of the way he towered over her. The top of her head only reached as high as the middle of his chest.
“I thought I heard—” she began, but Gideon interrupted her.
“How did you get in here? The door to this bedchamber is always locked.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “No, my lord. It wasn’t locked.”
Gideon dragged his hands roughly through his hair. “It must have been locked, Cecilia. Every servant in this castle knows they’re never to enter this room. I’ve given explicit instructions to that effect, and ordered the doors be locked at all times.”
“Well, someone must have come in, and forgotten to lock it when they left.”
“Are you accusing my servants of negligence?” Gideon’s voice was cold. “If so, I’ll remind you that you’re the newcomer here. I’m far less likely to credit your account of the matter than any of theirs.”
“I beg your pardon, Lord Darlington. I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I don’t like to disagree with you, but the door was most decidedly not locked. If it had been, how do you suppose I got in here? Slid under the crack at the bottom?”
Gideon raised an eyebrow at her tone and the flash of temper in those dark eyes. Ever since their disagreement over the blue ribbons she’d been careful around him, confining herself to yes, my lords, and no, my lords, but her sharp tongue was back again.
“You haven’t answered my question, Cecilia.” Gideon fixed a stern gaze on her. “What are you doing in my late wife’s bedchamber?”
“I’m trying to tell you, my lord. I heard a strange noise, and came to see what it was.”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed on her face. Had someone been sneaking about in Cassandra’s bedchamber before she came in? “What sort of noise?”
“It was a scratching sound, like fingernails on wood, or so I thought. It turned out to be claws. There was a cat trapped in the clothes press in the dressing room, and it was clawing at the door to get out.”
“A cat?” How in the world would a cat find its way into a sealed bedchamber? It seemed a flimsy story. “I don’t see any cat.”
“Well, no, my lord. She’s gone now. She fled when you broke down the bedchamber door.”
Gideon glanced at the broken lock lying in pieces on the floor. It would have to be repaired at once. He wouldn’t have people traipsing about Cassandra’s bedchamber.
“It’s terribly cold in here.” Cecilia wrapped her arms around her waist with a shiver. “I noticed it as soon as I entered. It’s much colder than it should be, isn’t it?”
Gideon stared at her, becoming uncomfortably aware she was wearing only a thin night rail, and though the bedchamber was dark, he could see the gentle rise and fall of her bosom under the filmy fabric in the muted light from the hallway. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in a thick, dark cascade of waves over her shoulders, and her feet were bare. Her dainty, naked toes looked strangely vulnerable, and the way her night rail swirled around the long, pale line of her legs was oddly riveting.
Sudden warmth pooled in his lower belly and his skin prickled with heat as he realized how near she was, how tempting the smooth, pale skin under the thin covering of her night rail. It was only the impropriety of their situation that made him notice, of course—the lure of the forbidden that heated his blood and stirred long-dormant urges he’d thought gone forever.
He averted his gaze, shifting uneasily. It was scandalously improper for him, a betrothed man who claimed to be a gentleman, to be standing alone in a darkened bedchamber with his housemaid, who was clad in nothing more than a sheer night rail. Gideon took a hasty step away from her, clearing his throat. “I wish to speak to you in my study, Cecilia. Dress yourself, and attend me there at once.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply, but turned his back on her and passed through the connecting door and into his niece’s room. Isabella was tucked safely into her bed, her cheeks flushed with sleep, her thick curls wild around her head.
Gideon’s heart clenched with the tenderness he always felt when he gazed at his niece. Isabella didn’t resemble his late brother at all, but when Gideon looked at her, he thought only of Nathanial, the brother he’d loved and still missed with the same sharp ache as when he’d died more than three years ago.
But Gideon didn’t linger