TWENTY-SIX
Rawkin informed Cecily that Lord Matthias wished to see her in his study.
It had been several hours since Matthias had ejected Drempton and watched her dissolve into a fit of nervous terror. Grayburn was still in residence, having requested dinner be served in his bedchamber.
Matthias, however . . .
Cecily approached the door with trepidation.
“Come,” his familiar voice called at her knock.
Pushing open the door, she found him sitting behind his desk, hand resting on the oak tabletop.
His expression appeared as bleak as the winter winds off the North Sea and just as unforgiving. In short, no sign of the warm, happy man who had pleaded for her hand in marriage just this morning. He didn’t look angry, per se. More like a dropped Sèvres teacup—something beautiful shattered to bits.
But his eyes, those beloved, familiar brown eyes, drank her in with a forlorn hunger. As if he wished to commit every facet of her to memory.
Foreboding trickled down her spine.
He motioned for her to shut the door.
“What has happened?” she asked, crossing to sit before him. “What has Grayburn done?”
Because of a surety, only the Duke of Grayburn would be capable of putting such sadness in Matthias’s expression.
His shoulders sank and his hand lifted to cover his eyes, as if the sight of her pained him. Or he felt unable to speak and look at her at the same time.
“I . . .” He paused. “Or rather Gray . . .” He drifted off. His hand dropped, chest rising on a heavy breath. “This seemed much easier in my head.”
“What seemed easier?”
He motioned at the space between them. Us.
The foreboding swelled into a waterfall.
“I don’t . . .” She gathered her thoughts. “I was overwrought earlier. Drempton’s appearance overset my thinking, as you saw. I owe you an apology for my outburst and—”
“You need never apologize for your reaction to that man.”
“Perhaps. But I have been stewing over the untrue things I said. About us. About your proposal and our marriage. I didn’t mean them.”
A beat.
“Cecily,” Matthias said her name so softly, so quietly. “You and I both know you meant every word of what you said. They were bitter truths burning bright in a crucible of fear.”
Tears pricked because he was correct in some ways. But not in all.
Yes, the terror and panic of the moment had knocked loose a few stones of truth.
But she didn’t value those truths—the ability to select her own path, for example—more than she valued him.
Matthias would always be her first choice.
But what did it say about their relationship that the smallest tempest would sink the boat of their love?
She tilted her head back, willing her tears to drain back into her eyes. She was so infinitely tired of weeping.
“I will be truthful,” he continued in that same slow voice.
“I hated the honesty of your words. But I also see the veracity of them. You have never been free to determine your own path. You have moved from family to husband to stealthy concealment without the privilege of choosing the life you would like to lead. And now you face a hurried marriage to protect yourself from yet more danger. Regardless of your feelings for me, such a course of action is not a free choice.”
“All women face this reality, Matthias,” Cecily said, her vision gone wobbly. “I have no expectation of anything different.”
“You should, though. You have already once married in haste and regretted at leisure. I do not wish to force you into the same situation again. You should have the ability to reach for something more.”
He was right. She should have the freedom to reach for more, but life didn’t offer women the luxury of choice. As he said, she had learned that hard lesson long ago.
A tear tumbled down her cheek. “The future you offer me is one I will happily embrace.”
He looked away from her at that, eyes bright, before clearing his throat.
“Unfortunately—” His voice broke. He stared at the desk for a long moment before continuing. “I fear I shall have to rescind my offer of marriage.”
His words came out laden with tiny barbs.
So . . . matters had gone precisely as she had predicted. Grayburn had been informed of their impending nuptials and wasted no time in separating them. Matthias’s confidence that he could stand up to his brother had lasted mere hours.
“What has occurred?” She licked a tear off her upper lip. “What did Grayburn do?”
“You have never had freedom, and so I found a way to grant you that freedom. But the cost is our potential marriage.”
“Pardon?”
“Gray has agreed to silence Drempton. As we know, the knowledge of your desertion was kept secret. It is still possible to salvage your reputation. Gray agreed to deal with Drempton. My brother will use the power of his title to ensure that Drempton never utters a negative word about you nor haunts your footsteps. The baron will disappear from your life forever. You will return to your uncle’s home in England, and become Mrs. George Miller once more. ”
The thought of Drempton no longer haunting her steps rendered Cecily lightheaded. How glorious that would be!
“But . . . b-but what about you?”
“I will remain here at Avoch.” Alone lingered at the end of his sentence, hovering but unspoken. “Gray demanded that, in exchange for his help, I agree not to proceed with our marriage.”
It was simply too much. To go from agreeing to marry him, to confronting Drempton, to abandoning the idea of their marriage—abandoning Matthias!—all since nibbling her toast and drinking her tea at breakfast . . .
Cecily dropped her head into her hands. Spikes lodged in her chest, snagging and tearing her lungs with every breath. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and choked on a sob.
No! her mind howled.
A hand cupped the side of her head.
She opened her eyes to see a watery Matthias kneeling before her.
With trembling fingers, she wiped a tear from his face.
And then followed it with her lips, pressing them first to his cheek and then his eyes.
He tipped his head up and caught her mouth with his.
Cecily hiccupped and returned his kiss with frantic intensity.
Hoping if she kissed him hard enough—long enough, fierce enough—he would change his mind.
“I want you to have freedom, Cecily. You deserve choice.” His warm brown eyes filled again. “I love you enough to want your happiness, even if that happiness isn’t with myself.”
“No! This is yet another man making a decision about my life without my consent!”
“Cecily.” The reproach in his tone nearly broke her.
“You and I both know this is the best solution. The only solution, really. If we marry today—which we can do, Gray can’t prevent us—Drempton will remain a problem.
Gray won’t assist us. Drempton will always be out there, lurking, watching.
What if something happens to me? You already suspect that George’s death may not have been natural.
What becomes of you if, heaven forfend, I die?
Accepting Gray’s solution secures your future in ways not even marriage to me will.
It will set you permanently free from this sword of Damocles hovering above your head. ”
“But you want to marry me! This is a cruel choice!”
“Yes! I do . . . more than anything. But not like this. Can’t you see?
I don’t want you under duress. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what if.
What if Drempton hadn’t been a threat? What if you hadn’t felt like a caged animal with no options?
What if, with all those motivators removed, you wouldn’t have chosen me? ”
I will always choose you! she wanted to shout, but the words stuck in her throat. Because they both knew that wasn’t quite the truth. She cared deeply for Matthias. She loved him. She did.
But he wasn’t wrong. Desperation and fear clouded her thinking. Drempton had a chokehold on her life, slowly squeezing the air from her existence. It was why painful truths spilled from her earlier.
And good, kind Matthias refused to do anything that might harm her. Because he was, at his innermost heart, a healer. A man who cured suffering and refused to cause more injury. And because of that, he couldn’t do anything that might harm her, no matter how much he wounded himself in the process.
That fact alone made her ache to marry him.
“Matthias . . .” She leaned forward to kiss him again, but he dodged her lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before standing.
He took a step back. And then another.
“I am officially sacking you, Mrs. Armstrong.” His voice emerged strong, but his eyes still shone bright. “From here, I will make arrangements for a maid to accompany you south to your uncle’s estate.”
“So even in this, I am not to be given a choice?”
“Cecily.” His tone caused her lungs to hiccup again. “If your wishes are truly different, merely say the word, and I will alter these plans.”
Marry me! stung the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t force out the words.
Because he was correct.
She didn’t know if she would choose him if fear didn’t loom large. She did long to see her uncle and aunt once more and recover her old life. She was desperate to never again lay eyes on Drempton.
Rage toward Drempton and George burned hot. They were the true villains of this story. Men who broke and destroyed anything they touched.
And now they had robbed her of Matthias.
The next day, Cecily found herself in a comfortable carriage, heading south to Worcestershire and her uncle’s house outside of Bewdley.
Most poignant of all, Indira walked along behind them, tethered to the back.
Because, of course, in one last act of kindness, Matthias had gifted her the horse that was to be his own future.
For nine days, the carriage bounced along narrow roads and rolled over hills, carrying Cecily from Sutherland to Glasgow to Manchester to Birmingham. The entire way, her head was a muddle of Matthias and Drempton and a future life she couldn’t bring into focus.