memory of his dark scowl as he’d ordered her from his study. That scowl said more clearly than words he wouldn’t hesitate to toss her out the door.
Or drown her in the moat.
Nonsense. He’s not going to drown you in the moat.
Cecilia snorted. “You haven’t seen him. He’s just the sort of man who’d drown his housemaid in a moat.”
Don’t let him, then.
“How am I meant to stop him? He’s the size of a horse.” Cecilia let her arm flop down onto the bed beside her. “I’m not brave. I can’t…do the things you can.”
Cecilia waited, but when that argument seemed to have silenced the voice for good, she forced her eyes to close.
Just as well. She wasn’t Sophia, or Georgiana, or Emma.
Not even close.
So, there was an end to it.
She lay in the darkness and drew in calming breaths until a soft scratching sound disturbed the silence of her makeshift bedchamber.
“Oh, no.” Cecilia squeezed her eyes as tightly closed as she could, then pulled the covers over her head for good measure, but the faint scratch of claws on wood persisted, growing more frenzied with every moment.
Finally, it ceased.
Silence fell, and Cecilia opened her eyes and peeked over the edge of the coverlet. All was quiet. But before she could release the breath she was holding, the silence gave way to a soft creaking sound.
Cecilia’s gaze flew to the connecting door—the door that had caused all the trouble, the door that had been meant to be locked, and certainly should have been locked now, as it creaked open.
Just a crack, then a little more, and a little more…
Cecilia gaped at it with wide eyes. No, it was impossible—
“Ahhh!” Cecilia gasped as something small and light landed on the foot of her bed. She kicked out at it, her fevered imagination conjuring images of tiny ghosts that leapt upon innocent maidens and smothered them with their own pillows. Another yelp left her lips, but the creature on her bed picked its way over her feet, then her legs, padding along until it reached her chest, where it stopped.
Cecilia had ducked back under the covers, but when the tiny ghost sitting on her chest made no move to smother her, she peered cautiously over the edge of the coverlet again.
A pair of green eyes stared back at her.
“Seraphina! I should have known.” Cecilia frowned at the black cat, not sure whether she should be relieved or outraged. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one night?”
The green eyes blinked.
“Where were you when Lord Darlington was shouting at me, hmmm? Nowhere to be found, that’s where. You’ve a lot of cheek coming in here now after abandoning me so scandalously.” Despite her irritation, Cecilia reached out to stroke Seraphina’s head, chuckling a little as the beast nuzzled into her palm. “You’re a shameless creature, aren’t you?”
Cecilia tried to nudge Seraphina aside with a gentle sweep of her hand, but the cat remained perched squarely in the center of her chest. She patted the sleek, black head for a moment more, then tried once again to shoo her off the bed. “Go on, then, and leave me to my rest. I’ve rather a busy day tomorrow, what with being dismissed and having to return to London in disgrace.”
Seraphina remained where she was, looking loftily down at Cecilia as if she were the dimmest human imaginable. If cats had eyebrows, Seraphina’s would be quirked at her. “All right, then, since you insist on it, you may stay. It isn’t as if Lord Darlington can dismiss me a second time, is it?”
Cecilia squirmed into a comfortable position without dislodging Seraphina, and drew the covers over herself. Seraphina settled down on top of her and commenced a low, rumbling purr.
No doubt Lord Darlington wouldn’t approve of her having a cat in her bedchamber, but she wouldn’t lose sleep over this one last act of rebellion. In a few hours she’d no longer be his servant, and therefore not obliged to explain herself to him ever again.
Until then…well, the less Lord Darlington knew, the better.
Chapter Eight
“You’re making a damned foolish mistake, Darlington.”
Gideon paused in the doorway of the breakfast parlor, taken aback. Haslemere was seated in his customary place, a cup of steaming tea in front of him, and a glare on his face that would curdle cream.
“What, by coming downstairs to breakfast with you?” Gideon’s tone was mild. “I hadn’t thought so, but you don’t look as if you’ll be a pleasant companion this morning. What’s the