The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) (8 page)

“Cecelia!” Priscilla cried. The petite, blond, blue-eyed woman came at her in a rush and threw her arms around her. “I’m so glad you’re safe! We had the most dreadful visions of what might have happened to you. Where were you? Are you alright?”
    Cecelia gave her sister-in-law a long tight hug before disengaging herself. “My beautiful new riding habit is ruined, but otherwise I’m fine.”
    “A riding habit can be replaced, milady. You cannot.” Their butler had entered the large foyer and his normally dour tones were tinged with emotion. “It’s most gratifying to have you back.”
    Much to his obvious surprise, she turned and hugged him, as well. “Oh Reeds, I’m so sorry to have worried you. But I rode too far and then I was caught in the storm. We had to find a place to stay until it stopped raining. This morning, the ground was horribly muddy and with that and all the fallen trees and broken branches it took forever to get here.” She stopped a moment to catch her breath then added, “And I’m dreadfully hungry.”
    “I’ll have a tray sent to your room, milady.” The dour tones were now properly in place, but he wasn’t quite able to keep the smile from his face as he bowed and left the room.
    Cecelia let out a soft sigh. Even with Eugene as angry as he was, it was nice to be home again.
    “Cecelia, could you come here a minute?” Priscilla was peering out the window. “I don’t quite believe my eyes. Doesn’t it appear as if Stratton has knocked Rand to the ground? Why ever would he do that?”
    Cecelia came to stand behind her in time to see her brother flexing his fist.
    “Blast! I should have known he wouldn’t understand.” She paused. “Does Aunt Mirabella know I’m back?”
    “Yes. She’s most anxious to see you…”
    Cecelia grabbed her hand. “Then come with me. Please. The more people I have around me when Eugene comes in, the safer I’ll be.”
    “But why?” Priscilla asked as she followed her up the steps. “It isn’t as if he beats you.”
    “There’s always a first time. He very well may this time.”
    “That’s just silly. Of course he wouldn’t.”
    “You may as well know now as it is certain to come out,” Cecelia said in a loud whisper. “I spent the night at Rand’s hunting lodge. With Rand. We were caught in the storm together.”
    “Oh.” Priscilla stopped suddenly as understanding dawned on her. “Oh. But you didn’t. It’s none of my business, of course.” When it became obvious that Cecelia wasn’t protesting her innocence Priscilla exclaimed, “Good heavens. You are in a pickle aren’t you?”
    “I believe so. Just stay close for now. Please.” She pulled Priscilla up the remaining steps, down the corridor and then rapped on Lady Fitzberry’s door and pushed it open.
    “Cecelia, love!” Aunt Mirabella screeched. “Oh, do come here.” Tears were streaming down her face. “Let me put my arms around you so I’ll know that you’re really here.”
    Cecelia went to her aunt’s side and sat down on the bed. Mirabella hadn’t dressed and she was still in her night cap. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were swollen. It was evident; Cecelia thought guiltily, that she hadn’t had an easy time of it. She put her arms around her aunt’s considerable girth and said, “I’m home, Aunt. I’m so sorry you worried.”
    Then the dam broke and all the pent up emotion of the past few hours poured out. Try as she might Cecelia didn’t seem to be able to stop the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. After a few minutes, she took the corner of the sheet and wiped her aunt’s eyes and then her own. “What a watering pot I turned out to be,” she sniffed. “The next thing you know I’ll be swooning.”
    “Oh, my,” Priscilla said faintly.
    Cecelia looked over at her sister-in-law whose complexion had taken on a green tinge. She went to her side and steered her into a comfortable chair. “Are you ill? Eugene said you weren’t feeling well.”
    Priscilla smiled weakly. “I had a bit of queasiness. Nothing to worry over. It will pass. It always does.”
    “It’s happened before?” Her own troubles were forgotten. “Let me get Eugene.”
    “No. Please don’t. He’s been most vexing about this. If you say anything he’ll put me to bed and demand that I stay there. If I allow him to begin ordering me about it will be unbearable.” Some of the pink had returned to her cheeks and she even managed to roll her eyes. “I was perfectly content to spend the next few weeks in Dover but he insisted that we come home." She smiled. "I fear he may become increasingly difficult over the next seven months.”
    "Seven months?" A second later, Cecelia threw her arms around her sister-in-law. “Oh, but that’s marvelous!”
    Mirabella appeared very perplexed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand this at all,” she said. “Why is it marvelous to not feel well? And for seven months? That’s a terribly long time to be ill.”
    “I’m increasing, Aunt Mirabella,” Priscilla explained. “You’ve another grandniece or nephew on the way.”
    “Oh.” Mirabella’s mouth formed a perfect O and then she crooned, “This is indeed marvelous! Cecelia is home safe and we’ve another sweet baby to look forward to. Such a happy, happy day.”

Cecelia’s happy day lasted long enough to see her through a hot bath, a change of clothing and a hearty meal. It lasted long enough to allow her to play with her kitten, Ashley, and help Priscilla and Aunt Mirabella sort embroidery silks. It almost lasted long enough to make her believe she might escape her brother’s wrath, altogether. And then she received the summons to his office. It seemed all was lost when she learned that he and Rand had spent the past three hours ironing out her marriage contract. She knew she was bound to fail but she wasn’t about to go down without a fight. To be forced to marry was both unfair and humiliating. It was a matter of pride.
    “I won’t do it!” Her palms were flat against the desk as she leaned over and faced her brother nose to nose where he sat calmly behind the desk. “You can’t force me to marry anyone!”
    “Sit down, Cecelia,” he said quietly. “I can and I will. If you don’t want to marry Rand you should have taken that into consideration before you put yourself in this situation. Your actions were not well thought out.”

Rand sat with a cold compress on his eye, watching the two and wishing Stratton hadn’t insisted that he be present for this conversation. “I’m finding this immensely unflattering,” he mumbled, though neither appeared to have heard him. “I’ve been chased relentlessly by marriage hungry females for the past thirteen years and now it appears the good viscount can’t give me away. And I’m even a marquis to boot! I do believe I’m a much better catch than this heated exchange would indicate. This is devilishly insulting.”
    He stopped muttering just in time to hear Cecelia say, “It isn’t fair to Rand. And I don’t see why you found it necessary to hit him. It’s barbaric.”
    “You hit me this morning,” Rand pointed out.
    “His eye looks dreadful,” she continued. “It isn’t as if he asked me to ride over to visit. I did it on my own accord. I was so lonely with everyone gone, I felt like I’d been abandoned. Not that it’s anyone’s fault. And then it began to rain and I was so cold and wet and we had to find a place to stay. He isn’t to blame. I am.”
    “Cecelia,” Stratton broke in.
    She ignored him. “He doesn’t even want to marry me. He only offered, because well, it was the polite thing to do.”
    Both men blanched.
    Rand pulled the compress off his eye. “I’m just being bloody polite?” His eyebrows had practically disappeared beneath the wave of sandy blond hair on his forehead. “Your reasoning is illogical, brat.”
    “Stop calling me brat!” she retorted. “If I’m old enough to tum… kiss I’m old enough not to be addressed as brat.”
    “Good God, Cecelia, stop.” Stratton’s face had gone gray. “I don’t want to hear this. Please.”
    “If you don’t care to be called brat,” Rand ground out. “Then don’t behave like one. This is a full-fledged temper tantrum you’re subjecting us to. And you weren’t behaving like a brat last night. You were a beautiful, desirable woman, not a shrieking child who throws fits when she doesn’t get her way. Christ! You’ve more colors than a chameleon. How many personalities are stored in that lovely skull of yours?” He broke off abruptly and glanced over at Stratton who had his face buried in his hands. “Sorry, old man,” he apologized. “My tongue got away from me.”
    “Apology not accepted,” Stratton muttered. “The word desirable is off limits when it pertains to my sister. And I still may have to kill you.”
    Rand turned his attention back to Cecelia. “I don’t understand your objections. Marriage makes perfect sense. Our properties join. Our families know one another. We’ve known one another forever. My mother adores you. We get along for the most part.”
    “It makes good sense? Our properties join? We get along for the most part?” Her voice rose with every sentence. “Less than a week as a marquis and you’re thinking like a blasted aristocrat! And what makes you think I want sensible? I told you what I wanted and you weren’t even listening!”
    “I was listening,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “And I believe I meet all of your requirements. I’m taller than you. I’m reasonably attractive. I dance well. I’m an accomplished horseman. I don’t need your money. I’m kind.”
    “Harrumph.”
    “I won’t gamble away the family fortune.”
    “I can attest to that,” Stratton muttered. “He’s the devil’s own luck at the tables.”
    “I appreciate your intelligence,” Rand continued. “If you truly want to read Shakespeare or Chaucer I have no objections as long as I don’t have to read them, as well.”
    She rolled her eyes. “How remarkably generous of you.”
    Rand sighed. “What will make you happy? I’d rather have you agreeable to the suit than not.”
    Her bottom lip edged out a bit and her jaw clenched. “If you must ask, you obviously haven’t the faintest idea.”
    “I believe that’s why I asked,” he replied with exasperation.
    “You’re only willing to marry me because you need to marry someone and I’ve been compromised.”
    "I would much prefer to not dwell on that particular aspect of this situation,” her brother muttered.
    “Then don’t,” she snapped. “And we can all go about our merry way. Have you stopped to consider that maybe he’s far too old for me? There’s thirteen years between us!”
    Something sounding similar to a bark came from Stratton’s chest. He bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s the same age as I am. It isn’t as if we’ve reached our dotage.”
    Several moments of silence passed before Rand sighed heavily and spoke. “I do care for you, Cecelia. Very much.”
    Her eyes widened. “Do you, now? But for how long? What happened to
I’ve come to terms with the need to marry but I don’t expect to marry for love. And with luck we won’t grow to hate one another.
    He grimaced at the memory. “I didn’t have you in mind when I said that. I didn’t have anyone in mind. I was still reeling over the news.”
    “That offers very little comfort,” she retorted. “I suppose we shall have to wait and see whether we will grow to love one another or hate one another.” She glared at both of them before rising from her chair. “Very well. I’ll marry you, Lord Clarendon, as it appears I have no other choice. In the meantime, I’ll retire to my chambers and await my fate.” She curtsied formally. “Good day, gentlemen.”
    “Good day, Cecelia.” Rand held the door as she swept out of the room then glanced over at Stratton. There seemed little more to discuss. “Are you still contemplating murder? If so, I suppose I should take my leave. I’ve been battered and abused enough as it is this week.”
    Stratton nodded grimly. Grateful to have escaped with his life, the Marquis of Clarendon left.

C
ecelia frowned at the tangled knot she had just stitched into the corner of a white lacey handkerchief. “Blast,” she muttered. “I’ll never get the hang of this.” She looked over at Priscilla who was embroidering a floral design along the border of a small coverlet. “You make it look so easy.”
    “It’s taken years of practice. I was by no means a natural in the beginning. I tended to prick my finger and bleed all over whatever I was working on. And you do so many other things really well. Whether or not you’re accomplished at needlework is of little consequence.”
    Cecelia set her embroidery to the side and said, “I’d much rather be outside riding Penny than spending my time embroidering handkerchiefs. I think it’s dreadfully unfair that Eugene won’t let me ride unless he has the time to accompany me. I feel as if I’m in prison.”
    Priscilla lifted her brows and shot Cecelia a knowing smile.
    “Well, maybe it isn’t unfair,” she conceded. “Under the circumstances, I suppose he didn’t have much choice. And I doubt that Reston is anything like Newgate, but I don’t still don’t like it.” She leaned her head back against the settee and closed her eyes. She had to admit, however, that she did like spending time with Priscilla in her sitting room. It was a pleasant room, fragrant with the scent of roses and filled with warm, golden sunlight. The blue and cream upholstered furniture was comfortable, if slightly shabby and the rhythmic ticking of the Alpine clock on the mantle was soothing. But more than that, she enjoyed her sister-in-law’s company. At least she wouldn’t be moving too far away. She remembered very little about Bryony Hall. Most of her memories were of the Danfield’s townhouse in Mayfair.
    “You have a caller, my lady.” Reed’s voice penetrated her thoughts and she wondered vaguely who Priscilla’s caller might be.
    Priscilla nudged her. “He means you, Cecelia.”
    Cecelia’s eyes flew open. “Oh.”
    “Lord Clarendon is awaiting you in the drawing room,” Reeds informed her.
    “Oh.” She glanced over at Cecelia. “Would you care to come with me?”
    Priscilla quickly shook her head. “Dear me, no. I wouldn’t think of it.”
    “Please?”
    She continued to shake her head. “No.”
    “Very well.” Cecelia left Priscilla to her embroidery and headed toward the drawing room. In truth, she would be glad to see him, but she dreaded the apology she must make. After three days of sulking she realized how rude and childish she had been. This was more a result of her actions than his and now she must accept the outcome. If he could do so gracefully, then so could she.
    When she entered the drawing room he was gazing out the window with his back to her. He was as tall as her brother, though slightly less bulky. His shoulders did an admirable job of filling out the brown velvet jacket, and the buckskins he wore fit his lean muscular thighs like a glove. She could do worse.
    She cleared her throat. “Hello.”
    He turned around and smiled at her. Even with the bruising around his eye, he was a handsome man. “Hello, yourself.” He came forward and took her hand. “Your brother has informed me that you are no longer sulking.”
    She flushed slightly. “It proved to be rather dull, so I gave it up.”
    “Good. I would have called on you sooner, but I was denied the privilege until Stratton thought you would be agreeable.”
    “I...” She faltered. “I must apologize for my behavior. I was rude and childish and I have no reasonable excuse. It’s only that I was… I was simply surprised by it all.”
    He cocked a blond brow and grinned. “It was rather surprising, wasn’t it? Personally, I like surprises.”
    “I...” She faltered again as he brought her hand up to his lips.
    “I’ve been granted permission to take you for a stroll in the garden. I believe it’s called courting. Now run along and fetch your bonnet.”