ToLoveaLady (13 page)

The old girl beamed. “Why thank you, Lord Worthington. But I can’t take all the credit. Lady Cecily give me the recipe.”

When Mrs. Bridges had departed, he turned to Cecily. “How did you know turtle soup and roast beef are my favorites?”

“I noticed whenever it was served at dinner parties, you were particularly enthusiastic.”

He helped himself to a large serving of the roast. “I suppose that’s the kind of thing accomplished young women are taught these days — to notice what men eat.”

“I noticed because I wanted to make you happy.”

He thought about this disturbing pronouncement while he chewed. Cecily seemed innocent enough, but such careful noting of his habits smacked of a plot to snare him, perhaps something her mother had instituted, without Cecily’s knowledge. He finished chewing and swallowed. “Cecily, had you always planned to marry me?”

She nodded. “Always. Since I was old enough to consider marriage.”

“That’s preposterous!” He sliced into the roast with savage vigor. “You hardly know me.” He impaled a chunk of meat on his fork. “In fact, I’m a very different man here in Texas than I was in England.”

“I can see that, Charles.” She laid aside her fork and fixed him with a long, considering look. “You’re still handsome and charming and capable, but. . . more so. Your stay in Texas has enhanced all your natural abilities.”

“I didn’t mean that any of my basic characteristics had changed,” he said. “But I’ve changed in the way I feel about things.” In the way I feel about marriage to you, he might have added, but he didn’t have the heart to wound her that way.

She nodded. “You’re more decisive, I think, now that you are making all the decisions. That will be useful when it’s time to take over your father’s business interests.”

With a sinking feeling, he laid aside his fork. It all came back to his father and the family business, didn’t it? Was that where her real interest lay all along? The thought disappointed him. He’d expected better of Cecily. “My father’s interests and mine are not necessarily the same,” he said. “In fact, I’ve been thinking I won’t return to England.”

Her stunned expression confirmed his worst suspicions. No matter all her protests to the contrary, she wanted the title and prestige and recognition that would come to her in England as not only an Earl’s daughter, but an Earl’s wife.

“Not return to England? But Charles, it’s your home. Your family is there. Everything –”

“I like the life I’m living here. I don’t think I’m suited for the regimented routine my father wants for me.”

She sat back and looked at him for a long moment, her gaze probing. “I think I can understand that, and I respect you for it,” she said after a moment.

He shook his head. “I don’t think you can. No matter what you say, you scarcely know me.”

She leaned forward once again and covered his hand with her own. “I know I love you. Sometimes, that’s enough.”
 

He made himself turn from the tender look in her eyes. Shoving out of his chair, he walked to the sideboard and poured another whiskey, as if distance and drink could break the hold she had on him. But her presence filled the room: the scent of her lingered in the air and the feel of her skin still burned against his hand.
 
And her words — her words reverberated in his skull like the peal of funeral bells. He could not quite believe they were true, but they were words he’d heard rarely enough in his life to make them valuable.

She waited at the table, head bent, outwardly passive, but he had no doubt were he to look in her eyes they would blaze with feeling.
 

The clock in the hallway struck half past the hour, its gonging the only sound in the stillness. Cecily raised her head and pulled her plate toward her once more. “Come finish your dinner, Charles,” she said in a strained voice. “I promise to talk only of trivialities.”

“I’ve had enough, thank you.” He drained his whiskey glass and returned it to the tray, thinking he ought to apologize for his boorish behavior, but not knowing how. “I promised Hollister I’d meet with him this evening to discuss plans for expansion. Please excuse me.”

She nodded, continuing to eat as if nothing awkward had passed between them. But the hand that gripped her fork was white-knuckled, and the bones of her shoulders stood out sharply, as if braced for a blow.

He had to pass by her chair on his way out of the room. He paused behind her, hand outstretched, wanting to touch her, to comfort her and beg forgiveness for the distress he’d caused her. But he dared not. He let his hand drop to his side and moved on. This new Cecily was more dangerous to him than the demure young miss he’d left behind in England. This mature, mercurial woman had the power to seduce not only his body, but his mind as well.

Chapter Eight

All her mother’s lectures about the dangers of impulsiveness came rushing back to Cecily as she climbed the stairs to her room after supper. Why, oh why, had she declared her love for Charles so openly? All his protests had warned her it was too soon to reveal her feelings, yet she had not had sense enough to curb her wayward tongue. Her words had clearly thrown him into a panic.

She could hardly blame him. How could he believe the love she felt for him, when she scarcely understood it herself? It was true she did not know him well. They had spent few hours alone, spent less time in conversation. But in other ways, she knew so much about him. She had grown up next door, knew the same people and countryside he knew, was familiar with all his family’s stories. A close observer of him for years, she knew his favorite foods, his habits and tendencies. She knew things he probably didn’t realize. For instance, she knew that he was really a very private person. More than once, she’d watched him retreat to a quiet corner of the family estate to read and contemplate. Even here in Texas he often went riding alone. While to the public and all but his closest confidants, he was a lively, sociable friend-to-all, Cecily knew his well-known charm actually served to keep people at a distance.

In her room, she lit a lamp and began to undress, unwilling to summon Alice and endure the questions the maid would be sure to ask. As the gauzy dress drifted to the floor around her feet, she thought ruefully of her plans for an evening of seduction. “I suppose I’m not meant to be a temptress,” she murmured, picking the dress up off the floor and draping it over a chair.

Fifi and Estelle meant well, but, while the too-brief kisses she and Charles had shared had kindled physical desire, she really craved a union that went beyond the physical: a union of two hearts.

She slipped on a dressing gown and went to the window and opened it. A chill breeze, scented with sage, drifted in from the prairie, a perfume she would ever associate with Texas. She stared up at the sky. No towering buildings or even tall trees obscured the view of the expanse of velvet darkness, glittering with a thousand diamond-bright stars. The stars here were brighter than any she’d known in England.
 

Her mother once told her stars were souls waiting to be born. Some people thought there were soul mates. Was Charles her soul mate? Was that why, as long as she could remember, she had loved him? First with a schoolgirl adoration, later with the blush of first love. Now she loved him in yet a different way, with a woman’s abiding love that wouldn’t let go even in the face of his rejection.

What could she call what happened tonight but rejection? She’d told him she loved him and he had said. . . nothing.

A knock on the door startled her from these morose thoughts. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, m’lady,” said Alice.
 

Maybe company was what she needed right now, to pull her out of the mire of self-pity into which she was rapidly sinking. She closed the window and turned toward the door. “Come in.”

The door opened to admit the maid. Instead of her usual severe black dress, she wore a frilled white shirtwaist and lavender skirt, and her normally tightly-coiled hair looked as if it had been pinned up in haste. “I came to see if you needed anything else before you retire.” Alice hurried to the dresser and picked up a silver-backed brush. “Let me brush your hair out for you, m’lady.”

“Yes, that would feel good.” She sat at the dressing table and Alice removed the pins from her hair and began to brush the thick locks. Cecily closed her eyes and surrendered to the soothing feel of the bristles against her scalp. Alice moved with a steady rhythm, the brush making whispering noises as it swept through Cecily’s hair, lulling her into a doze.

Alice sniffed, breaking the rhythm and making Cecily open her eyes. She looked into the dressing table mirror in time to see Alice reach up and wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. “Alice, have you been crying?” she asked, alarmed.

“Of course not, m’lady.” But even as she spoke, fresh tears welling in her green eyes betrayed her.
 

Cecily turned on the dressing stool to face her maid. “Alice, what’s wrong? What has upset you so?”

Alice stood, head down, clutching the brush with both hands. “It’s Nick, m’lady. Though I can’t fathom why I’d be thinking the likes of him are worth crying over.”

“What has he done to upset you?” Cecily reached out and gently pried the brush from Alice’s hand, then patted her arm. “Would you like me to talk to him?”

Alice jerked her head up, eyes wide. “Oh no, m’lady. Please don’t say a word. I’d be mortified.”

Cecily moved from the dressing stool to the edge of the bed, and motioned for Alice to sit beside her. “Tell me what happened.”

Alice sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so ashamed, m’lady. I couldn’t say.”

Cecily slipped her arm around the maid. “You can tell me, Alice. After all, we English women must stick together.”

Alice sniffed, then nodded. “I suppose you’re right, m’lady.” She sniffed again, and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I was thinking about what Estelle and Fifi said. Some of it was cruel and uncalled for, but it’s true I fancy Nick.” She ducked her head, but not before Cecily glimpsed the flush of red blooming on her cheeks. “That’s to say, I’d like him to like me better. I don’t mean to be snippy with him, but he does love to tease so.”

“Sometimes teasing can be a true sign of affection,” Cecily said.

Alice took a deep breath. “That’s as may be, but I learned the hard way to be careful of myself. At my first position, I was very young and pretty.” She glanced at Cecily. “You might not think it to look at me now, but I was very popular with the young men. I loved the attention and all. Then the young man of the house, he took an interest. I was right flattered, I tell you, but of course I was just being foolish. He never meant nothing serious by me. Then one day the mistress caught us kissing in the pantry. I thought I was done for, but instead she took me aside and let me know in no uncertain terms that I’d be out on the street if I didn’t straighten up my behavior.”

Cecily put a comforting hand on Alice’s shoulder. She could imagine the pretty young woman, so lovely and innocent and trusting. She ached for the loss of that trust. “Is that when you started pulling your hair back so severely and dressing so somberly, like a much older woman?”

She nodded. “I didn’t want to attract that kind of attention again. I guess after a while it grew to be habit.”

Cecily surveyed the frilly blouse and lavender skirt, beginning to understand what must have happened. “But tonight, you decided to try something different?”

“I thought long and hard about what Fifi and Estelle said, and saw how I must seem to Nick. I thought tonight I’d try to show him different — that I was interested in him, like. So after dinner, I asked him to come out to the stables with me and take a look at a trunk of yours that needed mending. At first he didn’t want to go, but I pleaded nice as I could and he agreed. I told him I’d meet him there, then I went and fixed my hair a different way and put on this shirtwaist and skirt.”

“They’re very pretty.”

“I thought so. I bought them on a whim, a long while back, and was saving them. For what, I don’t know. I thought Nick – well I thought he might like me better in them than my usual black.”

Cecily covered Alice’s hand with her own. “What happened?”

Alice frowned. “First thing, when I got there he was with two cowboys. They were talking about horses and saddles and all that folderol. One of them whistled when I came up and started making jokes about they didn’t know Nick had an assignation and such. Nick turned the color of poppies and denied any such thing, but the cowboys wouldn’t let up. I just stood there, red as flannel, not even able to say a word, and Nick didn’t say one thing to defend me, either, the cad!” Her shoulders slumped. “After a while though, they left us alone. Nick turns to me, all gruff-like, and asks where this trunk is. I showed him. It weren’t much damaged, just a broken strap on one side. Nick said he could fix it and I thanked him proper and said as how it was a pretty night, hoping he’d take the hint to ask me to go walking, but he didn’t.

“So I tried touching him and looking into his eyes, like Fifi and Estelle said, but he just looked at me like I’d lost my mind. ‘Go on, Alice,’ he said, pushing me away. ‘You trying to get me sacked?’ He was looking around all nervous-like. Then I realized he was worried those cowboys would see us. I couldn’t help it, m’lady. I lit into him. I told him he cared more about horses and cowboys than he ever could a woman and I didn’t know what I’d seen in him in the first place. Then I started crying and ran out of there.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and sniffed. “Men!
 
How do women ever put up with them?”