Page 3 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
Her father’s study was oblong in shape and richly decorated. Grand bookshelves lined the walls, laden with all manner of colourful tomes and knickknacks. Cecilia’s nose tickled because of the dust in the air. Not even the most diligent housemaid could arrange a room as old and cluttered as her father’s office.
She ran a finger along the inset top of the mahogany desk and was surprised when it came away clean. Her eyes drifted from the kneehole to the ceiling and then down again, settling on the family portrait that hung proudly on the wall.
It had been commissioned so long ago that Cecilia could not remember having sat for it. She could have only been four at the time, propped up on her mother’s knee in a dreadful chiffon frock and matching bonnet. The duchess looked no different now than she did then, with hair as dark as Cecilia’s and bright blue eyes.
The painter her father had invited from Florence had managed to capture her brother’s spirits well enough. The younger Anthony was scowling, even at the age of seven. Edward would have been ten at the time, but his eyes were full of old wisdom and kindness. Their father stood proudly behind them, with a much fuller head of brown hair, and with a foxhound they certainly had never owned at his feet.
Cecilia smiled as she contemplated the portrait, overwhelmed with love for her family, then with guilt.
After everything Papa has done for us, it is the least I can do to attend Lord Radcliff’s party.
With new resolve, she took a step back. As she did, however, the door creaked open behind her. Spinning on her heel, she dashed forward, arms outstretched, prepared to embrace her father.
But it was not her father who had opened the door.
Mr Travers hopped back, dropping the stack of documents in his arms. They scattered at his feet, crashing to the floor like waves against a cliff. Cecilia gasped, pulling back quickly and landing on the edge of her heel. Her ankle twisted beneath her and she wobbled with a cry. Mr Travers darted forward to catch her, cupping her beneath the arms and pulling her into him.
Once her stupor passed, Cecilia’s face burned with embarrassment. Her skin tingled where he touched her over the sleeves of her day gown, and she quickly yanked herself away.
“Heavens, I am so sorry!”
“The fault was mine, my lady—”
“All your papers! I really am so odious. Please, allow me to help!”
“I should have knocked.”
“You could not have known I was here and—”
“Yes, I really should have knocked.”
Back and forth they apologised, until Cecilia collected herself. Her eyes darted from the chaos on the floor to Mr Travers. She offered him a bashful smile.
“Were they nicely sorted and organized? You have my permission to lie.”
To her surprise, Mr Travers smiled back. She could not recall ever having seen him smile before. Her heart lurched in her chest, and she cautioned herself inwardly.
“They were a mess before I dropped them.”
“Now, that was definitely a lie.”
Why can I not stop smiling?
On instinct, she leaned down to begin collecting his effects. Seemingly, Mr Travers had the same idea. Their foreheads knocked together painfully, and Cecilia reeled back with a cry.
“God’s wounds, Lady Cecilia! Are you all right?”
“No—I mean, yes! Everything is fine.” She squeezed her eyes shut as another pang shot through her skull. She took a step back, reaching for the sideboard behind her. “Perhaps I should sit down.”
Mr Travers darted to the seating area beneath the window, picking up a chair and bringing it to her. He placed it behind her and urged her to sit. Cecilia did as she was told, clumsily navigating her pain and embarrassment.
Of all the men to have walked in on her—of all the men to have assaulted—why must it have been the enigmatic Mr Travers? Fate was a cruel mistress indeed, undoubtedly whispering in their ears, luring them into a trap. To what end, Cecilia could not fathom.
“How convenient for you…”
Cecilia’s eyes shot open. “I beg your pardon?”
“Now I must plead with you to remain seated and recover while I clear up this mess.” He crouched and began collecting his documents, failing to hide his smirk. “How very convenient, I say.”
