“There’s no need for you to look so appalled, Cecilia. Isabella is waiting for us there. The three of us are going to have tea together in the drawing room.” He glanced down at her with his lips curved in a mocking smile. “I’m a gentleman, and betrothed to another lady. You have nothing tofear from me.”
Her chin hitched up. “I told you before, my lord. I’m notafraid of you.”
“No? Well then, you have no reason not to come with me, do you?” Lord Darlington didn’t wait for a reply, but led her from the attic, the floor creaking under his boots, his long, warm fingers curled around her wrist.
Later that night, it would occur to Cecilia she’d toldhim the truth.
Shewasn’tafraid of him.
And she’d lie awake for hours,wondering why.
Chapter Eleven
Gideon gulped in a deep breath of frigid air, then winced as it sliced a raw strip from his lungs. It hurt like the devil, but painful respiration was preferable to unconsciousness.
He couldn’t suffocate. Not today. Another cleansing breath, then another…ah, that was much better. He could feel the tension draining from his—
“For God’s sakes, Darlington,” Haslemere hissed. “She’s your betrothed, not your executioner. Smile, will you?”
Smile, yes. That was a good idea. Gideon pasted what he hoped was an engaging smile on his lips as he and Haslemere watched the Honeywells’ carriage make its way up the drive. He’d been awaiting his betrothed at Darlington Castle for the past fortnight, yet somehow Miss Honeywell’s arrival had taken him unawares.
Rather like an upended glass of wine, or a fall down the stairs—
“Bloody hell. Never mind the smile, Darlington.” Haslemere glanced at him and blanched. “You look as if you’re about to cast up your accounts. What the devil ails you this morning? Why are you so twitchy? Are you ill?”
Gideon blew out the last of his calming breaths in an irritated huff. “What are you going on about, Haslemere? I’m not twitchy.”
But if hewastwitchy, he knew just who to blame for it. If he hadn’t spared much thought for his betrothed since he’d last seen her in London, he could lay his shameful inattention squarely on Cecilia’s shoulders.
She was as distracting a nursemaid as she’d been a housemaid. Worse, Isabella adored her and insisted on her constant presence, and so Cecilia seemed to be everywhere he looked, with that playful smile and that musical laugh that filled all the empty spaces inside him. Even when he couldn’t see her, he could hear her through the connecting door, singing those improper lullabies, makingIsabella laugh—
“Look sharp, Darlington,” Haslemere muttered. “They’re nearly here. Oh, and do stop looking as if you expect someone to shoot at you at any moment, would you?”
“Don’t be absurd. I told you, I’m not twitchy. I’m simply…breathless withanticipation.”
Haslemere snorted. “Well, I urge you to fix a moreanticipatoryexpression on your face before you frighten Miss Honeywell to death with that black scowl of yours.”
“She’s made of sterner stuff than that.” Still, Gideon did his best to rearrange his features into a more welcoming attitude as the carriage rounded the curve in the drive.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t delighted to see Miss Honeywell. Of course, he was. Her lovely face would brighten up this grim castle. She was just the sort of mistress it needed with her sunny disposition and pure, uncomplicated beauty.
Not like Cecilia Gilchrist, with her deep, dark eyes and argumentative tongue, and her maddening tendency to appear in the least likely places. He’d never imagined one small woman could wreak such havoc, but he’d hardly had a wink of sleep since she’d arrived. Every time his eyelids grew heavy, he’d imagine her creeping about, sticking her pert little nose into every private corner of his castle. Or worse, he’d recall how she’d looked in her night rail, the filmy white fabric swirling around her bare calves, a breathy cry on her lips—
“Lord Darlington! Hello, Lord Darlington!”
Gideon snapped to attention just in time to stop himself from slapping his hands over his ears. He drew the line at shouting a return greeting across the drive, but he managed a polite nod for the lady fluttering her hand at him from the open carriage window.
“Good Lord, Darlington.” Haslemere’s smile didn’t falter, but he glanced at Gideon from the corner of his eye. “Who the devil is that creature hanging out the carriage window, flapping her arms about and shrieking at you?”
Gideon sighed. Miss Honeywell was an ideal bride, but…well, a man couldn’t expect to have everything he wished for in his matrimonial affairs, could he? “That, Haslemere, is Mrs. Priscilla Honeywell. Miss Honeywell’s mother.”
Haslemere stared at her, speechless with horror.
“Thisis Darlington Castle?” Mrs. Honeywell sniffed, as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the entrance. “I confess I expected something a bit larger and grander. Something morelike Windsor.”
Gideon exchanged a glance with Haslemere.
Windsor?Haslemere mouthed, raising an eyebrow.
