was hiding, she wasn’t likely to find it out.
Cecilia thought of Isabella, of the child’s wide, sweet smile, and her stomach twisted with worry. If Lord Darlington truly was the Murderous Marquess—if he was wicked enough to have murdered his wife—what was to prevent him from hurting his niece?
As much as she might wish to leave Darlington Castle and Lord Darlington behind, she couldn’t abandon that lovely little girl to the machinations of a sinister uncle. And what of the marchioness, who by all accounts had been as kind and loving a lady as ever lived? Didn’t she deserve justice?
Cecilia didn’t know if she could find justice for the marchioness, but she was suddenly as desperate to remain at Darlington Castle as she’d been to flee it only moments before. How was she to persuade Lord Darlington to let her stay, though?
Beg his pardon.
Her hands clenched at the thought. She wasn’t easily roused to anger, but she had a proud, stubborn streak, and she didn’t like to beg pardon when she didn’t think she’d done anything wrong.
That is, she knew she had done something wrong, but…well, perhaps she didn’t like to beg Lord Darlington’s pardon for anything at all. But she’d do it, for Isabella and Lady Darlington’s sake. She’d beg as prettily as she knew how, then scream her frustration into her pillow later.
Cecilia drew in a deep breath to calm her temper, and forced the words through gritted teeth. “I beg your pardon for disobeying your orders, Lord Darlington. I didn’t intend to cause any harm. If you’d give me another chance, I can assure you it won’t happen again.”
“I don’t give second chances.” There wasn’t a hint of softness in Lord Darlington’s face. “There’s no point. Once my trust is broken, it can’t be regained. It’s too late for you to leave tonight, but I want you gone from Darlington Castle tomorrow.”
For all that Cecilia wasn’t a lady, or an aristocrat, or anything special at all, really, she wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to in such an insulting way, as if she were a liar or a thief. It stung, and her hold on her temper disintegrated like wood burned to ashes. “Very well, Lord Darlington. I wish you luck in finding my replacement. I daresay it won’t be easy, given the…challenges of the position.”
Cecilia didn’t enumerate them, but Lord Darlington’s black scowl showed he understood her perfectly: a dead marchioness, a marquess suspected of murdering her, and a vengeful ghost haunting his castle and the village of Edenbridge.
He wasn’t a bit pleased at the reminder. He tossed the letter opener aside, sprang from his chair and came around the desk. “That will do, Cecilia.”
Cecilia leapt to her feet as well. Her knees wobbled, but she resisted the urge to take a step backward. They stood toe-to-toe, facing each other, both of them short of breath. She’d managed to put out of her mind how powerful he was physically, but with him looming over her, his massive chest heaving and his angry heat searing her skin, she was suddenly drowning in the memory of his big hands on her tonight, burning through the thin linen of her night rail, his muscular arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her still against that hard chest, and the rasp of his voice in her ear.
What do you want? This ends here…
“Tonight, when you grabbed me.” She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “You thought you knew who I was, didn’t you?”
His eyes dropped to her arched neck, then skittered away again. His expression hardened. “No. I knew you didn’t belong in my wife’s bedchamber. That’s all.”
“No. You said, ‘This ends here.’” Cecilia gripped the back of the chair beside her, her wobbly knees now threatening to buckle. “You acted as if you already knew.”
Warm fingers cupped her elbow. She glanced down at the place where his big hand cradled her, then back to his face. Oh, he was angry, truly angry, but his touch was gentle as he steadied her. “I just told you I didn’t.”
“I don’t believe you.” Without thinking, Cecilia grabbed a handful of his coat. “I think you suspected I was the White Lady.” It would explain his extreme reaction, but if he had thought so, didn’t that mean he was guilty of murder, and believed his dead wife’s ghost was haunting Darlington Castle?
His hand slid from her elbow down her arm. “Do you believe in ghosts, Cecilia?” He laughed softly. “I thought better of