“Your uncle?” Sir Gerald seemed surprised, pausing in his advance for a moment.
“Yes, the estate passed to my uncle following the death of my brother, the Earl of Penrose.”
Sir Gerald’s smile deepened and Cecilia had the distinct impression that he was silently laughing at her. She could not think what it was he found so amusing.
“Allow me to suggest that if you and I were to become better acquainted, that situation might change,” he muttered cryptically.
Cecilia was momentarily intrigued, until he stepped closer, wine glass held out before him. She moved sharply to try and escape him and bumped the hand holding the glass.
She could not say if what happened next was the result of that accidental contact or had been deliberate, but the glass was suddenly emptied over the bodice of her dress. Sir Gerald stepped back, his wrist twisting as though he had deliberately upended the glass over her. But his mouth was open in shock and he hurriedly put the glass down and took out a handkerchief.
“Miss Sinclair, I do apologize. How clumsy of me. Here, allow me to help.”
Cecilia squealed as he clumsily dabbed with his handkerchief at the wet path on her bosom. Squealed because he pressed firmly and it was clear that the act was merely a cover for placing his hand upon her breast. His lips came next, his face looming as he leaned in to kiss her. When she turned her head away, she felt them fasten upon her throat and reacted in a way that she had learned from the farm girls on the Hamilton estate. They had told her how to treat a bullish young man who would not take no for an answer. Seizing Sir Gerald by the front of his coat, she sharply lifted her knee into his groin. Breath rushed from the young man and his eyes bulged. When she released him, he staggered back and then fell, hands clutching his bruised manhood. The sound of dashing footsteps reached Cecilia as she picked up her skirts to run herself. But Sir Gerald reached out and seized her ankle, gripping with ferocious tenacity. Cecilia looked down to see his face contorted into a rictus of fury. He was staggering to his feet.
“What goes on here?” a voice suddenly demanded, sounding from down the hallway.
“This cow assaulted me, Your Grace!” Sir Gerald wheezed, getting to his feet and releasing Cecilia, “Expel her from the house immediately, she’s nothing but a common whore!”
Lionel moved with the swiftness of rolling thunder. One moment he stood in the hallway and the next he had lifted Sir Gerald from his feet by his shirt front. Sir Gerald was swung through the air to slam into a wall, his feet six inches above the ground.
“Apologize or I will call you out,” Lionel hissed between bared teeth.
“I… I apologize!” Sir Gerald stammered, eyes wide with fright.
Such was the grip that Lionel had on him, that his face was darkening from red to maroon, the blood prevented from reaching his face by the terrible choke in which he was held. The Duke released him, and as he stepped back, Cecilia saw his right leg buckle. For a moment he staggered, hand behind him seeking the support of the window seat. Cecilia moved instinctively, coming forward to support him with a hand to his back and another to his elbow. Sir Gerald looked at them with wide eyes for a moment and then ran back the way he had come, towards the hall. Lionel’s breath hissed between his teeth, sharp and pained. Cecilia felt the strength of him where her hand rested against his back. The arm which she supported bulged with muscle. Standing this close to him, she was overpowered by his physicality.
This was a bull of a man. The thought made her giddy. By comparison, Sir Gerald was a lowing calf, a boy who could besnapped in two by Lionel without effort. She helped him to sit, taking a seat next to him, still with one hand on his back and the other on his arm.
“Are you quite well, Your Grace?” she asked.
“I am, Miss Sinclair. I recall once giving you leave to use my given name. I should like it very much if you did,” he said, voice tight with pain.
He clutched at his right thigh, fingers kneading the muscle.
“You remember me?” Cecilia asked, surprised.
“Of course I do,” Lionel added, looking at her for the first time. “The sister of my oldest and dearest friend. How could I forget?”
That reminded Cecilia of Arthur and how this man had not even acknowledged the loss he had caused by his incompetence. It sparked anger within her. Even now, he did not take the opportunity to tell her how sorry he was. She stood, suddenly acutely aware of their proximity and the fact that her hands were upon his person. She knew that she should rejoin the gathered guests but her dress was stained in the most obvious way, a splash of dark red wine across her front.
“Thank you, Lionel. For your gallantry. I should return to…”
“Like that? Surely not,” Lionel replied, unsmiling.
She remembered that about him. Remembered how Arthur had joked about his serious friend.
“I… I cannot stay here. With you, I mean. It would not be…”
“I find myself suffering an acute attack of my old injury, Miss Sinclair. And you find yourself in acute need of a change of clothes. There is female attire in the castle, the Sunday best of one of the maids, she is about your size. If you would help me to the servant’s wing?”
Cecilia was torn. Part of her wanted nothing more than to remain in this man’s company. To be close to him again. The kind of closeness that would come inevitably from helping him to walk. Part of her wanted to be away from him. Wanted to be left alone to hate him for what he had done. That hate was hard to keep sharp in his company. His handsome face and titanesque presence dulled it. Her attraction to it eroded it like storm-tossed waves battering cliffs. She straightened her shoulders, his eyes still fixed on her. It felt like a physical touch and made her realize how much she yearned for that touch.
“Very well,” she found herself saying, at once thrilled and appalled.
CHAPTER 5
Lionel cursed his injury as he limped along the hallways of Thornhill, supported by Cecilia. The wooden support that he secretly wore was the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor but it could do nothing for the pain. He cursed the cruelty of the lordling who had sought to force himself on Cecilia, provoking an anger in Lionel that he had barely managed to contain. The young man would be bruised, but had Lionel allowed his rage to escape, it would have resulted in murder.
