Page 9 of Her Duke at Midnight
“I’m afraid I’m not Fiona, but I heard someone cry out.”
Cecily froze at the same moment a chill rippled across her neck. She swung to face the man who’d burst into her room.
No, he most definitely was not Fiona.
The stranger on her threshold was tall and as broad-shouldered as the doorframe. Her first impression was of darkness. Overlong black hair tumbled over his head in waves, as if he’d nervously combed his fingers through it again and again. He’d be an intimidating man if not for his eyes—sea blue fringed in black, but with an openness Cecily had rarely encountered in any man.
“Are you all right?” Those compelling eyes of his took her in, scanning her from the foot stuck out beyond the folds of her dress to the loose strand of hair hanging in her eyes, as if assessing her for injuries.
When she didn’t answer, he took a step closer.
“Are you injured, miss?”
Cecily’s tongue refused to function. Something about the deep, raspy timbre of the man’s voice caused a stroke of heat to rush down her back and electrified the wisps of hair at her nape.
Heavens, what was wrong with her? She wasn’t some first-Season debutante who’d never had a man’s eyes roving the length of her.
“I am uninjured,” she finally managed, but she realized at the same moment that she wasn’t properly dressed. The unfastened portion of the gown’s bodice hung loose at her chest, and she yanked it higher.
“Shall I ring for assistance?” He’d already started toward the bellpull.
“No.” Cecily stayed him with the wave of her hand. “I can manage.”
She’d had quite enough of men who thought it their duty to decide what was best for her.
Though, as she swung to brace a hand against a nearby chair, she found it wasn’t easy to pull oneself up and hold on to one’s modesty at the same time. With each step she took, the voluminous folds of her gown seemed determined to trip her.
“Easy.” The man had come closer, so near that he reached for her elbow to steady her.
The heat of his skin seemed to seep into her blood, and she felt ridiculously dizzy. Her heart sped in her chest, and when she breathed deeply to calm her nerves, she caught his scent— shaving soap and cedar—in the air around her.
Somehow, that felt more intimate than the way his palm cradled her arm.
“I’m fine, sir. Please remove your hand.” Cecily pulled away and realized he hadn’t truly clasped her, just offered to take her weight if she needed the support.
“Forgive me, miss.” He took a long step away. She half expected him to see himself out. Then he turned back. “You seemed unsteady. No offense was intended.”
He bit the words off in a clipped, cool tone—nothing like the warmth she’d seen in his gaze. It was as if she’d made him wary or perhaps causedhimoffense.
Glancing his way, she was struck again by his eyes. They were a tantalizing blue—the kind of shade that changed with the light, or perhaps the man’s mood. Now, they’d gone darker, like the murky depths of a river.
Maybe she had offended him.
Men did tend to prefer when women were exceedingly appreciative of any assistance given, whether asked for or not.
But if he thought her nothing more than some clumsy, missish fool, he was wrong.
“I’m steady now,” Cecily told him firmly, doing her best to ignore the way his masculine presence seemed to fill the room. “And it is ‘my lady, ’ not ‘miss,’ if you wish to be precise.”
He nodded, then bent a little deeper, almost as if his inclination were to offer her a bow.
“I bid you good day,my lady. Enjoy your visit.” His tone lacked sincerity. In fact, it lacked everything but a snarl of irritation.
Then he spun on his heel and was out the door, leaving her breathless and pointlessly preoccupied with their encounter.
* * *
“You’re a damned liar, Bennett.” Adam shouted the words, though there was no real ire in his tone.
