but she managed to open it by nudging the handle with her elbow and then kicking the door with her heel. Inside, Lionel looked up from a spread of papers on the floor. He himself was sitting, half reclining before the fire, poring over the papers.
“Cecilia! Whatever are you doing carrying plates about? Oh, is it…Damnation!”
Lionel’s eyes had gone from Cecilia to the clock on the mantle and he realized exactly what time it was. He rose, knocking over a jar of ink and cursing. He began attempting to blot the ink with handfuls of nearby paper. Cecilia looked around, found an empty space on a side table and put down her burden. Then she took up the folded napkins which she had clamped under her arms. She joined Lionel on hands and knees on the floor, replacing the sodden paper with the thick linen, drawing up the viscous black liquid.
“I assume those papers are important. Whatever was on them is lost to the ages now,” she said.
“No, I had already checked them. They were ledgers belonging to my father. Nothing enlightening,” Lionel said.
“Did you forget our luncheon appointment?” Cecilia asked, trying to keep her voice sweet.
The last thing she wanted was to be shrill or berating though she was mildly annoyed that he had forgotten his promise. And in favor of what? Paperwork? Business? She supposed that the running of his estates accrued a fair amount of administration. Unless this was all about something more than the management of Thornhill.
