She looked at him for just a moment before snatching her hand away. “Why would you think you could hurt me?”
Ah, so hehadhurt her. He fought the urge to take possession of her hand again.
“It was good, was it not? The sex? I will admit to a certain satisfaction in knowing that my husband is not the only one finding pleasure outside of this marriage. It’s only a shame he never walked in on us. Oh, that would have been priceless!” Standing up slowly, she turned back to look down at him. “Perhaps Lord Blakely will be willing to assist me.” Her lips were pinched, and her eyes had turned hard and cold.
He hadn’t seen that look on her face since the night Flavion introduced them – and then it had been directed at Flavion.
“I am sorry to withdraw my assistance in that matter, Cecily, but I think it is for the best.”
“Very well, then,” she said and began walking toward the stairs. She did not look all that steady, and he could not bear to see her walking away from him looking so frail. He quickly stood up so as to assist her. While giving her his arm, regret and a new guilt attacked him. The pain in her eyes belied her words, the betrayal. For he knew it had not just been sex between the two of them. It had been much more than a physical act.
She took his arm, albeit a bit reluctantly, and leaned upon him slightly.
“What is your destination, my lady?”
She paused again. “If you would be so kind as to fetch me Salaam and Chadwick, I had planned on visiting Miss Goodnight at her home this afternoon.”
The large clock in the foyer began to gong, causing her to jump slightly. It was five o’clock. “Oh, damn,” she said softly. “Never mind. Please, just leave me alone, and I shall return to my chamber.”
She pushed him away from her and turned back from the stairs. “Please have Salaam bring Chadwick up to me. It would be nice to have some civil company for a change.” And with that, she disappeared.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Stephen’s chest constrictedas Cecily disappeared into her chamber. He had accomplished the one thing in the world that he would have avoided at all costs. He had hurt her. And for what? For whom?
Sounds downstairs of the opening and subsequent slamming of the large front door pulled him from his sentimental musings. Good God, given much more time to contemplate Cecily Nottingham, and he would likely begin writing poetry or some other such nonsense.
“Stephen!” It was Flavion’s voice bellowing from below, shattering the relative peacefulness the household took on during his absence. Well, it was Flavion’s house, Stephen supposed.
“I am right here,” Stephen said calmly as he came down the stairs leisurely. But he bristled inside more than usual. What now? Trouble, most likely. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence today?”
Flavion peered up and made a face at Stephen’s sarcasm. “I am in need of you, Stephen.” His voice was no longer demanding. It had taken on a desperate, pleading tone. Flavion looked as though he had lost nearly a stone. His eyes were shadowed, his face gaunt and unshaven.
When he reached his cousin, he placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. “Come into the study, Flavion. You know I will help you if I can.” He assumed this had something to do with either Lord Griffin or the colonel. Most likely one or the other of them had finally caught up with his cousin.
Flavion allowed Stephen to steer him into the comfortable setting that the study provided, and then he sat down in the chair closest to the unused hearth. “I have been challenged, Stephen. By not only one angry gentleman, but two. I am to meet with Daphne’s father tomorrow morning and Colonel Benning the morning after.” Looking haggard and uncertain, it was Flavion who squeezed the bridge of his nose this time. The tension emanating from him was profound.
Flavion was afraid.
Cautious of his cousin’s unusual mood, Stephen sat down across from him. “What weapons have you chosen?”
Flavion looked up tiredly. “I haven’t yet, Stephen. I need your help. Will you be my second?”
Reaching over and patting the younger man’s knee, Stephen felt a fission of fear himself. Griffin was an older man with a bit of a paunch, but the colonel had been a fighting man all his life. If he wished to see Flavion dead, Stephen did not hold out a great deal of hope Flavion could do much to prevent it. “Of course. I have been accumulating some information on these gentlemen since they first attempted to call you out several days ago. Have you spent much time over at Gentleman Jackson’s lately?”
Flavion ran a hand through his golden-blond hair. “I haven’t really, not since before father died. I think my chances will be best with swords.”
“You are in practice? You have practiced often?”
“Somewhat…” Flavion left off. “Daphne’s father… I could prevent it, but… He is adamant that we meet on a field of honor. He is not very physically fit, and I believe that I can beat him easily, draw first blood, and put an end to it. But the colonel…”
“Is fit and skilled,” Stephen supplied, “and mad as a hell.”
Flavion chuckled. “Right.”
Stephen stood up. “As your second, I’ll do all that I can to negotiate a truce for you. But you first must be willing to leave the chits alone henceforth. You dishonored both of them. Did you not think something like this would happen?”
“Don’t start, Stephen, please.”
