TWENTY-THREE
Desperation and fear were two emotions Cecily knew well. However, it surprised her to feel their grip while tumbling helplessly into love with Lord Matthias Kinsey.
With each kiss and conversation, her adoration grew. She ached for the everything Matthias had promised.
Yet, apprehension haunted her.
Rawkin’s warning rang in her ears. She had fallen too far and knew too much of the world to suppose there would be a happily ever after for herself and Matthias.
Drempton wanted her for his own, and Grayburn had deemed her unworthy to be his brother’s housekeeper, much less his sister-in-law.
Both aristocrats were powerful enough to ensure they got their way.
Cecily avoided thinking about Rawkin’s other piece of news—a man had been asking after a woman of her description in the village.
It could be a mere coincidence. Of course, it could.
But Drempton had proved tenacious in the past. She took precautions, such as only leaving Avoch in the company of others and never walking alone on the grounds. But would that be enough?
Every day felt like crossing a waterlogged stretch of beach—she was never sure which step would find solid ground and which would be quicksand. Because of a surety, the farther she continued down this path, the more likely she would be to encounter a bog.
Nine days after their first kiss, Cecily asked Matthias to accompany her to check her post from Mrs. Campbell. Not wanting to set Mrs. Campbell’s tongue to wagging by arriving on her doorstep with his lordship in tow, she left Matthias around the bend and continued to Mrs. Campbell’s on her own.
“Och, I have a nice muckle one for ye today, Mrs. Armstrong,” the cheery Scot said, pulling a letter from pride of place on the fireplace mantle. “Your correspondent must have much to say.” She punctuated her speech with a wink.
Mrs. Campbell assumed Cecily was carrying on a long-distance love affair with the letters’ sender. As the misconstrued notion explained why Cecily had the letters delivered here and not to Avoch, she didn’t protest.
This letter was thicker than normal, at least two sheets of paper. Such heft meant Uncle had much to say. The crucial question—was his news encouraging? Or dreadful?
Climbing back atop Indira, she returned to where Matthias and Zephyrus waited.
“Well?” he asked.
“Uncle has written.”
“Good news, I hope?”
“I haven’t read the letter yet.”
His head tilted in question.
“It is a great thick letter.” She waved the foolscap at him. “It might be glad tidings, but it’s just as likely something has happened, and Uncle felt the need to expound at length.”
“Read it now, then. The worry will eat at you, otherwise.”
He was correct, though she feared she might be happier not knowing.
On a deep breath, she broke the seal and unfolded the foolscap. There was no writing on it at all.
Whatever had—?
A second sheet tumbled out. She fumbled to snatch it before it drifted down Indira’s flank and into the mud.
Words scrawled on the page in an unfamiliar hand:
I hope you are enjoying your time at Avoch, Cecily dear. I expect we shall meet soon.
—D
She stared at the sparse words, disbelieving for the briefest moment before a violent shaking seized her person.
No!
He knew. Drempton had found her. He was coming. What was she to do? Was it too late to flee? How quickly could she locate a safe hiding place?
The world went dark around the edges, panic stripping her voice and setting her shoulders to trembling. Leaning forward, she closed her eyes and clung to the saddle pommel, trying to force air into her lungs.
“Cecily?” Matthias’s urgent voice broke through her terror. “What has happened?”
She shook her head. Terror gripped her skeleton—chattering her teeth, knotting her stomach, freezing her lungs.
She felt a tap on her foot. Matthias stood on the ground beside Indira, his arm lifted toward her.
“Brace your hands on my shoulders.”
Even though her limbs were weighted with lead, she managed to lean down and set her palms on either side of his neck. With one hand under her arm, he eased her down to the ground. She wrapped her arms around her elbows to stop their trembling, the letter crushed in her fist.
“May I?” Matthias held his arms open.
Nodding, she let him gather her close. She sank into the warm comfort of his embrace, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. How could she have come so far, sacrificed so much, to end up in Drempton’s grasp?
“What has your uncle written?” Matthias whispered against her hair.
“N-not Uncle,” she stammered through chilled lips.
She pressed the letter into his hand. He held her to him with his stump, flicking the foolscap open with a snap of his left hand. His muscles tensed as he read, and she felt his sharp inhale.
“That bastard.” His voice vibrated with leashed fury. “What does Drempton hope to accomplish?”
Pushing out of his arms, Cecily dug out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks.
“C-control. P-possession of my p-person.” She managed a slow, stuttered breath, willing her teeth to stop their chattering. “Obviously, Drempton finds power in my fear and views my refusal of him as a challenge to surmount. He wishes me for himself and will go to great lengths to achieve it.”
Matthias huffed. “I’m assuming it was Drempton who convinced George to stay silent about your abandonment, arguing that if they simply recaptured you, they would avoid scandal.”
“Possibly. Or Drempton wished to have leverage over me in the event of George’s death—cooperate, or his lordship will reveal all.”
“How did your husband die?”
“A tragic riding accident, my uncle said. George’s saddle girth snapped as he attempted a fence and sent him tumbling to his death.”
Matthias’s eyebrows rose. Neither of them asked the obvious—how truly accidental was George’s demise, in the end?
When she first heard the news of George’s death, Cecily was so overjoyed, truth be told, she scarcely questioned how it had happened. But in light of Drempton’s continued obsession with her, George’s death appeared more sinister.
It could have been a simple accident.
But as magistrate, if his lordship wished to harm his cousin, he could do so with impunity. No one would believe that Drempton wished his cousin and heir harm. No accusation would be flung his way. But if George’s death freed Cecily from her marriage . . .
She feared she was going to be sick. Her lungs heaved, panic tingling her limbs.
“Do you suppose America would be far enough away?” She began pacing, a palm pressed to her stomach. “If I fled to New York, could I escape Drempton’s grasp? He is likely on his way here and—”
Matthias touched her elbow.
She startled, emitting a small squeak.
“Drempton won’t reach you, Cecily.” His voice rang with certainty. “You don’t need to run.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do. He won’t reach you because he will have to go through me and the might of the Dukedom of Grayburn. I won’t let that happen.”
“Matthias . . .”
She watched his chest rise and fall on a deep breath, as if he were nervous. But when he met her gaze, his eyes blazed with determination.
“Marry me, Cecily.”
His declaration stole her breath. “Pardon?”
“Marry me. Let me give you the protection of my name.”
She frowned. “I won’t marry you out of pity, Matthias.”
He flinched. A violent recoil. His face bleached of color, and he took a step back.
Her words replayed in her mind.
“No. No!” She reached for him. “I spoke poorly. I meant out of pity for the hash I’ve made of my life.
” She snatched his gloved hand and held it between her own.
“You are the most generous of men. However, you needn’t fall upon the sword of marriage to save me from my poor decisions. Allying yourself with me—”
“This isn’t pity, Cecily. I told you I wanted everything. I told you my intentions were honorable. I meant both of those sentiments, and surely you understood the depth of their meaning.”
“Yes, but I’m all you have known. Once you’ve experienced other ladies—conversed, danced, embraced—perhaps you will—”
“I don’t want a different lady. I could court every eligible miss in the kingdom, and it wouldn’t matter. From the first moment I saw you, there has been no one else.”
She scoffed. “You glimpsed me stranded on a muddy road—looking fetching in my worn clothing and pathetic distress—and decided I would do?”
“No.” A slice of his head. He stepped closer.
“I saw you standing underneath a chandelier in Lady Ashby’s drawing room, glowing like an angel.
I’m quite sure hosannas trilled in my head.
You were wearing a stunning white muslin dress overlaid with gold-shot netting and smiling at the hostess.
One glance and I was done for. You have had my heart ever since. ”
Cecily stilled. “That was over a decade ago.”
“I know. And I haven’t pondered another woman since. No other lady has consumed my thoughts. Only you. You might think me devil-cursed or unworthy. Perhaps you do find me pitiable, but never doubt the sincerity of my affection. The only question you must answer is this—do you wish to marry me?”
Fear rooted Cecily in place. Such a vast unknown he proposed.
Her heart screamed YES! How she wanted to marry him!
But . . .
“I am a housekeeper, Matthias. If you marry me, Drempton will ensure that my actions are broadcast far and wide. Neither of us will be received.”
“Then so be it. I’m not marrying you for your reputation. I dislike Polite Society in general and don’t care if I am received.”
“You will care greatly when you can’t maintain your horse venture because your new wife has irreparably sullied your good name.”
“Then I won’t train horses.”
“But . . . you adore doing that.”
“I do, but I can continue the practice without turning it into a business venture. What else?” He asked the question like a challenge. A dare.
Her heart hammered her ribs.
Very well.
She would lay out all her concerns.
“You say the might of the Dukedom of Grayburn will protect me, but I strongly suspect that Grayburn himself will object most stringently to our union. He will be more aligned with Drempton than yourself.”
“Yes. I won’t lie and say that isn’t possible.
” Matthias’s mouth twisted, as if her point tasted bitter.
“But I would not place Gray’s loyalty to station above his loyalty to family.
If he has to choose between a low-ranking Peer and the reputation of the Kinsey name, he will side with family.
I will likely hear about it for the rest of my days, and we might not be received at Dunmore, but I can live with that. ”
“And your sister, Lady Isla? I know you care deeply for her.”
“There is no shred of doubt that she won’t adore and accept you, no matter the situation. If you are my wife, you are family. Isla will not care one fig about my reputation. What else?”
“I cannot marry you and remain here at Avoch. It would be an impossibility to become mistress of the house where I was once employed as a housekeeper. Not to mention your neighbors, who will surely shun you.”
“Then we shall live elsewhere,” he replied easily. “Do you understand how simple this is? I’m not interested in marrying a business venture or an estate. I want you, and I will counter your concerns unless you say you don’t want me. That is the only rejection I will accept.”
That was precisely the one thing Cecily couldn’t say. Because asserting she didn’t ache to be his wife would be a lie.
“You are the only thing I want,” he continued. “And if you want me in return, then I will find a way for us to be together.” He flipped his hand, capturing both hers in his solitary one. “But none of this matters if you don’t want to marry me. Cecily, do you wish to marry me?”
Silence.
Cecily hated that her muddled brain couldn’t muster a single excuse—any reason whatsoever to resist reaching for what she wanted—a life with this remarkable man.
The words tumbled from her mouth:
“Yes, Matthias. I do wish to marry you.”
His smile momentarily blinded her, radiant with happiness.
“You truly mean it?” Joy lit his eyes. He stepped closer before she could waver. “You will marry me?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. A sound of relief. Pure bliss. “I am the happiest of men, my love.” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “This isn’t how either of us wanted to begin a life together, but we both know how cruel the world can be. Let us face our challenges together.”
Cecily nodded.
And even though he nearly vibrated with excitement, he leaned down slowly, giving her a moment to understand his intentions before his mouth captured hers. Even in this, he thought of her first.
She returned his kiss eagerly. Their mutual attraction, at least, was simple.
And yet, she tasted tears—his and hers—salting their kisses.