Not Cassandra.
The firm jaw, the kindness in those blue eyes…there was nothing about Cassandra’s face that could ever hurt a soul. Lady Leanora was a blinding diamond, but Cassandra was softer, subtler, more easily overlooked, perhaps, but her beauty was deeper than her skin, like a ruby with a banked fireat its center.
Cecilia stared up into the blue eyes, speechless. She felt as if she knew her.
As if she’d always known her.
And Gideon…she turned to look at him, her heart twisting at the vulnerability in his face, his defenselessness. The shadows in his eyes were hidden from her now, the deep lines of pain etched about his mouth relaxed in sleep.
It wasn’t the face of a man who’d murdered his wife.
She padded on bare feet back to her own bedchamber, ready to collapse with fatigue, but it wasn’t just her body that was exhausted. It was her heart, too. It gave a miserable lurch in her chest when she recalled the look on Gideon’s face last night as he stood above the white marble headstone that bore his wife and son’s names.
Her heart might not be so heavy now if she’d done what it had urged her to do then—beg his pardon, plead for his forgiveness for her careless words—but she hadn’t known what to say, what to do, and now it felt as if the moment were gone.
As if shewere too late.
It was still dark outside—not more than an hour or two had passed since she fell asleep. Isabella was still tucked in her bed, her small fingers wrapped around the crown of marbled paper she and Cecilia had made several days earlier.
Cecilia didn’t sleep any more, but sat in the rocking chair with Seraphina curled in her lap. She’d banished the troublesome creature to the castle grounds at least a half-dozen times. Once she’d even taken her to the stables, thinking Seraphina could occupy herself by chasing some nice mice and rats, but the cat had returned that night, scratching at the door that connected Cecilia’s bedchamber with the late marchioness’s until Cecilia gave inand opened it.
It was a mystery how the devious feline kept finding her way back inside the castle. One mystery of many. Why, despite Gideon’s insistence, did the door connecting Cecilia’s bedchamber to Lady Darlington’s never seemed to be locked when Seraphina demanded entrance?
“How are you getting into Lady Darlington’s bedchamber? Are you a ghost yourself, Seraphina?” It wasn’t the first time Cecilia had demanded answers about Seraphina’s mysterious comings and goings. She stroked the cat’s sleek, black fur, but Seraphina wasn’t any more forthcoming than she’d ever been. One bored green eye opened a slit—just wide enough for Seraphina to hint she found Cecilia very tedious indeed—before it closed again.
When Isabella woke hours later, Cecilia hurried her through their morning tasks. Not because she wished to avoid facing Gideon—certainlynot, nothing like that—but because Cook had promised to let Isabella help make tartlets this morning. It was also Mrs. Briggs’s half day, and after they’d finished the tartlets, the housekeeper was taking Isabella with her to Edenbridge for a visit with her mother, and well…it was just a busy day, that was all.
It hadn’t a thing to do with Gideon’s having kissed her.
Cecilia raised her hand to stroke her fingers over her lips, shivering at the memory of the press of his full, warm mouth against hers, the hot slide of his tongue between her lips.
Dear God. She’d never been kissed before, but she’d considered herself to be at least somewhat informed on the matter, given how many gothic romances she’d read. But reading about a kiss and being kissed yourself wasn’t, as it happened, at allthe same thing.
Gideon’s kiss hadn’t been anything like she’d expected it to be. She hadn’t known she’d feel a man’s kisseverywhere, from her lips all the way down to her curled toes. Just the memory of it tugged an ache into her lower belly and raised delicious goosebumps on her skin.
But none of that meant she was avoiding him, even if shedidkeep an ear open for any sounds of movement fromhis bedchamber.
“Here you are, then!” Mrs. Briggs said when they entered the kitchen later that morning. “Cook’s got the first pan finished already, Isabella.”
Isabella clapped her hands. “Will we have any apple tartlets? Apple is my favorite.”
“Since cook has a mountain of sliced apples prepared, I think so.” Mrs. Briggs gave Isabella a fond pat on the head, then turned to Cecilia with a cheerful grin. “We’ll be back after supper. I’ve sent Amy to the second floor to gather linens and air out the guest bedchambers.”
“Yes, of course.” Cecilia waved as Mrs. Briggs and Isabella went to join the cook on the opposite side of the kitchen, then turned her attention to the young man sitting at the table. He appeared much less enthusiastic to see her. “Good morning, Duncan.”
No response. Duncan was sitting at the kitchen table, a plate of fresh apple tartlets before him. His back was to Cecilia, and he didn’t turn around.
Cecilia rounded the table with a sigh and seated herself across from him. “I’m sorry about last night, Duncan. I shouldn’t have misled you. Lord Darlington doesn’t blame you. I told him it wasall my doing.”
Duncan reluctantly met her gaze. “It’s all right,Miss Cecilia.”
It didn’t sound as if it was all right. “I truly am sorry, Duncan. What can I do to make amends?”
His face colored, and he glanced up at her from under thick, ginger-colored lashes. “That book ye mentioned last night…it’s aromantic book?”
“Mrs. Radcliffe’sThe Mysteries of Udolpho? Oh, yes, it’s terribly romantic, and also wonderfully terrifying. Why do you ask?”
Duncan dropped his gaze. “Young lasses like romance, don’t they? Do ye suppose Miss Amy might like that book?”
