Prologue #2
She did not look at Rivington, coward that she was. For one terrible heartbeat, she understood what she had done to him as well as to herself.
She had just ruined his life—at least he likely thought so.
Certainly, she had taken his choices away, presuming he did not turn his back on her, and he would be well within his rights to be contemplating shaking her until her teeth rattled.
Yet he said nothing to defend himself, but she felt his gaze upon her, burning with rage.
The heat of his fury was so white-hot she wondered that everyone present did not burst into flames then and there, but a moment later Hetty appeared, and then Gideon, and they were hurried away, out of the public eye.
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 5th August 1816
Cilly had always wondered about the phrase, the air was so thick one might cut it with a knife. It had seemed rather far-fetched to describe something so impossible to do. Tonight she believed it.
The silence in the parlour back at Hatherley Hall was so loud it seemed to vibrate in Cilly’s ears.
Rivington had said not a word since their discovery on the terrace, and as yet, Cilly had been unable to meet his eyes.
She was oddly calm, though. The worst was over.
She had done it. She had ruined herself.
No one seemed to know what to say. They all waited in tense stillness, as though waiting for a bell to ring so that the performance might continue. The trouble was, Cilly had not scripted this part, and there was a chance things might go horribly wrong.
Reaching over, Hetty took her hand, squeezing her fingers, whilst staring daggers at Lord Rivington. Cilly had maintained her attention until now, but her sister could only be managed for so long.
“You bastard!” she growled, glaring at him.
“Hetty!” her grandmother exclaimed in shock.
“Well he is. Everyone knows it and now—”
“Hetty. Don’t.” Cilly’s voice was so implacable Hetty gazed at her for a moment in shock. She was unused to her usually biddable sister sounding so… so forceful.
The man they had been waiting for to permit the performance to proceed entered the room, his expression grim. Gideon’s gaze went directly to his brother.
“You promised,” he said, his voice thick with rage. “You swore upon your honour that you would not ruin Hetty’s sister, and barely a few weeks later—”
“He didn’t.”
Cilly instantly became the focus of everyone's attention. Her chin up, she freed her fingers from Hetty's firm hold and stood.
“What are you saying?” Hetty asked, confusion drawing her brows together.
Cilly folded her arms about herself and stood a little taller. “Lord Rivington kept his promise to you, Gideon.”
“Cilly, you’re upset,” Hetty said gently, concern in her voice. “Everyone saw what he did. He ruined you.”
“No, he didn’t. I ruined him!” Cilly said furiously.
“Lord, I am so tired of you all looking at me like I’m so sweet and nice and good.
Well, I’m not. I devised this entire wicked plan.
I bribed one of the serving girls to ensure that everyone came onto the terrace, I unpicked the seams of my gown and sewed them loosely so I could pull them apart easily, and I lured Lord Rivington onto the terrace.
I kissed him. I made everyone believe he was a wicked seducer. I ruined myself on purpose. So there.”
If anything, the silence in the room seemed to ring louder in her ears. Her grandmother, her sister, Gideon — they all stared at her, eyes wide with disbelief.
She folded her arms tighter, glaring back at everyone defiantly. Everyone but Rivington.
“Cilly!” Hetty was staring at her like she’d never seen her before. “This was your plan? This? Don’t you know he does nothing honourable? He ruined that other girl and didn’t marry her, why should you be any different?”
“I never believed that,” Cilly replied staunchly, though right at this moment her heart was beating in her ears, and she was finding it hard to believe she had put everything, her entire future, at risk upon the strength of that belief. If she were wrong…
“I believe I should like a moment alone with Lady Cecilia.”
Cilly jolted, Rivington’s deep voice acting upon her nerves like she’d been jabbed with a red-hot poker. They were the first words he’d spoken since they’d been discovered. She suspected he had not trusted himself to speak before now, probably in case he was tempted to murder her.
“Damian, I’m so very—” Gideon began, his expression taut with regret.
“Alone!” Rivington barked out.
Cilly jumped.
“I’m not certain that is a good idea,” Hetty said, her worried gaze darting from Cilly to her new brother-in-law and back again.
“It’s all right, Hetty. Leave us,” Cilly said, relieved that her voice sounded calm because everything inside her was indulging in a fit of hysteria.
There seemed to be a small but powerful whirlwind spinning in her brain, and the entire evening had become like a peculiar waking dream, where impossible things happened and one might sprout wings and fly at any moment. She could only hope.
“Very well, but we shall be just outside the door,” Hetty said firmly.
“I cannot pretend I am not shocked, or that I believe this was a good thing to have done, but you are my sister, Cecilia, and if anyone does anything to upset you—” At this she sent Rivington a stern look.
“No matter how provoked he may be feeling—”
“I will not lay a finger on her, no matter how tempted I might be to wring her pretty neck,” Rivington growled.
Cilly swallowed hard, fighting the temptation to demand Hetty stay after all.
The door closed, and they were alone.
Finally, Cilly steeled her nerves, and knowing she could not avoid doing so for a moment longer, she met Rivington’s eyes.
It was like reaching out and touching a lightning strike. The intensity of his gaze collided with hers and she took an instinctive step backwards.
“Your sister is right. Miss Bradford was hurried off to the countryside where she was hastily married to a second cousin because I refused to do the honourable thing,” he said, his voice hard, the words implacable. “I do not like having my hand forced. I intensely dislike being manipulated.”
“No, you prefer to be the one doing the manipulating. I am well aware of that,” Cilly replied, fighting to keep her voice from shaking.
“Then, what on earth did you think you were playing at? You’ve just ruined yourself for a man who is going to walk out that door and forget you ever existed.”
The words were hard and cruel, deliberately so, and she knew she deserved every bit of his anger, but she also knew—or hoped she did—that he would not do it.
“What did Miss Bradford have to offer you?”
His head reared back like she’d slapped him. “I beg your pardon?” he demanded icily.
“You heard me.” Cilly held his gaze, which held about as much warmth as a Siberian winter night. “Was she rich? Was she well connected?”
“She was young and beautiful,” he replied, injecting the words with enough emphasis for Cilly to hear the unspoken at least.
“As I thought,” she said with satisfaction. She felt sick to her stomach, and even though she had practised this part of her plan repeatedly, she still found it hard to believe she was about to enter a negotiation for the rest of her life. “She offered you nothing that you wanted.”
He snorted and stalked to the fireplace, leaning one arm on the mantelpiece, looking at her with such scorn that she felt it flay her skin.
“And what is it that you are offering me, Lady Cecilia?” he asked, dropping his voice to a dangerous purr, one that warned her of just how much trouble she was in.
“A deal,” she said firmly. “One in which we both get what we want.”
His eyes narrowed. “How can you possibly know what I want? Unless you mean money, and I know very well your father will disown you as he did your sister if you marry me, so you can forget trying to wave your fifty-thousand-pound dowry under my nose. You’ve lost your value, I’m afraid, my dear. Soiled doves come cheap.”
Cilly blushed at the crude expression but refused to allow him to cow her with his anger and his harsh words. He had every right to hate her, every right to be utterly furious with her. She would not weep over a few ugly words when she had brought them both to this place.
“I assure you I would not be so foolish. However, I do have fifteen thousand pounds of my own. It is still a substantial amount, enough to restore Rivington Manor, I should imagine, if managed carefully.”
She had his attention now, and her confidence rose a cautious degree. “But I can do better than that.”