Page 25 of Her Duke at Midnight
Cecily waited until Fiona met her gaze in the mirror again. “There’s something between us, Fiona. And I’d like to see where it goes.”
“I understand. Attraction is…unpredictable. Not just being taken with someone’s physical beauty—and Everton has plenty of that. But sometimes, there’s simply a spark that’s impossible to resist.” Her friend laid a hand on Cecily’s shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. “But I must still advise you to guard your heart. I don’t want you hurt, and Everton has a reputation—“
“I know.” Even as Cecily reassured her friend, she felt a strange ache in her chest. Before today, she’d convinced herself that her feelings for Adam were simply a response to his magnetic appeal.
But today, they’d spoken so openly. He loved astronomy, and they’d both understood the pain of a distant, cold father. She giggled at the memory of him proudly showing her his Orion tattoo.
“You’re more than attracted to him. You’re fond of him,” Fiona said softly. “And I can see that it’s mutual.”
“Can you?” Cecily had spent years pretending, withholding her true feelings, afraid to express more than civil pleasantries in her own household. But she felt altered now and wondered what her face gave away.
“The way you looked at him, but more, it was the way his gaze stayed locked on you. I saw something I didn’t expect.”
“Oh?”
“He was worried about you, almost protective. As if he feared how my happening upon the two of you together would affect you.”
Cecily sensed Fiona wished to say more, but she’d learned to be patient. Fiona thought carefully about what she said and did. As far as Cecily could tell, there wasn’t an impulsive bone in her body.
“Perhaps he’s learned something from the matter with Mrs. Caldwell. To take more care with a lady’s reputation.”
“Perhaps.” Cecily couldn’t admit to Fiona that she hoped it was more. That if he cared for her at all, it was about what was between them and had nothing to do with any of his past entanglements.
“I think you’re ready, my dear.” Fiona took a step closer so that she and Cecily stood side by side in the long mirror. “We both look divine, if I do say so myself. Like goddesses of winter.”
Cecily laughed. Her red dress and Fiona’s rich emerald gown would make a nice complement to the freshly snipped sprigs of holly the servants had been using to decorate the ballroom earlier in the day.
“Shall we?” Cecily asked, linking her arm with her friend’s.
“We may be a bit early for the ball, but I’m sure the Derwents have arranged for refreshments.”
Fiona was right, of course. A sideboard in the dining room allowed guests to choose from a selection of refreshments, and servants served mulled wine in the main drawing room.
Night had fallen, and a few guests watched out the windows for the first drops of snowfall that had been expected for days. Cecily thought the sky looked far too clear for snow, but it would certainly make for excellent stargazing.
She scanned the handful of guests in the drawing room for her fellow amateur astronomer and felt a silly, wistful sense of disappointment when she realized Adam had yet to come down.
“The mulled wine is lovely, but if you ask one of the staff, they’ll bring you spiced cider.” Lady Portia Hastings approached as soon as they entered the room. She wore a lovely gown of dark gold satin that perfectly complemented her blonde hair.
“I’ll go and fetch us some,” Fiona said and headed off to find a servant.
“Are you enjoying the house party so far, Lady Bissenden?” Portia sipped her spiced cider as she spoke to Cecily and eyed the other guests.
“Yes, I am.” Cecily tried to quell the blush she felt beginning to heat her cheeks as, unbidden, she recalled themostenjoyable moment she’d experienced so far.
“Good.” Portia’s smile was genuine but lasted only a moment before she took a step closer. “I will warn you about one particular gentleman this evening.”
“Oh no. Who is it?” Cecily’s heart was suddenly in her throat. One morewarningabout Adam, and she wasn’t certain she could bite her tongue.
“Lord Whitlock.” As she spoke, Portia cast her cool blue gaze toward a white-haired man who Cecily vaguely recalled from London social events, though she’d yet to speak to him during the house party. “He’s already deep in his cups and can be cruel when he’s soused.”
It had been more than a year since Cecily felt the familiar knot of tension that formed in her belly as she watched Whitlock make his way on unsteady legs around the room. His voice rang out too loudly, his cheeks had gone radish red, and he gesticulated clumsily as he spoke.
During her marriage, she’d learned to note signs that Archibald had or was in the mood to overindulge. Those were the times when he was most likely to turn vicious or violent. By the time he got to the point Whitlock was at, she knew that ugliness of some sort would be inevitable.
“Our hosts should ask him to retire early.”
“Yes,” Portia said enthusiastically, “that is a very good idea.”
