One Whisper Away (28 page)

At a moment like this, silence certainly seemed to be the best course. With an inner curse, Jonathan reminded himself he’d known he should have left right after Cecily had drifted to sleep. But he’d enjoyed holding her, the lissome weight of her body in his arms, the light caress of her breath across his bare chest. Instead of speaking, he simply lifted his brows in an acknowledgment that was best left unsaid.

“If you weren’t so intent on marrying her, I would have taken much greater offense, I assure you.” Cecily’s father’s voice was lethally soft. “I’ve no doubt she welcomed you, and that also kept me from requesting a meeting at dawn on the field instead of this one. If you make her happy, that is atonement enough, but I do expect it.”

Being fairly caught out rankled, but Jonathan gave a short bow. “You have my word that is my intention.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” the Duke of Eddington said without equivocation. “I love my daughter.”

“So do I.” With that, Jonathan left the duke’s study.

It was far more than he had intended to say.

He was afraid it was the perfect truth.

 

Her fiancé’s entrance into the drawing room resembled a predatory tiger strolling in, but then again, she’d never seen that, so Cecily could only make the comparison based on a vague idea of what it would be like to have a large, dangerous animal come toward her.

Surely it was similar. He looked too tall for the space, entirely too wild for the sophisticated surroundings, and his exotic beauty was a contrast to the pale satinlined walls and elegant furniture. Jonathan stepped toward her, took into account her grandmother and sister, and then halted, his mouth twitching in a rueful smile. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

He had a mesmerizing mouth. She could remember it warm against her lips . . . and in other places that elicited a less than ladylike response, but if she thought of that now, she’d blush furiously and that would never do. Cecily rose and formally offered her hand. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Jonathan bent over her fingers in perfect politesse, but as usual he never quite managed to look entirely civilized. He straightened and looked into her eyes in that unique intense way he had. The way that made something interesting happen to the pit of her stomach. “I believe, Lady Cecily, we are now officially betrothed.”

“I assume, then,” her grandmother said in her most commanding voice, “that you will be joining us this weekend?”

Only her grandmother would think her potential guests would drop everything to whisk off to the countryside at such short notice—though, Cecily had to concede, several acceptances had already arrived that very morning. When the Duchess of Eddington summoned, society answered.

Jonathan bowed as gracefully as any court sycophant, but his dark eyes held a hint of cynical amusement over the regal delivery of the question. “We will most definitely attend, Your Grace.”

“We will expect Lady Lillian, you understand.”

There was
definitely
a glint of humor in his dark eyes over the outright order. “I am sure she will be delighted to be your guest.”

“At least I will not be the only spinster there,” Eleanor said with her usual candor. “Tell her Grandmama’s edicts aside, she must come so we can keep each other company.”

It was clear that Jonathan had no idea what to say to that remark, and truly, Cecily knew it wasn’t self-pity at all; it was just how Elle saw the situation. Coming to his rescue, she said, “Shall we take a short walk in the garden? Now that the sun has come out, it is a lovely day.”

“We do have a few matters to discuss.” He offered his arm.

“A short walk,” her grandmother emphasized, upright in her chair, “as you are not yet married.”

But Cecily saw a telltale shimmer in the older woman’s eyes that belied the scolding tone of her voice and yielded to impulse and went over to give her a hug. “We will be the model of discretion; do not worry, Grandmama.”

“Humph.”

As they exited the room, she saw out of the corner of her eye her grandmother tug a handkerchief from her sleeve.

“Model of discretion?” Jonathan repeated with lifted brows as they went down the long, polished hallway to where French doors opened to the formal back garden. “I am not sure, my lady, that is possible.” His voice dropped in timbre. “Last evening comes to mind. That is why I petitioned your father to agree to a very short engagement and a special license. I realize if we choose that course, it will keep you from planning an elaborate celebration.”

He opened the door and she stepped out into the warm afternoon air, her emotions wavering from elation to trepidation. Things were moving very fast as it was, and she’d just adjusted to the idea of actually marrying him. When she’d initiated this plan to prevent an engagement to Lord Drury, she hadn’t quite anticipated the recent turn in events. It wasn’t as if she didn’t
wish
to marry him, but the notion of doing it so soon was a bit startling. Then again, he was correct. They’d not been discreet, and she doubted the word was actually in her volatile husband-to-be’s vocabulary.

The sky above was clear blue with just a few wispy clouds, and though the leaves of the bushes still glistened with moisture, the air was light and warm. Cecily took a moment before she answered, and Jonathan let her have it, saying nothing more, the only sound their footsteps on the flagstone path and the twitter of the birds. The fragrance of blooming flowers was heady, the brilliant blossoms still beaded with jeweled droplets of rain. Then she nodded. “I have never harbored dreams of a grandiose wedding. I know some women do, but quite honestly I do not like being the center of attention, so a small intimate ceremony is more to my taste anyway.”

“We are in accord then. For my part, expeditious holds a very potent appeal.”

The husky note in his voice brought a blush of warmth to her skin, as if he’d touched her, though their only contact at the moment was the light resting of her fingers on his coat sleeve. “After last night . . .”

When she trailed off, he sent her a heated glance. “A night that will be enshrined in my memory forever. After last night, what?”

Dare she really be so bold? She was not nearly as outspoken as Eleanor, but maybe part of what appealed to her so much about Jonathan was that because he didn’t hold so tightly to convention and strict protocol, she could just be herself. “After last night I don’t want to wait either. Does that make me wanton?”

“No.” His smile was slow and sure and purely masculine. “It makes you more desirable than ever, which is going quite a distance. How the devil am I going to survive this weekend? Please tell me your bedroom will be easily accessible and not involve ivy-covered walls.”

Her skirts brushed a low-hanging rosebush and sent a flurry of droplets across the silk, but she didn’t care. “I am sure we can work out a very
discreet
arrangement, my lord.”

“Or a very indiscreet one,” he said wryly. “Your father apparently glimpsed me departing this morning.”

That was unsettling. Cecily had no idea how to feel about her august father knowing she’d had a gentleman—if Jonathan even qualified—in her bedroom until dawn. “My sister knows, too,” she informed him. “She came to the door. . . . She evidently heard your voice.”

“I believe it is expedient that we marry then, since we cannot seem to meet secretly.” He stopped by a sheltering rhododendron and pulled her into his arms. The kiss was tantalizing, long, and evoked memories of forbidden pleasure.

No, he did not bring the traditional posies or write poems, nor would she ever picture him doing so, but there was
sentimentally
romantic, she was discovering, and
sensually
romantic, and the two were not at all the same.

He was not a smooth, polished aristocrat, and she doubted he ever would be.

It seemed she didn’t want an urbane, sophisticated English gentleman.

She wanted
him
.

She kissed him back. When their mouths parted, she murmured, “I was not the one who snuck into my bedroom.”

“You were the one who moaned when I—”

“That’s enough,” she interrupted and kissed him again, this time with her own urgency.

“I disagree,” he murmured against her lips. “It isn’t enough. With you, will it ever be enough?”

As his arms tightened around her, Cecily couldn’t help but press closer, moved by the emotion in his voice, her body intimately enough against his that she could feel his growing arousal. “I believe I just promised my grandmother we would be the soul of propriety. Hopefully none of the gardening staff are anywhere nearby.”

“
I
didn’t promise her anything,” he said and kissed her again with unmistakable hunger.

But the realities were what they were. Making love in the ducal garden was not an option, so now that it was all settled, when a few heated moments later she suggested they go back inside, with obvious reluctance, he agreed.

After all, the weekend looked to be quite interesting.

I
t was absurd, but he might actually be . . . nervous.

The realization hit Jonathan with a mixture of amusement and self-derision, but in his defense, it was important that his daughter and the woman who had consented to become his wife like each other. Addie had never had a mother, and he did not know whether the idea of sharing his usually undivided attention for the first time would please her or shake her small world. There was little question that to compensate for Caroline’s complete absence in his child’s life, he’d done his best to offer her everything he could.

Cecily, also, was going to have to accept his daughter unconditionally, and that was asking quite a lot.

Add to the weekend the plethora of females that he had to deal with, including one grandiose duchess, three sisters, and a soon-to-be sister-in-law . . .

That was enough to fray any man’s nerves, he consoled to himself as the carriage rolled to a halt.

He opened the door—he rarely waited for the footman; he knew he should, but then again, his consequence was a position that held only superficial meaning to him, not a conscious state of mind—and he lifted Addie out, her face alight with joy at both the end of the journey and the rather awe-inspiring and stately facade of Eddington Manor. It was one of those sprawling Elizabethan country houses built of gray stone, with a series of fountains bordering the steps, the park huge and immaculately kept, the drive a graceful sweep under an arched portico carved with the family coat of arms.

“Our house is big, Papa,” his daughter whispered confidentially, “but I am not sure it is
this
big.”

She was more than pretty in a small dainty gown Lily had selected in a girlish shade of pink, her dark hair tied back neatly, her eyes wide.

“I am not sure the royal palace is this big,” he said with a wry smile, taking her small hand. “But houses are only stones and bits of wood. It is the people inside that matter.”

As if to punctuate his words, Cecily came out the front door then, a slender figure in ivory muslin trimmed with blue satin ribbon, her hair in a simple chignon.

She’s been waiting for me.
. . .

The realization made him smile, a rush of emotion tightening his throat as he watched her rapidly descend the steps, her skirts lifted slightly, the sun gilding her hair. “I was concerned,” she said a little breathlessly, her gaze riveted not on him but on Addie. “Your sisters arrived an hour ago.”

“Yes, well, we had to stop more frequently, which is why I sent them on in a separate carriage.” He took her hand and kissed it, his mouth lingering a moment too long for propriety, and then turned. “Lady Cecily, may I present Lady Adela.”

Addie did a fair curtsy and Cecily said softly, “I am very glad to meet you.”

The look in her eyes asked if he’d told Addie yet about their engagement, and he slightly shook his head before reaching into the carriage, scooping up a small ball of fur curled on the seat as the dratted dog had been a bundle of energy the entire journey and then had the nerve to fall asleep when they rumbled into the driveway. “This,” he said dryly, “is why we had to stop so often.”

The puppy gave out an excited little bark and Addie laughed with delight as he scrambled around her feet in wide circles. “His name is Adonis,” she told Cecily with a dimpled smile.

“I . . . see.” Cecily obviously was stifling laughter as she assessed his less than perfect pedigree, which no doubt included a motley crew of ancestors.

“He was a Greek god.” Addie had all the earnestness of a five-year-old. “Aunt Lily and I have been reading stories.”

“Indeed.” Though her mouth twitched, Cecily added, “He’s very handsome, so it is appropriate. Shall we take him for a walk in the gardens before we go inside?”

“Papa said he has to stay in the stables.”

Jonathan ignored the imploring look sent his way, for as far as he was concerned, after that carriage ride, he’d suffered a great deal more than Adonis would for having to nap on a bed of straw. “We agreed the only way he could come along was if he was kept out of the house. I doubt the duke would approve of him napping on a silk-covered settee or an expensive rug, and though he is improving, I do not want to be constantly apologizing for his little mishaps.”

“Perhaps a compromise can be worked out.” Cecily extended her hand. “Shall we?”

She and Jonathan exchanged a look then, poignant with emotion, and as he watched his daughter and future wife walk away together, the ridiculous little dog scampering between them, he decided this gathering might just be a grand success after all.

 

What a dismal failure.

Or rather
she
was a dismal failure. A much more accurate observation.

It wasn’t like she’d really had grandiose illusions of what the weekend party would bring—Eleanor had been disabused of those last season as she’d watched with almost detached enlightenment as her social star—which had launched nicely—sank lower and lower in the brilliant sky, but if she was willing to admit it, deep down in her cursed romantic soul, she’d rather hoped this event might go better.