Using her thumbs, she pressed hard, small circles into the tense muscles until they began to relax. As they loosened, her hands continued their exploration. Too late, Cecily realized, this was quite different than touching her father.
When she slid her fingers up the back of his head, into his crisp clean hair, he sighed deeply. The scent of his soap or cologne, she wasn’t certain which, tantalized her senses. The spicy warmth tugged at her to lean forward and inhale deeply.
With each stroke of her hands, the garden seemed to grow smaller and smaller. Merely intending to help Mr. Nottingham relax, she was surprised at how much touching himaffected her.
Reaching forward, placing her hands on both sides of his neck, she could barely make out the flutter of his pulse.
His chin fell forward. At last, he’d surrender to her touch.
She would stop, but not yet. Just a little longer…
It ought not to, but touching him… made her feel, somehow, alive again — for the moment anyhow.
Working behind him still, she smoothed the skin on his brow. With his eyes closed, he shifted on the bench and relaxed into her. Cradling him now, she continued tracing and massaging the contours of his face, and then… her hands slipped beneath the fabric of his cravat.
Whereas his jaw was rough from a day’s worth of stubble, the skin around his shoulders was warm and smooth. She wondered what it would feel like against her lips.
All of a sudden, this did not feel so innocent.
As though he had read her mind, he tipped his head back, forcing her ministrations to a halt.
Stormy blue eyes gazed at her with a myriad of sentiments. Passion, guilt, accusation, and confusion. He reached up and stilled her hands. This was madness, but neither of them seemed willing to move away from the other.
“Stephen!” A voice from the terrace jerked them both out of the trance they’d fallen into. “Stephen!”
Ah, yes. Flavion.
Mr. Nottingham sat up, unhurried, and used his hands to smooth down his hair. “We’re over here, Flave,” he called back, “by the gazebo.”
Cecily stepped away from the bench and made herself appear preoccupied by a raised flowerbed nearby. From the constricted feeling in her chest, she could not deny the extent to which she’d been disturbed by that moment of intimacy. Mr. Nottingham,Stephen, appeared unaffected, however, as he brushed a speck of dust from his jacket.
“Damn rosebush.” Cecily heard Flavion mutter before bursting out from the walkway and catching sight of them. “Oh, you are withher.” He sounded disappointed. “Cook told me about the soup. You are not ill, are you Stephen?” The annoyance on his face was replaced with concern for his cousin.
“I’m fine,” Mr. Nottingham answered, “and so is your wife. The plant was in both of our bowls, but not in yours.”
“Cook informed me of this.” Flavion blinked in confusion. “If somebody is trying to kill me, then why would they not put the poison inmysoup? It’s my favorite kind, you know.” He snapped his head around and then added, “Did you know there is a monster in the kitchen? Practically as big as a horse. Damn near gave me an apoplexy!”
“Language, Flave. And the dog’s name is Chadwick. Lady Kensington has adopted him.” He made the statement matter of fact before bringing his cousin’s attention back to the subject at hand. “We are discussing poison in the soup. Poisonin the countess’soup.” He did not look at Cecily as he spoke.
Flavion finally glanced over at her. It was obvious he resented her presence.
Then, placing one hand upon his cousin’s shoulder, Flavion admitted, “I was frightened that you had come to harm, Stephen. Are you certain you are well?”
Cecily watched them curiously. She’d been wrong. Her husband did not love only himself. He loved his cousin. Flavion was genuinely concerned for the other man’s welfare.
Mr. Nottingham gestured toward Cecily.
“I’m fine, Flave. But Lady Kensington’s bowl was poisoned as well.”
Flavion turned to look at her, finally. She knew she was partially hidden by the darkness. “Well, of course I’m concerned. You’re all right, aren’t you, Cecily?”
She shrugged, confused to see anything good in her husband “I’m fine. How areyou? Did you take some willow bark? That might help with the swelling.” This was the most cordial exchange they’d shared since their wedding night.
He cautiously touched his swollen nose before turning back toward his cousin. “I took some earlier. Shite, Stephen. Why’d you have to hit me so hard? It’s not fair to take a fellow by surprise like that.” He glanced back toward her. “He’s angry with me. He thinks I’m not doing enough to protect you. Told me you require my protection while out in Society.” Her husband sounded like a petulant child.
Cecily raised her eyebrows at this information. She had not realized Flavion had been injured because of her.
Why would Mr. Nottingham think Flavion wasn’t doing enough? Oh, it must have been because of her fall near the produce cart. “Because of the incident on Bond Street? It never would have happened, Mr. Nottingham, but for my own carelessness. It was my fault for sending the footman away with my purchases. Otherwise I would not have been alone.”
