no one enters that room without my explicit permission.”
Well, that was strange. Cecilia couldn’t help but wonder what Lord Darlington intended to do with the future Marchioness of Darlington if she wasn’t meant to take up residence in the marchioness’s apartments, but it didn’t seem a good idea to ask.
“If you disobey me in this, you will be dismissed and sent from the castle immediately. Is that clear?” Lord Darlington leaned across the desk, pinning her with his gaze.
“Yes, my lord.” They were the only three words Cecilia was still capable of uttering in his presence, it seemed.
“Very well.” Lord Darlington rose from his chair—and rose, and rose, and rose, his long body seeming to take ages to unfold—and pulled the bell once again. Cecilia stumbled to her feet as well, and the two of them stared at each other in silence as they waited for Mrs. Briggs to answer the summons.
Fortunately, she bustled into the study again in a matter of moments. “All right then, Lord Darlington? Come with me, Cecilia. We’ll drop off your case upstairs, then have a cup of tea in the kitchens and get to know one another, shall we?”
For the first time since she’d entered Darlington Castle, Cecilia was able to draw a deep, calming breath. If Mrs. Briggs had been half as alarming as Lord Darlington, Cecilia likely would have taken to her heels and fled all the way back to Edenbridge, but the housekeeper was a matronly creature, with deep laugh lines fanning out from her kind brown eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, my lord.” Cecilia offered Lord Darlington an awkward curtsy. His only response was a brief nod of his head, but those frigid blue eyes were enough to pucker the skin on the back of her neck.
Mrs. Briggs prattled cheerfully as she led Cecilia down the hallway. “Lord Darlington ordered the upper floor of the castle closed, there not being enough servants left to tend to it, so you’ll have a bedchamber on the second floor.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cecilia hurried after Mrs. Briggs, her traveling case bumping against her knees with every step.
“It’s not a large room,” Mrs. Briggs went on. “It was intended for the marchioness’s lady’s maid, but you’ll have it all to yourself. Won’t that be nice?”
It was unheard of for a mere housemaid to have a room to herself, so Cecilia took care to make all the appropriate appreciative noises, but as they made their way down the hallway, her attention was caught by the portraits hanging on the wall. One dour Darlington ancestor after another glared down at her from their ornate gilt frames. They were a grim-looking lot, not a smile amongst them, and the current Marquess of Darlington seemed to take after his forbears. He certainly looked a good deal like them, with his guarded blue eyes and severe mouth.
Cecilia’s heart sank at the thought.
Between Lord Darlington’s harsh demeanor and the row of his forbidding ancestors hanging on the wall, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d just accepted a post from Bluebeard himself.
Chapter Four
Gideon awoke the next morning to a thundering crash so powerful his bed—an enormous, solid mahogany affair with a towering canopy and enough heavy silk drapery to drown Darlington Castle—jumped half a foot across the floor.
“What the devil?” He shot upright so quickly a pillow tumbled to the floor, wide awake in an instant. The noise had exploded in the quiet room with such an ear-splitting bang the thick, stone walls of the castle actually vibrated. Had the heavens run out of patience with him at last and struck his castle with a lightning bolt, or had the roof of Darlington Castle collapsed?
“Oh, dear.” The voice was small in the sudden silence.
Gideon dragged a hand through his rumpled hair, setting the dark locks on end. Not a lightning bolt, then. No, an entirely different force of nature was the cause of the deafening din.
Cecilia Gilchrist.
“For God’s sake, Cecilia, you’ve just aged me ten years in a single instant. What happened?” It was a foolish question really, given she was kneeling on the floor in front of the fireplace, her hands already black with soot from her frantic attempts to retrieve the scattered pieces of coal she’d dropped. The scuttle was beside her, tipped over on its side with the few remaining lumps of coal falling out of it.
Her hand froze at the sound of his voice. She remained still for a moment, much like a fox when it realizes it’s been cornered,