“Yes,” Cecilia maintained, her resolve only spoiled slightly by the sudden licking of dry lips.
“I will not be insisted upon by anyone. Not by the King or the Regent. Or by the Lord God himself, Miss Sinclair,”Lionel growled in a voice hardened from steel to stone by a combination of anger and pain.
He moved again but so did she. There was determination on her face and fear also.
“Who do you think you are?” Lionel demanded, livid now.
“I am the sister of the man you killed. Except you suggest that you did not, which begs the question, who did? I have a right to know!”
“I misspoke!” Lionel raged, moving to the side only to be blocked for a third time.
He seized Cecilia by her upper arms, trying to move her aside, gently but firmly. His right leg chose that moment to buckle once more. Lionel cried out and Cecilia seized him instead. Lionel fell, dragging Cecilia with him. At the last moment, he managed to get a hand to the floor which slapped into his palm. His weight was carried on that arm instead of falling fully onto Cecilia.
He found his face mere inches from hers, brown eyes staring into his. Her scent filled his head, making him feel reckless. Lionel did not know who initiated the kiss.
As he lowered his head to press his lips to hers, he found her head lifting to meet him. The touch was soft at first, her lips pliant and warm. Then it firmed as passion grew within both of them. Lionel pressed down and Cecilia whimpered beneath him.He felt her arms go about his body, tentative at first, as though she did not know how to touch a man. But then she gained confidence, as though the more she touched him, the more she learned. Her hand roamed down his back, fingers pressing, exploring his body. It responded, muscles flexing and firming against her soft, delicate curves.
That brought gasps from Cecilia and renewed ferocity in her kisses. Lionel found himself kissing her cheek, then her ear, biting at the lobe and making her squeak. He impatiently tugged at the neck of her dress to expose her throat. It was white, blemish-free,perfect.
The softness of her skin made him want to moan aloud, such was the thrill of pleasure that ran through his body. The taste, the texture, her scent, all inflamed his senses. With his free hand, he caressed her neck, then her breasts which were trapped against his chest. Cecilia was whispering, barely audible, a single word over and over. An affirmation, a consent to be touched. His hand followed the line of her ribs to her waist and then down to her thigh. She pressed herself up against him and Lionel could feel his body responding fiercely. Cecilia gasped and moaned, writhing beneath him. Lionel wanted to tear the dress from her body to explore her nakedness with his hands, his lips, his tongue. Nothing was more important in that moment than seeing and hearing her pleasure.
From outside came Blackwood’s voice raised in command.
“Fetch a fresh bottle from those brought up from the cellar, if you please. They need more wine aloft.”
Lionel’s head lifted from where he had bent it to mouth at Cecilia’s breast through her dress. The room Blackwood had ordered a servant to was the one in which he and Cecilia lay. He pushed himself up, Cecilia’s head lifting with him to continue the kissing. Lionel smiled until the pain in his leg hit him.
“They are coming in here,” he whispered urgently.
Cecilia’s eyes opened wide and she hastily scrambled to her feet. Lionel was slower but he was looking around the room as the sound of hurried footsteps grew louder, coming towards the door. He grabbed Cecilia by the hand and pulled her towards a corner of the room where two shelves met at a right angle. They could just squeeze between and be concealed by the shelves and the shadows they cast. He knew that someone with sharp eyes would see through the hiding place in a moment but hoped that a harassed servant would not look too closely.
The door opened and Lionel noticed Cecilia take a deep breath and put her hand over her mouth, holding it. Johnstone, one of the footmen, came in, looked around for a moment, and then went to the shelves directly in front of where the two of them hid. He found himself holding his breath too as the man drew nearer and reached for a wine bottle at the level of Lionel’s face which, once removed, would reveal him. But as the man reached for the bottle, Blackwood barked from the doorway.
“Not that one, man! Hell’s teeth but His Grace will have the cat o’nine tails out if you serve that vinegar to his guests. Get the burgundy from the crate. Quick now!”
The man began gathering bottles from a crate on the other side of the room and hurried out. Lionel breathed again. He quickly became angry at himself for the awful risk he had taken. And for what? For a kiss and a fumble with a beautiful woman. Anextraordinarilybeautiful woman. But that did not matter. He could not risk a scandal and did not desire a wife. The kind of trust required to bring a woman into his heart was more than he could give. He extricated himself from the hiding place, followed shortly by Cecilia.
“Come, I will take you to where you may change your clothes,” he said brusquely, heading for the door.
“Are you angry with me?” Cecilia asked in a small voice.
“I am angry with myself. I apologize. I do not know what came over me,” he muttered.
“Nor I! A moment of madness for both of us,” Cecilia replied quickly.
“Indeed. Let us see that it is not repeated. I am not seeking a wife.”
He opened the door a crack after listening for a moment. When he was sure it was safe to emerge, he opened the door and beckoned Cecilia to follow him. He limped still but would not ask for help this time. He wanted to maintain a distance from Cecilia lest her beauty overcome his defenses again.
A moment of searching brought him to Blackwood, marshaling his army of servants from the kitchen. Lionel explained Cecilia’s predicament and asked for a change of clothes. Blackwood showed no surprise but immediately set to the task he had been ordered to. In the bustle of the kitchen, Cecilia looked back at Lionel as Blackwood led her from the room. Their eyes met and he saw the same regret on her face that he felt.
He turned away, shutting the door on that emotion, telling himself that it was over and he was better off for it. His life was not made for romance or love.
His sole purpose, ever since the night five years ago, was vengeance.
CHAPTER 6
Cecilia changed out of her spoiled clothes and into the dress of a maid called Peggy. It fitted her well, a plain dress of wool and cotton that would not be suitable for mingling in a ballroom.
