made her breathless, and they fell from her lips as a soft tease.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening to a hot, stormy blue. He stroked his thumb over her chin, and the tip of it brushed her lower lip.
Cecilia’s mouth opened a little in response to the caress, and his own lips parted on a strangled breath. He leaned closer, his mouth drawing nearer to hers, but just when she was certain her heart would leap from her chest, a shadow came over his face.
He cleared his throat, and when he spoke again, the huskiness had bled from his voice. He released her chin and turned away, but paused before vanishing through the door. “The dressing on your hand needs changing. Good night, Cecilia.”
Chapter Twelve
Cecilia closed the castle door behind her and descended the stone steps onto the drive, her lips curved in a satisfied smile. She was well pleased with herself this afternoon.
Anyone who happened to catch a glimpse of her wouldn’t think she was anything other than a devoted nursemaid taking her adorable charge for a walk in the gardens. That is, she was that, but then that was the brilliance of the thing.
It was an inspired idea, disguising herself as…well, herself.
But she wasn’t only a nursemaid this morning. No, this morning she was part nursemaid, and part investigator. She wasn’t quite sure what she was investigating yet today, but one thing was certain. In another six days, Fanny Honeywell would marry Lord Darlington.
She was nearly out of time and the mysteries at Darlington Castle kept piling up, one after the other. She wouldn’t get any closer to unraveling them sitting about the castle. After some discreet prodding at breakfast this morning, she’d discovered from Duncan that the White Lady had only ever been seen near the edge of the woods, or wandering through the rose walk before she disappeared again somewhere near the kitchen gardens.
So, Cecilia and Isabella were headed toward the rose walk for a morning’s stroll. Cecilia doubted she’d find a ghost there waiting for them, but perhaps something else of interest would turn up. She’d simply have to hope for the best, and trust she’d recognize anything suspicious if she saw it.
“All right, Isabella?” Cecilia glanced down at her charge.
“My nose is cold.” Isabella rubbed the offending organ with a mitten-clad hand. “The outside part, and the inside.”
“It does look rather pink.” It was colder this morning than it had been yesterday, the scent of snow sharp in the air. Cecilia was a firm believer in fresh air for children, but she didn’t want Isabella to catch a chill. She’d been tempted to tuck her into a buggy under a thick layer of blankets, but Isabella wouldn’t hear of it. She’d insisted on walking, and Cecilia had wrapped her up so thoroughly if it hadn’t been for her pink face, she might have been mistaken for a bundle of laundry.
“What about the rest of you? Any frozen bits?” Cecilia asked, dropping a quick kiss on the tip of Isabella’s nose.
Isabella squirmed away, and gave Cecilia’s hand an impatient tug. “No. I want to walk in the garden. You said we could!”
“We will, but wait just a moment.” Cecilia slid a finger under the neckline of Isabella’s thick coat, nodding as her fingers landed on warm skin. “Ah, good. Cozy as a kitten, just as you should be.”
Isabella was dancing with impatience. “Please, Miss Cecilia?”
“All right, then.” Cecilia was as anxious to disappear into the grounds as Isabella was, before they ran into someone she’d rather avoid.
Someone like Mrs. Honeywell.
She cast a furtive glance around. She’d heard Mrs. Honeywell in the entrance hall half an hour earlier, her shrill voice easily discernible from the first-floor landing. She’d been complaining about the coldness of the day and fretting about catching a chill.
Lord Darlington must be taking the party for a tour of the grounds. Cecilia might have delayed her own excursion to be certain they’d miss them, but by then she’d already wrapped Isabella up like a small mummy. She couldn’t bear to disappoint her, and they could always dart into the kitchen gardens if they needed a quick escape. Lord Darlington wasn’t likely to take his guests there—
“Have you noticed, Lord Darlington, how well that particular shade of blue flatters my daughter’s complexion?”
Cecilia’s eyes widened. Oh, no.
There was no mistaking that screech, but which direction were they coming from?
“The Duke of Ashford himself raved about the color of Fanny’s eyes. He said