to sleep when the sound of the door opening made her eyes pop open. “Amy?”
The shadowy figure paused in the doorway. “Try again.”
Cecilia jerked upright, her heart quickening into a frantic rhythm under her breastbone. There was only one person at Darlington Castle who had such a deep voice and such broad shoulders, and it wasn’t Amy. “Lord Darlington?”
“What are you doing in my niece’s bedchamber, Cecilia?” Lord Darlington closed the door behind him, shutting the two of them alone together in the dim room. “Where’s Amy?”
Cecilia leapt to her feet with Isabella clutched in her arms. “I beg your—”
“No, don’t beg my pardon,” Lord Darlington grumbled. “You’ve already begged my pardon a half dozen times today. I’m weary of it.”
“Yes, my—”
“No more yes, my lords, or no, my lords either.”
“Very well, my—” Cecilia began, then broke off with a soft gasp. He’d taken a step closer, and he was moving closer yet.
Closer, and closer…
God in heaven, the man was enormous.
She backed up a step, and he paused again. “There’s nowhere for you to go, unless you intend to leap out the window. Do I make you nervous, Cecilia?”
“No, my—”
He raised an eyebrow, and she caught herself just in time. “I, ah…very well. The truth is, you do make me a trifle nervous.”
“The truth. How refreshing.” A grim smile drifted over his lips. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. Not while you’re holding my niece, at least.”
His pitiful attempt at a smile tugged at a raw place in Cecilia’s chest, and in the next breath she found herself rushing to reassure him. “I never said I was afraid. Nothing so drastic as that. Just a little unnerved. I daresay I’ll become used to you soon enough.”
Another grim smile. “I doubt it. Not to worry, though. You won’t be the only woman in Kent who’s alarmed by my presence.” He didn’t give her a chance to respond, but held out his arms for Isabella. “I’ve only come to say goodnight to my niece.”
Cecilia hesitated, but she could hardly refuse to turn Isabella over to her uncle. “She fretted for a bit, but now she’s nearly asleep.” She settled Isabella into Lord Darlington’s arms.
Lord Darlington squeezed into the rocking chair, despite being far too tall for it, and sat with his legs sprawled out before him, Isabella gathered against his chest. He cupped the back of her head with one big hand and waved the other at the chair opposite the one Cecilia had just vacated. “If you’ve decided not to go out the window after all, you may as well sit down.”
Cecilia, whose legs were like jelly from the number of times she’d run up and down the stairs today, and not from Lord Darlington’s sudden appearance, sank gratefully into the chair. But just when she’d drawn a relieved breath, he turned to her expectantly. “Let’s have a lullaby, then.”
“A lullaby?” Cecilia’s mouth fell open. “I don’t know any lullabies, my lord.”
“I heard you singing to Isabella earlier. I assume you were singing her a lullaby?”
“Well, yes…I mean, no, not…” Cecilia bit her lip. “I don’t know any proper lullabies.”
Lord Darlington shrugged. “Sing an improper one, then.”
Cecilia gaped at him. He wanted her to sing an improper song now, in front of him? “But—”
“You are meant to be putting Isabella to bed tonight, are you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“Aren’t lullabies a common enough occurrence at bedtime?”
“I suppose so, but—”
“Well, then.” He waved an imperious hand at her.
Cecilia wracked her brain, but the few sweet lullabies she knew had fled in a panic the moment he demanded one. The only songs she could recall were the drinking or shanty songs the mudlarking urchins used to sing.
Perhaps “Jack Hall” would do? No, that was about a man hanged for burglary. “The Fair Maid of Islington” was a pretty tune, but wasn’t there something in it about a vintner paying a fair maiden five pounds to…
Cecilia’s cheeks went hot. Dear God, she couldn’t sing that.
“The Irish Girl,” then. It was proper enough, if she left off the last verse about drinking whiskey and dangling a lassie on one knee.
She drew a deep breath, and with a muttered prayer, began to sing:
I wish my love was a red rose,
And in the garden grew,
And I to be the gardener;
To her I would be true…
Lord Darlington didn’t look at her, but he went still when she began to sing.
I wish I was a butterfly,
I’d fly to my love’s breast;
I wish I was a linnet,
I’d sing my love