Isabella, it’s less of one now. I’ll tolerate a good deal of nuisance for my niece’s sake.”
“Nuisance?” Cecilia’s lips pressed together. “Are you calling me a n—”
“You’re a housemaid who drops the coal scuttle, a nursemaid who doesn’t know a single proper lullaby, and a servant who hasn’t the vaguest idea how to follow a simple command.” Lord Darlington’s lips quirked, as if he’d begun to enjoy himself. “Yes, Cecilia, you’re a nuisance.”
“When you put it that way, you make me sound awful, indeed, but I hardly think that’s an accurate description of—”
“It’s entirely accurate.” He chuckled at her expression. “You’ve been a nuisance since the day you arrived, and I found you throwing rocks into Darlington Lake for no better reason than you were curious.”
Oh, he was enjoying himself, all right. Insufferable man. Cecilia shot him a resentful look. “Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t know curiosity was such an unforgivable—”
“Come with me.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gave a little tug. “We’re wasting time.”
“Wasting time? Where are we going?”
“To your bedchamber.”
“My bedchamber?”
“There’s no need for you to look so appalled, Cecilia. Isabella is waiting for us there. The three of us are going to have tea together in the drawing room.” He glanced down at her with his lips curved in a mocking smile. “I’m a gentleman, and betrothed to another lady. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Her chin hitched up. “I told you before, my lord. I’m not afraid of you.”
“No? Well then, you have no reason not to come with me, do you?” Lord Darlington didn’t wait for a reply, but led her from the attic, the floor creaking under his boots, his long, warm fingers curled around her wrist.
Later that night, it would occur to Cecilia she’d told him the truth.
She wasn’t afraid of him.
And she’d lie awake for hours, wondering why.
Chapter Eleven
Gideon gulped in a deep breath of frigid air, then winced as it sliced a raw strip from his lungs. It hurt like the devil, but painful respiration was preferable to unconsciousness.
He couldn’t suffocate. Not today. Another cleansing breath, then another…ah, that was much better. He could feel the tension draining from his—
“For God’s sakes, Darlington,” Haslemere hissed. “She’s your betrothed, not your executioner. Smile, will you?”
Smile, yes. That was a good idea. Gideon pasted what he hoped was an engaging smile on his lips as he and Haslemere watched the Honeywells’ carriage make its way up the drive. He’d been awaiting his betrothed at Darlington Castle for the past fortnight, yet somehow Miss Honeywell’s arrival had taken him unawares.
Rather like an upended glass of wine, or a fall down the stairs—
“Bloody hell. Never mind the smile, Darlington.” Haslemere glanced at him and blanched. “You look as if you’re about to cast up your accounts. What the devil ails you this morning? Why are you so twitchy? Are you ill?”
Gideon blew out the last of his calming breaths in an irritated huff. “What are you going on about, Haslemere? I’m not twitchy.”
But if he was twitchy, he knew just who to blame for it. If he hadn’t spared much thought for his betrothed since he’d last seen her in London, he could lay his shameful inattention squarely on Cecilia’s shoulders.
She was as distracting a nursemaid as she’d been a housemaid. Worse, Isabella adored her and insisted on her constant presence, and so Cecilia seemed to be everywhere he looked, with that playful smile and that musical laugh that filled all the empty spaces inside him. Even when he couldn’t see her, he could hear her through the connecting door, singing those improper lullabies, making Isabella laugh—
“Look sharp, Darlington,” Haslemere muttered. “They’re nearly here. Oh, and do stop looking as if you expect someone to shoot at you at any moment, would you?”
“Don’t be absurd. I told you, I’m not twitchy. I’m simply…breathless with anticipation.”
Haslemere snorted. “Well, I urge you to fix a more anticipatory expression on your face before you frighten Miss Honeywell to death with that black scowl of yours.”
“She’s made of sterner stuff than that.” Still, Gideon did his best to rearrange his features into a more welcoming attitude as the carriage rounded the curve in the drive.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t delighted to see Miss Honeywell. Of course, he was. Her lovely face would brighten up this grim castle. She was just the sort of mistress it needed with her sunny disposition and pure, uncomplicated beauty.
Not like Cecilia Gilchrist, with her deep, dark eyes and argumentative