It was Amy, taking Isabella to her bedchamber for the evening.
Cecilia’s head fell against his chest as she drew deep, trembling breaths into her lungs. How had it gotten so late? She’d lost track of time, of Isabella …
Dear God, she’d lost track ofherself. She’d let Gideon touch and kiss her—no, notlethim, encouraged him, nearlybeggedhim—on the second floor landing, mere steps from the staircase, where anyone mighthave seen them.
Cecilia braced her hands against Gideon’s chest and eased him away from her. “I should…Isabella, I need to—”
“I know. Not a moment too soon.” He let his forehead rest against hers before he drew away, an uncertain smile on his lips.
Cecilia was too mortified to return it. She fled, but before she could disappear around the corner, he stopped her with a word. “Cecilia.”
She froze, then turned to face him, her cheekson fire. “Yes?”
“I…” Gideon dragged a hand through his hair. “Never mind.Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Nineteen
Cecilia stood outside her bedchamber door for some time after she left Gideon, trying to catch her breath and waiting for the heat in her cheeks to subside.
Amy frowned at her as she stepped over the threshold. “You look a bit flushed, Cecilia. You’re notill, are you?”
Ill, no. Unforgivably foolish and reckless,yes. “No, I’m—”
“Miss Cecilia!” Isabella launched herself across the room toward Cecilia as fast as her little legs would carry her.
Cecilia knelt down to catch her in her arms. “Hello, Isabella. Did you have a nice time with Mrs.Briggs today?”
“Yes. We had apple tartlets for tea.” Isabella toyed with a loose lock of Cecilia’s hair as she snuggled against her chest. “Mrs. Briggs’s mama said they were the best ones she’s ever had.”
“I’m sure they were.” Cecilia cuddled Isabella closer, some of the tension draining from her at the press of the small, warm body against hers.
“She’s stuffed to the brim with apple tartlets and nearly asleep on her feet.” Amy tugged fondly on one of Isabella’s golden-brown curls. The tangles had been brushed from her hair, and she was already wearingher nightdress.
Cecilia gave Amy a grateful look. “Thank you for your help. Go on and go to your bed.”
Amy’s frown returned as she studied Cecilia’s face. “If you’re sure? You look as if you’reready to drop.”
“I’m sure. A song or two, and Isabella here will be fast asleep.”
Amy cast her another worried look. “I think we’ll save Mrs. Radcliffe for another night. I’ll let Duncanknow, shall I?”
“Yes, please. Tomorrow night. I promise it. Now, Isabella.” Cecilia turned to her charge as the door closed behind Amy. “What songs shall wehave tonight?”
“‘Death and the Lady’!” Isabella was still enamored of the golden crown and scepter, and made this same request every night. Tonight, though, the fair lady hardly had a chance to throw her costly robes aside before Isabella was fast asleep.
Cecilia lay her gently in her bed and drew the coverlet snugly around her chin. Then, not sure what to do with herself, she wandered over to the window and wrapped her arms around herself as she stared out intothe darkness.
It was a deep, penetrating darkness tonight, the moon shrouded under a thick layer of clouds. There would be snow soon. Cecilia had smelled the crisp, dry scent of it lingering in the cold air when she’d taken her afternoon walk today.
If not tonight, then tomorrow, or the next day, perhaps.
She stood there for long, quiet moments, the only sound in the room the crackle of the fire and the gentle whoosh of Isabella’s deep breaths. Cecilia turned from the window at the sound, a smile rising to her lips at the sight of Isabella curled up in her little bed. Her outing today had done her a world of good. She’d drifted off into a peaceful slumber with her small hand cradled in Cecilia’s.
But Cecilia’s smile faded as she turned back to the window. Isabella was such a lovely little girl. She would never tire of burying her nose in those thick curls and inhaling her fresh, sweet scent. It was a difficult scent to describe, but it reminded Cecilia of clean skin and new milk.
And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? She rested her forehead against the cold glass, a sadness that was becoming familiar washing over her. That scent, the silky brush of Isabella’s curls against her cheek…
They didn’t belong to her. They weren’t hers to keep, any more than Gideon was.
