One Whisper Away (12 page)

Actually, she
still
didn’t know how he felt about her, or her idea, but if the way he was currently looking at her was any indication, he thought she had lost her mind. It was true, they didn’t know each other well at all, but she hardly knew Lord Drury better.

And she certainly didn’t sense the same pull of attraction toward him, which was unsettling. The man escorting her was a much better choice for this little deception than any of the other men she knew because he wasn’t looking for a wife. She somehow doubted that he would drag her into the situation of what she considered a sometimes ridiculous set of rules when it came to aristocratic honor.

Cecily squared her shoulders. It was a sound plan. In the end, of course, she would have to deal with the whispers over her broken engagement and her fiancé’s departure to America, but in her opinion that was infinitely better than a marriage without love. She was embarking on this charade not just for her sister’s sake but also for her own. What joy would she find in her husband’s life—in his bed—when she knew it hurt Eleanor? If the viscount never did show any interest in her sister, at least if he was married to someone else Eleanor would not have to endure his being her brother-in-law.

She said succinctly, “I am quite serious, my lord.”

The street was a quiet one, residential and dimly lit by a scattering of stars above in the night sky, which made Jonathan’s expression difficult to read. He asked softly, “And what, pray tell, is the benefit to me from a feigned engagement? I’m afraid you misunderstand my sense of duty when it comes to the title. James is my heir and perfectly capable of handling the earldom. He did so very well before my arrival and continues to manage some of the estate business. Other than making sure that my sisters are properly wed and settled, I have no intention of playing the English aristocrat any longer than necessary. You are right. Adela and I are sailing back to America as soon as possible.”

“If you are already engaged, all those eager young ladies will turn their attention elsewhere.”

“I don’t notice them as it is.” His voice definitely held a hint of cynical amusement.

That was unfortunately true. He rarely danced, he did not request introduction to any of the debutantes, nor had he expressed any intention of looking for a countess. Cecily’s heart sank a bit, but she played what she knew was a trump card, hoping it would not backfire on her later. She lifted her chin. “My grandmother is the Dowager Duchess of Eddington. She has considerable influence. If you and I were betrothed, quite naturally she would take an interest in your family. If anyone could help arrange for your sisters to make brilliant matches, she could.”

“Could she now?” He sounded skeptical.

“Oh, yes,” Cecily said without pause.

“Ah, I see. That is quite a bribe.” Walking along next to her, he gave a muffled laugh. “You are a talented negotiator, Lady Cecily. Now, tell me—if that persuades me to agree to this plan, what makes you think your father will even consider my offer?”

“You are an earl with a respectable fortune and if I explain to him that I prefer you over Lord Drury and want this engagement, I think he will agree.”

“And taint the exalted Francis family bloodlines?”

She risked a sidelong glance up at him. “You are more sensitive than I would expect on that issue.”

“I am well aware of my nickname.” His response was dry. “For such a large city, there are very few secrets in London.”

In their circles, that was correct. Except that Eleanor had a secret affection for Lord Drury. And hopefully Cecily and the Earl of Augustine would share one soon with their facade.

“But some can be kept if the parties involved are circumspect,” she pointed out.

“Perhaps. But may I mention this is a somewhat unoriginal ploy. I don’t know your father, but I assume he is an astute man. If he knows you are reluctant to marry Drury and you suddenly produce another suitable groom—and I am still unconvinced I will fall into that category—conveniently in time to foil the engagement, he will be suspicious. Let us not discount that it is, apparently, since you’ve heard it, common enough knowledge I have no intention of staying in England. I doubt he’d want you an ocean away. I have a daughter, and I certainly wouldn’t.”

Why his mentioning his child smote her so effectively she wasn’t sure, but Cecily suddenly had visions of holding a beautiful dark-haired babe. She had to collect herself before she said in a tone more brittle than she intended, “Are you refusing to help me, my lord?”

“Use my first name. Such formalities make me feel even more a stranger.”

“If you wish.” She hadn’t ever thought of how he felt about being in England and of the aristocracy, but he was correct—he was not quite accepted.

“I didn’t say I refused you.” His voice had perceptively softened. “I simply think a better strategy could be employed.”

They went on in silence for a short while except for the clatter of a passing carriage. At least the dim illumination would no doubt keep them from being recognized together.

Or so she hoped. This gamble had been reckless, for he still didn’t seem inclined to give her a direct answer. In her inexperience, had she misjudged those two heated whispers as an indication of some interest when there was none? He’d also agreed with flattering alacrity to speak with her, though he had to know it wasn’t without risk.

Cecily held her breath and said nothing. It was only two streets, maybe fewer, back to the mansion, and . . .

“I agree, but I have two conditions.”

There was another party going on at a nearby town house across the street, lights and laughter spilling from the open windows. Jonathan stopped walking and urged her into the relative privacy of the shadows from an overhanging tree on the other side of an ornate iron fence.

His presence in the near dark was a little overwhelming. It evoked a sense of how small and slender she was next to his height and solid build, how vulnerable . . . and yet how safe, for though she would never walk a London street alone at this time of the evening no matter how fashionable the neighborhood, she hadn’t even given safety a thought with Jonathan Bourne at her side.

Except she found that
he
might be a bit dangerous.

Long fingers brushed her throat and then tipped her chin up as he lowered his head. The whisper of his breath touched her lips. “The first is I want to be able to do this whenever we are alone.”

The touch of his mouth was at once hot and silky smooth. His lips molded slowly to hers, and Cecily caught her breath and slid her hand from where it had rested on his forearm to his biceps, the bulge of muscle hard under her clasping fingers. He kissed her slowly, and it wasn’t at all as she’d imagined this moment; it was deeper, more earth-shattering, and when his hand at the small of her back urged her closer, she complied, her mind whirling as her breasts touched his chest. Even with the layers of clothing between them it was shockingly intimate.

But also tantalizing. His scent reminded her of country summers, fresh and clean, and the sensation of his tongue sweeping along her lower lip and eventually into her mouth caused a variety of responses, none of which she’d ever felt before but which seemed to be a diaphanous combination of wonder and exhilaration.

When he broke the kiss, she was breathing quickly, speechless, shaken. A part of her wondered if he felt the same, for he said nothing, and instead just looked at her as if he wasn’t sure exactly what had just happened. Finally, he said huskily, “Do you agree?”

She had enough of her wits left to be able to ask, “What’s the second condition?”

“I don’t even recall,” he muttered, and kissed her again.

J
onathan was well aware of the shrouded night, the city street, the occupied houses all around them, but he registered the brush of the breeze and each nuance of the sounds of the city he so disdained with that part of him that contained elements of self-preservation.

A very different part of him that even now hardened in arousal begged to argue such practicality.

Practicality be damned
.

Danger
. His brain whispered the word even as he tasted and touched the woman in his arms, her scent intoxicating, like flowers after a spring rain. She tasted sweet too, of mint and wine, her lips dewy-soft and luscious against his. When he broke away for the second time, the luxurious length of her lashes stayed against the flush over her cheekbones, her quickened breathing evident by the lift of her breasts against his chest.

When she finally opened her eyes, he wished they were somewhere more lighted so he could see those tawny depths better. She’d responded, of that he had no doubt. He had enough experience to know when a woman participated with pliant, willing eagerness—and he had definitely enjoyed it too. His swift erection was proof of that, but that wasn’t the point.

He shouldn’t have done it. It was one matter to wonder what it would be like to kiss the delectable Lady Cecily, and quite another to
know
.

And yet, even knowing that he’d just made a grave error, he only reluctantly let her go.

She stepped back a fraction, her delicate features washed by insufficient light, and she spoke first. “What . . . what is our agreement then, my lord?”

Then and there he decided that British aristocrats would never cease to amaze him. Flustered from her first kiss—well, more than one extremely satisfying kiss—she still managed a regal air that both amused and impressed him. “I am not quite sure, but I have an idea,” he said as he urged her back out onto the street to make their way toward the mansion and the ball.

Yet he just had.

When they were close enough that they could see the lights, and the curving drive, he further compounded his mistake of the evening. “If we do this, I will hold you to your part of the bargain.”

“My grandmother will sponsor your sisters, never fear.” Her profile was perfect and serene, her graceful poise returned. The delicate orange of her skirts shimmered in the indistinct light.

“Hardly what I meant. I was referring to being able to kiss you.”

She compressed those soft lips he could still taste, and who knows what she might have said, for at that moment a male voice cut through their conversation like a slicing blade. “Augustine, there had better be a damned fine explanation for why you disappeared with my sister.”

No stranger to the nuances of a direct threat, Jonathan saw Cecily’s brother stalking toward them as they approached the drive, and relaxed a fraction. Not that the young man did not look furious and outraged—he definitely did, the familial resemblance striking—but because he knew the difference between a tried warrior and untried bluster. Wealth and privilege were no advantage in hand-to-hand combat. Experience was everything.

Jonathan simply lifted his brows.

Cecily demanded, “Roddy, what are you doing here?”

“Trying to prevent a scandal, obviously.” Slim, at guess not much older than his midtwenties, Roderick Francis moved forward with long strides as if he would take Cecily’s arm and drag her away, but at the last moment he decided not to. Which was just as well. Jonathan was not that inclined to relinquish her.

Telling, that.

He’d have to think about it later, but right now he was faced with diplomatically quelling this awkward moment. He said calmly, “Why would there be a scandal? We took a short stroll, that’s all. The ballroom was stuffy and I offered to escort Lady Cecily outside for fresh air.”

“You’ve been gone a good while, sir.” The young marquess’s tone was scathing. “I should know, for I have been looking for you everywhere.”

“Discreetly, I hope,” Jonathan said sharply. It might be to his advantage if a connection to the illustrious Francis family really did help his sisters, but not if it was tainted by the implication that he’d compromised a young lady’s reputation.

Even though he had…

“Of course,” Roderick snapped back. “I’m trying to avoid more rumors over the two of you, not create another one. Unfortunately, I am not the only one who noticed your absence. It is only natural that Drury should expect some of your time this evening, Cecily. He’s also been searching for you. Luckily, Eleanor came and told me. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it is
my
time and I can spend it with whom I wish.” Her voice was cool and firm. “And I am not too pleased with Lord Drury at the moment, as it appears he is going about announcing an engagement that has not yet happened. The presumption is irritating.”

Since she did seem willing to go to some length to thwart Lord Drury’s determination to make her his wife, Jonathan didn’t doubt her sincerity, but he also wondered if she understood the depths of male pride. The viscount was not going to be happy with this turn of events. That was hardly in question, considering his declaration in the card room.

“Why don’t you return to the ball with your brother?” Jonathan suggested with quiet emphasis. “I will call on you tomorrow. In the meantime, I will enter the house through the terrace doors, as if I have been in the gardens.”

“It is all walled,” her brother muttered. “You can’t get in from the street.”

Jonathan just looked at him with a faintly derisive smile.

Cecily hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Thank you for the walk, my lord.”

“It was my pleasure, I assure you.”

Her heated blush at the reference to their embrace and those passionate kisses made her brother’s eyes narrow in suspicion as he looked from Jonathan’s bland expression to his sister’s pink cheeks. But she defused any possible further confrontation by taking Roderick’s arm and tugging him toward the marble steps into the mansion. Jonathan heard her brother say, “Augustine is going to actually call on you? Blast it, Cecily, this is deuced awkward. . . .”