It hadn’t been as simple as that, but Cecilia didn’t try and explain herself. “She sent me to find out how Lady Cassandra died. My task was to uncover the truth before your marriage to Miss Honeywell could take place.”
If anything, his eyes grew even colder. “So, I was right about you that first day we met. Youarea liar.”
Cecilia’s eyes dropped closed, pain pressing down on her, stealing her breath. She knew the worst of his anger and bitterness wasn’t truly directed at her. He was in shock, exhausted and devastated by the fire, and heartbroken over his wife’s death all over again. He felt as if he’d failed Cassandra and his son, and was blaming himself for their deaths.
She knew it, but that didn’t make ithurt any less.
But she’d told him everything now, just as she’d promised she would. There was no longer any reason for her to remain at Darlington Castle, unless…unless Gideon wanted her here. “The next stagecoach leaves for London in an hour. I’ll gather my things together.”
She waited, every part of her aching for him to stop her from leaving, to tell her he wanted her to stay with him. To tell her he wanted her at all.
“No.No stagecoach.”
Her heart gave a cautious leap, but her hopes were dashed to bits when he added, “My coachmanwill take you.”
Cecilia nodded, her eyes stinging. “Yes, I…all right. Thank you.”
He didn’t spare her another word or glance, but left the house, closing the door behind him with a finality that echoed in every chamber of Cecilia’s empty heart. Within the hour a coach with the Darlington crest pulled up in front of the Dower house. Cecilia just had time to say goodbye to Mrs. Briggs and Amy, and kiss Isabella’s forehead, before she found herself huddled in a corner of it and on her wayback to London.
Gideon didn’t come to bid her goodbye. She didn’tsee him again.
It was dark when the coach arrived at No. 26 Maddox Street in London’s West End. By then Cecilia felt as if she’d been dragged halfway across England. Every part of her ached—her legs, her shoulders, her head—and she was exhausted in a way she never had been before.
In her body, her mind, her heart, and her soul.
She staggered up the stairs of the Clifford School, opened the door, and slipped inside. Perhaps she could sneak upstairs without a word to anyone, pull the coverlet over her head, and fall into a dream where there was no grief, no loss, no fire, and no death.
No icy blue eyes staring down at her as if they’d never seen her before.
But it was not to be. Lady Clifford herself happened to be coming down the hallway from the drawing room just as Cecilia paused in the entryway. “Cecilia? Is that you? My goodness, child! Why didn’t you send word? Daniel would have come for you, and…Cecilia? Why, whatever’s the matter, dearest?”
Lady Clifford moved closer and took Cecilia’s hand, bringing her into the light. When she saw Cecilia’s face, her own face fell. “Oh,my dear girl.”
She said no more, just opened her arms.
Cecilia dove into them, the tears she’d been holding back since Gideon walked into the Dower house running down her cheeks, slowly at first, like a trickle of water from a cracked dam, then bursting forth with a fury as the dam gave way. Her chest heaved with sobs, because Gideon despised her now, and nothing would everbe right again.
Chapter Twenty-six
Haslemere House, Surrey
One week later
“How long do you intend to keep up this nonsense, Darlington?”
Gideon raised his head in surprise. He’d been staring into the fire, and he hadn’t noticed Haslemere enter the library. “I don’t know what you mean.What nonsense?”
Haslemere threw himself into the chair opposite Gideon’s with an irritable sigh. “This ridiculous pouting over Cecilia Gilchrist. For God’s sake, man. Saddle a horse, ride to London, and claim your lady.”
“She’s not my lady, and I never pout.” He brooded occasionally—he’d own to that. Even moped now and again, but pouting was just pathetic, especially over a woman. No matter how soft her skin might be, or how sweet her dark eyes, how intoxicating her kiss—
“Oh, no? You forget how well I know you, Darlington. Remember when you were nineteen, and fancied yourself in love with Caroline Ivy? There was a good deal of besotted mooning then, if I recall. Thankfully it was short-lived, but then you weren’t madly inlove withher.”
Gideon let his tumbler drop onto the table beside him, then turned a glower on Haslemere. “Are you implying I’m madly in love with Cecilia, Haslemere?” Just because he couldn’t stop thinking of Cecilia, dreaming of her, that didn’t mean—
“Implying it?” Haslemere lifted an eyebrow. “I’m notimplyinga bloody thing. I’m declaring it to be so, and asking you what the devil you intend to do about it aside from languishing in my library, brooding like some romantic hero and abusing my crystal.”
Gideon set the tumbler upright again with a sigh. “Have I been as bad as all that?”
