Cecilia's Claim (4 page)

As much as she loved her brother, she could only hope and pray his
task that night was not successful. With another sigh, she left the room and
made her way to her bedchamber. She looked at the double-ended glove mender and
the darning mushroom Randall had given to her with a quiet, "Perhaps these
will stand you in good stead until I find the perfect jade for you." They
were adequate as a stand-in for a firm cock, but as she well knew, once a cock
had been enjoyed, nothing else was ever as good. With a determination she
didn't realize she had, she turned away from her sewing drawer, undressed and
got into bed. She may be unconventional and a rebel, but she had to curb her
enthusiasm. Perhaps it was as well she had a lot that occupied her mind other
than the joy of satisfying her carnal needs?

 
To dream of a man with eyes
so dark they were the color of a midnight sky, and feel him leaning over her,
whispering her name, stroking her brow and holding her. Someone—something—else
also, so nebulous that try as she might strive to discover what held her in
thrall, she couldn't.

She woke early, wisps of her dream chasing through her mind, and
looked out of the uncurtained window. Ever since she was a young girl, Cecy
liked to see the moonlight shining into the room, and watch the shadows as
clouds chased across the sky. It was so early, the sun had yet to rise over the
far shore, and the river was low, the water silver in the half-light, the
mudflat gleaming and dark. The sky held a promise of a fine autumn morning, and
she ached to be out and watch the day begin. With a spurt of restless energy,
she pushed back the bedclothes and went to the ewer. The water was cold but she
ignored the chill and washed briskly before dressing. Her maid would arrive
later in the week, once the servant's accommodation was finished, but until
then she had perforce, and to her delight, to dress simply and accept no
invitations. If indeed any were forthcoming. Perhaps her reputation had gone
before her, and she would be shunned? To her amazement the thought caused her
no discomfiture at all.

With one last look at the view Cecy began her day.

That and the days that followed stuck to a mundane pattern. She
saw little of Randall. She discovered the village and made herself known to the
shopkeepers, and arranged for provisions. She visited the river beach, and
watched the men fish, rowing their boats out in an arc to drop their nets and
then dragging them in hand over hand from the shore. Most people were polite, a
few friendly, and a very small few downright hostile to her. Those she put down
to Randall's occupation, and she chose to ignore their attitude.

Occasionally she fancied she saw Randall in the distance but he
was as ever tight lipped about his work, and she preferred it so.

Once she thought she recognized a silhouette behind a boat, but
the sun was at the wrong angle to see if she was hallucinating or if it was
indeed Philippe.

Each night her dream visited her, and each morning she woke
frustrated, her quim throbbing, her channel wet and her nipples hard and
wanting. Before she rose she had to take herself in hand before she was able to
start the day with equanimity.

Chapter Two

Randall had left the house after supper, after admonishing her to
make sure the doors were locked and she had her pistol at hand. Cecy could tell
he was worried about her safety and could do nothing to reassure him. Not for
the first time she cursed Perry for sending her to this village on the coast of
Devon, charming as it was on the surface. How long before she was absolved and
allowed back into the bosom of her family? The ton she knew would be a harder
nut to crack. They gave some leeway, but once a lady crossed the imaginary line
into impropriety, it took a miracle or a good marriage to restore honor. Cecy
was sure she wouldn't reach that mark anytime soon, but the thought of her
manor in the shires gave her comfort. She could retire to it with satisfaction
and reside there for as long as needed. Oh she loved this village, but always
there was a feeling of anticipation.
Of something about to
happen, and not necessarily in a good way.
With a grimace she got ready
for bed.

As she undressed and put on her night rail and wrap, Cecy thought
she really must stop wearing so much green. Just because a certain French count
had said it matched her eyes was no reason to favor it. Not now, not after such
a long time.
 
As she got into bed she
vowed there and then to send to Exeter for blue, orange or red garments.
Anything but green.

She dreamed, of course. Of a dark haired, dark eyed man who
beckoned to her.

A crash brought her awake with a jolt.

She knew it was no dream. Grabbing her silk wrapper she thrust her
arms into the sleeves and then belted it tight. Mindful of Randall's warning
she lifted her pistol from under her pillow and left her room.

The sight she saw in the hallway made her lurch at Randall and the
stranger he was trying to hold up.
Her mini assault,
unintentional as it was, caused them all to fall.
Mrs. Batting,
resplendent in hair rags and a vivid scarlet dressing gown, bustled around like
a demented hen, until finally they got the man upstairs and into Randall's bed.
Cecy chose not to query why her brother's bed, or who the man was until the
doctor had called. Once the fussy little physician had left she crept back into
the room and confronted Randall.

"Randall, who is this man?"
She looked from
her brother to the stranger and back again.

"His name is Jason. Watch over him for me, Cecy."

She stared from her brother to the comatose body in the bed, and
raised an eyebrow. Randall shrugged. The body groaned and opened one eye.

Jason swept back the bed covers. Cecy stifled a giggle. He was as
naked as the day he was born. His physique was certainly not as that day, and
proud of it. And judging by the way he looked at Randall, her presence was
superfluous.

"All I ask is you both know what you're doing, and take care.
I'll do as you ask."

However much she worried, a promise was a promise. It was no hard
thing to do. Cecy took the evening meal to him and found her unexpected guest
proved to be
an
restful companion. He said little, but
seemed happy just to sit and enjoy the autumn evening and watch the swallows
swoop over the river.

Which made it all the more difficult to assimilate when, after she
had taken herself on a brisk walk over the local hills the next morning, she
returned to find their visitor missing. Mrs. Batting had no idea he'd left, let
alone when. Cecy hastened to reassure the housekeeper that it was nothing for
her to worry about. Cecy would do the worrying.

Cursing under her breath, Cecy paced the parlor. Randall would
never forgive her, and how on earth could she contact him and tell him she'd
misplaced his lover? For lovers they were—or had been—of that Cecy had no
doubt.

"Damn the bloody man, where the hell has he gone?" She
was so deep in thought that when someone cleared their throat, she jumped and
put her hand to her heart.

Oh dear.

"Oh
Randall!
I've misplaced your man!"
 

That startled a
chuckle form him. "Misplaced him? You mean he sneakily gave you the slip.
He's a former intelligence officer, you know."

That explained a
lot to her. The way he was always alert, and almost seemed to anticipate some
of her moves.

"A
spy?"
Her eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise. "Really,
no wonder I misplaced him.
The bounder.

Randall nodded,
and sympathy showed in his eyes.

 
"Yes.
One of Percy's
crew.
He was leader of a squad in Paris, sending information back
home."

"Then I
should not be surprised or ashamed that he outwitted me." Cecy grinned.
That was a relief.

"No. It was
bound to happen. He's outwitted and out fought me on more than one occasion as
well," he confessed.

"But
Randall," Cecy leaned forward confidingly. "What shall you do? Will
he return for you? How will you find him again?" Her heart tightened for
her brother.
To find someone so special only to lose them
again.
She knew how cruel that was.

"Finding him
won't be a problem," Randall replied in a dry tone. "I met up with
him in Tor in Fieldside.

"He followed
you?"

Randall shook his
head. "No. He was there afore me. He killed the man we went there to
arrest."

Cecy's gasp of
shock drew his gaze from the fire. He stared at her from under hooded eyes. As
usual his face was impossible to read. Truly he was a master of insouciance
when he chose to be. Only the tic at the corner of his eye showed he wasn't as
indifferent as he chose to portray.

"Oh, it was
perfectly understandable. You see, the man was part of the French spy ring that
killed Jason's team."

"It was
revenge?" Cecy's skin crawled. She had known Jason was dangerous. It was
in every move he made, but to do such a thing in cold blood she thought was
inexplicable. She was wrong.

"He called it
justice, but yes, it was revenge." Randall said flatly. 

"Then why
didn't he return with you?" Cecy was puzzled. She was certain Randall was
being somewhat economical with the truth." Why indeed? To put it shortly I
had him arrested." 

"Randall! You
did not!"

Cecy stared at
him, and noticed the fine tremor that rippled through him. So he wasn't as
unaffected as he tried to make out.

"Indeed I
did." He sank onto the sofa beside Cecy, and stared into the fire, and
frowned. Cecy placed a comforting hand on his arm, and he covered it with his
own, and squeezed gently.

"What will
you do now?" she asked him.

"Now?"
He snorted
inelegantly. "I leave in the morning for London to give Perry the good and
bad news." He gathered himself and continued bitterly, "Good news.
Hello brother—the cousin we buried isn't actually dead. Bad news, I had to
arrest him for murder. Good news, your little spy ring wasn't entirely wiped
out, bad news, one of them has gone rogue and taken it into his head to commit
homicide."

Cecy gasped and
rubbed her clammy hands down her silks. "Oh. What do you think he'll
do?"

"This is
Perry. He'll do what's right and proper and legal. In other words, I get to be
instrumental in the hanging of the man I love.
And all
because I couldn't take a moment to calm myself.
I let my emotions guide
my actions, and now Jason shall suffer for it."

Cecy had no words
to comfort him.

Randall smiled. It
didn't reach his eyes. "I'll see you later.

****

Just over two weeks after their arrival, and not that long since
their guest had departed, a knock on the door mid-morning was unexpected. Cecy
put down her books and walked down the stairs, pleased to have a reason to
ignore the household accounts. Randal had had scarcely been at home over the
last days, and when he was, was irritable and short tempered. He'd been morose
and then tight-lipped whenever she tried to bring the subject of Jason up, and
eventually she gave up. She acknowledged she was bored and promised herself a
long walk as soon as it was practicable. Meanwhile any distraction from the
dratted accounts and a lost bag of coal was welcome.

Mrs. Batting had departed on the early ferry across the river to
the market, so Cecy took it upon herself to answer the insistent knocking.

"I'm coming," she muttered as she fought with the lock.
Mrs. Batting had taken Randall's words regarding Cecy's safety to heart. She
flung the door open and stared. Jason was the last person she expected to see
on the step.

"Well?" she invested the word with all the imperiousness
she could muster. How dare he return after all he had done?

"I wish to speak to Randall."

 
She stared at his ashen
face, his unkempt hair and his sweat and sea-soaked garments.

"He is not here.
Even if he was?"
She raised one eyebrow and willed herself not to tell him what she really
thought. If she started, the local fishwives would think they had a new member.

 
With an inbuilt grace he
bowed. "I beg you accept my apology for disturbing you, my lady."
Jason turned and walked along the lane. Cecy went to call him back, but
stopped. Did she know if Randall would want to see him? She watched as he
turned the corner, and could have cried for him and her brother and what might
have been.

As she closed the door and made her way slowly back to her tiny
study, Cecy made a decision. Tomorrow she would get up with the sun and walk.
With this happy thought she returned to the accounts and found the missing coal
listed under cooking equipment.