He took a ring from his thumb, tipping back its ruby to reveal a secret compartment wherein was set the portrait of Cilla Bassingthwaite. Cecilia swallowed a sound.
“I stole this from Ned some years ago. I thought he was too obsessed with the ghost of a woman he’d only met once. I didn’t understand at the time. She’s magnificent, to be sure, but you are—” Heregarded her with an almost professional interest. “If I may say so, your beauty is more considerate.”
“Er,” Cecilia said. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Would you like the ring?” He held it out.
Cecilia shook her head hastily. “No, I have my locket... and a portrait in my bedroom... and a sketch... and an embroidered likeness in a frame.”
“Goodness,” he murmured, returning the ring to his thumb. “So are you going to marry Lightbourne?”
“What?” She was so startled she almost shouted the question. “Certainly not! Why on earth would you ask that?”
He shrugged. “No reason. Except I’ve known you for ten minutes, and for a lot of that time you’ve been touching each other. Even now, he’s caressing you with his eyes.”
“He is not,” Cecilia retorted, and glanced across the room at Ned. He stood with Frederick, teaching him to make a weapon from silver toothpicks and knotted ribbons, but his attention was not on Frederick’s bewildered efforts. He stared at Cecilia with a heat that made her immediately blush. She looked away, saw Alex’s sardonic expression, and scowled.
“He’s an idiot.”
“He is,” Alex agreed. “And if you hurt him, I will be most displeased indeed.”
He left before she could reply. Frowning after him, she happened to rest her gaze, purely by chance, on Ned once more. She watched him slide a gold fob watch from Frederick’s coat pocket, and her pulse flickered in unusual places within her body.
He had kissed her twice now. Outrageous! Indefensible! Would he kiss her in the sunlight next time? My goodness, she hoped not! Would he hold her close, his hand stroking her back as if she was something to be handled with care, cherished? Heaven forbid!
She clutched her little childhood knife so fiercely that her fingernails dug into the palm of her hand. Life had been much more tranquil before that nom-de-plumed pirate barged his way in. Well, there had been escapades, heists, assassins, ghastly memories to repress, tea parties, tigers, and the lingering thought of her father out there somewhere haunting her sense of justice. But there had been none of thesesmiles.
Once this Morvath business was over, Cecilia intended to collect a stack of books and lock herself in her sitting room until Captain Lightbourne went away.
Was he still watching her? Uncouth rogue! She glanced over, and he winked at her, and she snapped her gaze back to the corridor with such speed she saw stars.
Felt stars beneath her heart.
“Tally ho,” someone whispered. Cecilia turned with relief to see the pirates were finally armed and ready. She checked the corridor both ways, listened a moment, then indicated it was safe for them to proceed.
The floorboards creaked mournfully as the group followed Ned’s directions along several corridors toward the secret garden. Cecilia had a flash of memory—Morvath pulling up the floor tiles, having old warped boards laid instead. She despised him all over again.
Miss Brown and Bloodhound Bess were in the lead, jagged bottles at the ready, with Miss Darlington and Cecilia directing the rear. Suddenly Miss Brown came to a halt, holding up her fisted hand. Everyone stopped. She pointed at the corner ahead, then spun her finger. The group turned around—
“Eek!” Frederick squealed.
Morvath was striding along the corridor, a long-handled pistol in his hand, several grim-faced men accompanying him. His black greatcoat swooped as he walked. His eyes flared with dark fire. Half theWisteria Society turned to flee but were stopped by another group of armed men appearing around the corner.
“Well met, Mother,” Morvath said as he came to a halt, raising his pistol. Astonished, Cecilia looked around to see whom he meant. Miss Brown, long widowed and happy to pull up her skirts behind some bushes? Bloodhound Bess with her luring scar-smile? Millie the Monster because you just never knew with some people?
“Son,” Miss Darlington replied impassively.
Cecilia stepped back as if the revelation had physically struck her. Aunt Darlington was her grandmother?
Life seemed to both expand and implode all in one astonishing moment. She collided with Ned and he put a steadying arm around her.
“Life is a downward journey, madam,” Morvath said, “and you are about to reach the bottom.”
“The words of Branwell Brontë, I believe,” Miss Darlington responded. “But intelligence is an upward curve and does not involve plagiarizing one’s supposed father.”
“Rather my father’s words than my mother’s regard!” Morvath retorted. “Rather the echo of a man than the living breath of any woman! Our sex will always be superior to yours!”
“Tell that to the publishers ofJane Eyre.”
