“It’s a distinctive scent. I’m not surprised you remember it.” Cecilia let the stalk drop to the ground, and held out her hand. Isabella took it and scrambled to her feet, and they made their way around the perimeter of the wall. When they reached the tall iron gate, they found Lord Darlington standing there, waiting for them.
“Lord Darlington! I didn’t see you there.” Cecilia patted her chest to calm the sudden wild thud of her heart. “You, ah…you startled me.”
“I beg your pardon. Come here, Isabella.” Lord Darlington leaned down, scooped Isabella into his arms and gathered her tightly against his broad chest. “Did you have a nice walk withMiss Cecilia?”
“Yes.” Isabella wrapped her arms around her uncle’s neck with a contented sigh. “Ever so nice. Miss Cecilia knows allabout flowers.”
“Does she?” Lord Darlington met Cecilia’s gaze over the top of Isabella’s head.
“No, not particularly,” Cecilia said with a laugh. “I can recognize lavender, roses, and daisies, and…that’s pretty much all, really.”
Lord Darlington was rubbing Isabella’s back, but his gaze remained on Cecilia. “Not so much then, but Miss Cecilia knows a good deal aboutother things.”
He was watching her, a slight tic in his jaw, his gaze uncertain, but alsooddly…tender?
No, surely not. The shadows were playingtricks on her.
“Things that matter more than flowers,” he added, the softness from earlier back in his eyes as he studiedCecilia’s face.
Cecilia stared back at him in confusion. She couldn’t make sense of his peculiar expression until he tilted his head subtly toward Isabella. Oh.Oh. Now she understood. He was pleased with her for shielding Isabella from Mrs. Honeywell earlier.
It wasn’ttenderness,but gratitude.
The realization caused a strange, sinking sensation in Cecilia’s chest, but she forced a smile to her lips. “I’m not dismissed, then?” she murmured, too low for Isabella to hear.
He tilted his head to one side as if considering it, and a crooked grin curved his lips. “Not today, no.”
Cecilia’s foolish heart fluttered into her throat at that boyish grin, and she was obliged to clear it before she trusted herself to speak. “No promises for tomorrow, though?”
“There’s no telling what might happen tomorrow.” He held her gaze for a moment longer before pressing a kiss to Isabella’s forehead. “Come, it’sgetting dark.”
Dusk was descending, the pale glow of the sky deepening to a slate gray, but it was light enough still to see the whorls of silver frost making patterns on the ground. It was beautiful, in that soft, silent way winter sometimes was, and so still they might have been the only three people here. The thought was…peaceful, Cecilia realized in surprise, as she fell into step beside Lord Darlington.
How strange that it should be peaceful rather than disturbing.
When they reached the entrance hall, they found Lord Haslemere just coming into the hallway, looking harried. “Ah, there you are, Darlington. I wondered where you’d got to.” His gaze darted between the two of them, and a slight frown appeared between his brows. “We’re waiting for you to join us in the drawingroom for tea.”
“Yes, of course.” Lord Darlington ruffled Isabella’s curls, then handed her over to Cecilia. “I’ll come to say goodnight later. Be a good girl for Miss Cecilia, and maybe we can coax her into singing one of her…unusual lullabies for us.”
Before Cecilia could reply, Lord Haslemere waved an impatient hand toward the drawing room. “Come on then, Darlington. You don’t want to keep your betrothed waiting.”
He followed Lord Darlington down the hallway, but before he disappeared into the drawing room, he glanced back at Cecilia over his shoulder with an appraising look that made her cheeks burn.
Chapter Thirteen
“I know what you’re doing, Darlington.”
Gideon peered over the top of his port glass at Haslemere, who was slouched in a chair near the fire, his legs sprawled out before him and his own glass dangling from his fingers. “I’m pleased one of us does.”
He’d woken this morning to the soft murmur of Cecilia crooning to Isabella, her husky voice weaving a spell around him until he’d drifted back to sleep, and dreamed of wide, velvety brown eyes, plump pink lips, and a stubborn, pointed chin. He’d been hard when he woke, his cock twitching insistently against his stomach, his entire body flushed with arousal.
It had been months since he’d felt even a twinge of desire for any woman, much less the dizzying rush of this morning. No, it had been longer than that—more than a year, since Cassandra had become so ill. If his betrothed had been the cause of such an eager erection Gideon might have rejoiced at it, but it wasn’t Miss Honeywell who’d inspired him to such unexpected rigidity.
It was Cecilia.Always Cecilia.
Cecilia, with her unpredictable tongue and those unexpected flashes of fire in her eyes. Such a pleasant, agreeable young woman, right up until the moment shewasn’t. She’d completely forgotten her place yesterday, and acted every inch the impertinent chit Mrs. Honeywell had accused her of being. A wiser man would have dismissed her for her insolence toward his betrothed’s mother, yet Gideon had let Cecilia stroll off without a word of reprimand.
And now there was the matter of this wholly inappropriate erection of his. Since its inconvenient appearance this morning, he’d struggled with alternate bouts of irritation, frustration, and yearning until he was half out of his head and couldn’t focus ona single thing.
