Page 15 of Her Duke at Midnight
“Bennett, I’ve resisted the charms of lovely women before, and also very determined ones.” Adam didn’t want to recite Lady Bissenden’s attributes, and every time his friend referred to her casually as Cecily, a pointless flare of jealousy made his gut churn.
When he looked up, Bennett was assessing him again.
“What?”
His friend shrugged far too innocently. “I just had the stray thought that Cecily possesses all the makings of a fine duchess.”
CHAPTER5
Cecily ran,her legs pumping, arms tight against her chest. If she could just round the corner, she’d be safe. But the moment she did, Archibald was there. He’d found her. As he grabbed for her, she woke from the nightmare.
She sat up in bed, heart racing, blood rushing in her ears.
Then she remembered. She was at a house party in Kent, and Archibald was gone. Dead and gone. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.
As often happened when she woke from a night terror, she found she was twisted up in the bedclothes, as trapped as she’d felt in the dream. She pulled the coverlet back and got out of bed. The nightmares had come less frequently of late, but when they did, she couldn’t fall back asleep easily, if at all.
The fire the servants had laid in the grate still flickered with warmth, so she settled into a chair before the flames and tried to shift her mind to anything else.
Heimmediately filled her thoughts.
Goodness, why had she let Everton touch her again?
Fiona had noticed, of course, and quizzed her as to why the dangerous Duke of Everton was standing so close.Had they talked? What did he want?
And that was the question she struggled to answer even now. Why had he approached her? Why had he done that awkward little dance across the side of the room with her? The way others responded to him, Cecily imagined he’d want to draw the least notice possible.
As if a man who looked like him could ever fail to attract attention.
They’d been seated several guests apart at the dinner table, and the ladies near him had all seemed eager to either whisper about him or attract his notice. Cecily had done her bestnotto notice him, not to study the regal elegance of his profile or the way his large hand enveloped the wineglass every time he took a sip. She’d failed miserably, of course.
Something about the man unnerved her and fascinated her at the same time. And then he’d caught her, or she’d caught him. Glancing his way for the umpteenth time, she’d found he was watching her. And blast the man, his full, seductive lips had curved in a mystifying smile.
What about her amused him so?
Aside from the fact that she hadn’t been able to get through the first day of a house party without falling on her backside and splitting the seam of her evening gown.
But the way he’d looked at her hadn’t just been amusement. There’d been heat in his gaze, as if he wished they’d been seated closer. As if he wished they were alone. For that single moment, caught in the warmth of his gaze, she’d felt that they were. All else seemed to fade away—the noises at the table, the other guests.
Cecily sighed at her own foolish fancies. He was the very man Fiona had warned her about, for goodness’ sake.
Voices sounded in the hall outside her door, and she glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was near midnight, and though she’d heard some house party evenings carried on until the wee hours, the Derwents had bid everyone good night just after ten. According to Fiona, there was to be a hunt early the next morning, so the gentlemen needed their rest.
Cecily shivered and drew the neck of her nightgown tight around her neck. She’d never liked hunts. The fox would be vastly outnumbered—a poor, scared creature fated to be caught. She’d felt like that often enough herself that she couldn’t imagine taking any pleasure in hunting.
“Please—“ The word rang out in Everton’s distinctive low rumble. But what had caused him to shout?
Cecily crept to the door and rested her ear against the wood.
“We could be good to each other for a while,” a woman said, her voice much lower than Everton’s, but echoing in the confines of the hallway.
“No.” He wasn’t shouting anymore, but the single syllable fell with a hard finality.
A moment later, Cecily heard footsteps heading toward the far end of the hall. Then the snick of Everton’s door as if he’d closed it.
Who had gone to his chamber? Was it the lady who’d attempted to approach him when he’d first entered the drawing room? She’d forgotten to ask Fiona her name.
For some reason, Cecily found herself staring at the door as if she could see through the wood and watch him as he returned to his bed. Or would he remain awake and unsettled by the exchange with his lady visitor?
