Lady Cecily and the Mysterious Mr. Gray

by Janice Preston

  ‘I shall say goodnight.’

  * * *

  In her bedchamber, she dismissed Anna as soon as her gown was removed and her stays unlaced, hearing again and again Zach’s last words. His fears. She had let him down before, at Leyton Grange, even though she had made him no promise at the time. If Leo hadn’t arrived when he did, would she have accepted Zach there and then? She did not believe so. Not at that time. The hope raised by him admitting his father’s identity had not been enough to persuade her to entirely turn her back on the life she had known. But now that Zach had faced his brother and taken his place in society, he had given her the courage to accept him. Together they would face the snubs and the criticisms and, in time, she was confident they would be accepted by her family and those whose friendship mattered to her.

  She understood, though, why Zach would be plagued by doubt and her heart ached at the thought of the long night ahead of him.

  So she sat in a chair, in her shift, and waited until the house grew quiet. Lady Perfect was about to throw caution to the winds. Her words to Leo had sparked a rebellion deep inside her. She had always behaved properly. Done what was expected of her. Now...it was time to take charge of her own life and to grasp happiness.

  She picked a simple yellow-sprigged muslin gown—with the fewest possible fastenings—from the wardrobe and quickly dressed, reaching awkwardly behind her neck to do up the buttons, before bundling a hooded cloak and a black veil under her arm. Snatching up her reticule and checking she carried enough money for a hackney, she quietly left her bedchamber and headed for the back stairs. A footman remained on duty in the hall all night, but there would be no one to see her slip out of the kitchen door. Once outside, she donned the cloak and draped the veil over her hair and face before pulling up the hood.

  She walked swiftly until she spied a hackney and, by half past one in the morning, she was standing outside the house on Jermyn Street where Zach rented his rooms. Now she had reached her decision, she did not want to wait any longer to be with the man she loved. She felt no guilt at her actions. No shame. Love was not shameful.

  At her soft knock, a bleary-eyed night porter opened the door.

  ‘Mr Graystoke’s rooms, please,’ she whispered, keeping the hood low over her veiled face. She fumbled in her reticule and took out a crown. The man’s eyes widened and he accepted the coin with a bow.

  ‘Up the stairs, second floor, madam.’

  On the second floor, she pulled down her hood and stuffed her veil inside her reticule. A light shone beneath a door and she knocked lightly. She heard the creak of the floorboards as he crossed the room. The door opened and, for the second time that night, she walked into his arms. He held her to his chest, the steady thump of his heart loud in the hush of the night as he stroked her hair.

  ‘Do not doubt that I am pleased to see you, my dove, but...how did you get here?’

  She leaned back against the circle of his arms to look at him. ‘I came in a hackney.’

  Disapproval etched his face. ‘Alone?’

  ‘But of course. You do not think I would bring Anna to a—an assignation?’

  ‘An assignation? Is that what this is?’ His lips quirked, but only fleetingly. He shook his head. ‘What am I to do with you? It is one thing wandering around in the countryside, alone and after dark. But—here? In London? When I think of the dangers...’

  ‘Zach.’ She framed his face, searching his dark, stormy eyes. ‘I have told Leo we are to be married. And, yes, he did try to change my mind, but he was unsuccessful. I wanted to set your mind at rest. I shall stay true to my promise. My decision is made.’

  The harsh planes of his face softened as she drew him to her for a slow, sensual kiss, tasting of brandy. She explored his mouth and her confidence grew as he allowed her to set the pace. She worked on the fastenings of the floor-length banyan he wore. She pulled it open and slipped her hands beneath. And stilled. Beneath his robe he was stark naked—all hot, hair-roughened skin. She tore her lips from his and stepped back, unable to keep her gaze from dipping down, feasting on the heavy muscles of his chest, his flat stomach, and—she paused again as her eyes locked on to his manhood and she felt them widen.

  She looked up. Met his gaze.

  ‘This is what you want, my dove? Tonight?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He smiled as he shrugged out of the banyan. Of its own volition, her gaze again swept his body.

  Fully naked, fully erect, he was magnificent.

  She stepped closer and pressed herself full length against the man she loved more than life itself, her arms around him, her hands roaming his muscled shoulders and his smooth, broad back as their kiss turned urgent, molten. Boldly, she slid her hand between them, closing her fingers around his staff, marvelling at the feel of silken skin sliding over hot, hard flesh. Zach groaned, growing harder and thicker as she held him, then he pulled away. She went with him, murmuring her protest into his mouth. But he lifted his lips from hers and, firmly, he turned her. His arms came around her, his hands seeking her breasts as he nibbled her neck. She tilted her head, sighing her pleasure.

  Then his hands were on the buttons of her dress, releasing them, moving slowly but with purpose from one to the next. A shiver chased across her skin as warm breath caressed her nape, but she was not cold. She was shivery with heat, shivery with need, shivery with wanting as he raised gown and shift over her head, stripping her in one swift movement.

  He turned her to face him, his dark features intent, his concentration fierce and her insides—already a maelstrom of boiling, urgent need—erupted at the wonder on his face. Her breaths came quick and shallow with the urge to rush him and she clutched at his shoulders...his arms.

  ‘Please.’

  He shook his head, his hot gaze locked on to her nipples, now so hard they ached.

  ‘No, dove.’ He clasped her hips, his hands hard and calloused, yet gentle, and held her still. ‘I will make this a night to remember, for us both. And that will not be by speed.’

  He dipped his head.

  The slide of his tongue around her nipple was pure torture. The nip of his teeth and the pull of his lips had her gasping for more. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him tight to her breast as she succumbed to the feelings swirling around inside—tipping her head back, closing her eyes as every nerve in her entire body flamed. And then they were on the bed, skin to skin, and those swirling feelings wound tighter, spiralled higher, as the torture started again: her breasts, the sensitive skin of her inner arms, her legs, her toes. He raised her leg, licking behind her knee, then running his teeth along her inner thigh to... At the first probe of his tongue her eyes flew open, but she saw nothing. Her hips bucked and he held her still as he licked into her most intimate place, teasing, sucking lightly. He held her hips captive and she clutched mindlessly, first his hair and then, as he continued, the coverlet on which she lay.

  She arched as a hot tide of passion seized her, consuming her as it swept her away, lifting her higher—and higher—and then his weight was on her, between her thighs, and she could feel him nudging at her entrance. Instinctively she tilted her hips and then, slowly, he filled her, stretching her. He withdrew and entered her again, once, twice and then, a sharp pain—gone as soon as it registered—and he was buried inside her, deeper than she thought possible.

  Then he began to move.

  Deeply. Relentlessly. Powerfully.

  And she rode that wave of passion once again until, this time, it peaked and she cried out as her world shattered into bone-melting pleasure. As she floated in ecstasy, she felt Zach grip her, felt the force surge through him as he drove into her and then he, in his turn, cried out and she felt the warmth of him deep inside her.

  The tears came then. Crowding her throat, seeping from her eyes, dampening her cheeks, as she gloried in the feeling of his weight on her, and in the feeling of him still deep inside her and in the heady sensation of feeling truly alive for the first time in her life.


  No longer a perfect lady, but a woman.

  He raised his head, and frowned, his eyes heavy-lidded. Dazed. He brushed her cheek with his thumb.

  ‘Why the tears, dove?’ His voice low and raspy.

  She shook her head. ‘Happy tears.’

  He kissed her then—tenderly, lovingly—and withdrew, rolling on to his back, settling her into his arms, her head on his chest, holding her as they slept in one another’s arms.

  * * *

  They stirred at first light and made slow tender love, reaching their fulfilment together. Then Zach, with a final, searing kiss, threw back the covers and arose.

  ‘Come, my dove. We must get you home before you are missed.’

  Cecily rolled over to admire his naked body, then gasped at the sight of a deeply grooved letter G on his right buttock. Zach turned at her gasp, a look of resignation on his face.

  ‘What—?’ Hot anger curled deep in her belly. ‘Is—is that a brand?’

  Zach nodded, then grabbed a pair of breeches from a chair and pulled them on.

  ‘But—’ Cecily sucked in a breath, her thoughts whirling. ‘Who did it? Tell me.’ But she was afraid she already knew the answer.

  ‘Thetford and Kilburn. It was their idea of fun. Actually—in the main—I believe it was Kilburn. He was always the stronger of the two of them. The leader.’

  She pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Kilburn? B-but I—I might have—’

  He sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms. ‘I would have stopped it, dove. Trust me. You would not have married Kilburn while I drew breath.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘No. But it did at the time. Now, come. It is time you went home.’

  Hatred for the men who had inflicted it spiked through her and her fingers crooked into claws. If only she could get her hands on them—but she must just be grateful she discovered the truth about Kilburn in time to stop the biggest mistake of her life. She shuddered at the thought of being under his control.

  Reluctantly, she left the warm bed, shivering a little in the early morning chill. She found her shift and pulled it on, followed by her gown.

  ‘I shall go to the bishop for a special licence this morning and make the arrangements at St George’s,’ Zach said.

  They had agreed their betrothal and wedding would be done properly. They would not sneak around as though ashamed, but neither did they wish to wait three weeks for the banns to be called. They wished to be wed as soon as possible.

  ‘As soon as all is arranged, I shall call upon you at Beauchamp House to confirm the details of our wedding.’ He grinned then—full of enthusiasm—and caught her to him, swinging her around. ‘I cannot wait until you are Lady Cecily Graystoke.’

  Their lips met in a fiery kiss, but Cecily soon pulled away, her arms still around his neck.

  ‘I shall be happy to be plain Mrs Graystoke,’ she said, smoothing his hair from his face until his earring was exposed. She tightened her arms to pull herself up and took his lobe between her lips and swirled her tongue around the diamond. ‘If my family refuse to accept our union—accept you—then I shall no longer use my courtesy title. I shall want no part of the Beauchamps.’

  She said the words with bravado, but a lump of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. She could not imagine the future without her family. But she’d made her choice and she would look forward, not back.

  Zach hugged her close, then lowered her to the floor and pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘I know it is hard,but let’s see what happens first,’ he said. ‘Maybe—when your brother sees how happy we are—’

  She pulled away from him.

  ‘Yes. Let us see what happens,’ she said.

  The night porter was nowhere to be seen when they reached the entrance hall. The front door was unbolted and they left the house and walked along the road until they saw a hackney and flagged it down.

  * * *

  Back at Beauchamp House, Cecily crept in through the kitchen door and then slammed to a halt as she came face to face with Michael, one of the footmen, still in his shirtsleeves, his hair tousled with sleep. His shocked expression said it all but, of all the servants—apart from Anna—she was relieved it was him.

  ‘Michael, please, I beg you—’ she pulled open her reticule and felt around for another coin ‘—do not tell anyone you have seen me.’

  ‘N-no, milady.’ His cheeks bloomed scarlet, but his troubled expression transformed into a grin as she pressed a shilling into his palm.

  * * *

  The clock on the mantel in the salon of Beauchamp House showed half past three. More than ten hours since Zach had escorted Cecily home. Ten hours of silence. Her stomach churned and her throat choked with suppressed fear.

  Where is he? He promised to call this morning.

  Doubts—insidious and pervasive—crept through her as the minutes ticked by. If there had been a delay in seeing the bishop, surely he would have sent word and not left her in silence? She had given herself to him, against every principle by which she had lived her entire life—because she loved him; she believed in him; she trusted him.

  But what if...? Her throat clenched even tighter and tears scalded her eyes. What if, having succeeded in bedding her, he had changed his mind? It was the warning all mothers and chaperons impressed upon their young charges—give a man what he wants before he puts a ring on your finger and he never will.

  What if he had decided to return to his former life with his Romany family after all? Leo’s words ricocheted through her memory: Who knows what tricks and wiles a man like Gray has up his sleeve?

  Have I been too stupid, too naive to see the truth? No. I will not—cannot—believe such a thing of Zach.

  Can I?

  How well do I truly know him?

  She had even sent a note to his lodgings, but there had been no reply. She paced the room, feeling caged. In time, though, an image arose in her mind’s eye, slowly calming her increasingly frantic thoughts. The memory of Zach, telling her about when he’d found Athena—that protective gesture, the unconscious cupping of his hands. That was Zach. That was not a man who would trick a woman in order to seduce her.

  But if that is the case, where is he? Why has he not called or sent word? He must know I am waiting.

  And suspicions grew. Zach had enemies. Thetford and Kilburn had gone to extreme lengths to get rid of Zach and his mother in the past. What if they tried something similar again?

  And Leo and Vernon?

  Her brothers were opposed to her plans, but would they resort to underhand methods to split her and Zach apart? She did not want to believe they would, but once the doubt entered her head it was hard to dislodge it. Leo, Vernon, Dominic and Alex were all away from home. They had set off early that morning for Buckinghamshire to inspect the Foxbourne estate—a horse-breeding enterprise recently purchased by Leo. He had formed the intention of settling it upon Alex in the hope it would help his youngest son to settle down and reform his wild ways.

  What if they had snatched Zach? Taken him with them by force?

  But surely they would not—what could they hope to achieve by it?

  The door opened and her gaze snapped to it. Olivia entered, becomingly attired in a sprigged-muslin walking dress and pink spencer, with a jaunty pink hat on her ebony ringlets and carrying a matching parasol.

  ‘Aunt Cecily. You are not even changed yet. We are all ready to go to the Park.’

  Cecily had agreed to accompany her two sisters-in-law, plus Olivia and Nell, for a walk in the Park that afternoon. She could not continue to sit here and wait and hope. If she went out and Zach arrived, he would either wait here for her or he would follow. And, if anything untoward had happened, she was more likely to learn of it in the Park than sitting here on her own.

  ‘I shall be but five minutes,’ she said to Olivia before hurrying upstairs to change her gown.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Day by day the company in London had thin
ned as many families returned to their country estates and nowhere was that sparsity of numbers more visible than in Hyde Park during the promenade hour. Cecily’s hope that Zach might be exercising Myrtle was dashed when she entered the Park and scanned the walkers. There was no sign of him. Her insides continued to roil with nerves and those earlier doubts re-emerged to nibble away at her, even though she had previously dismissed them.

  And then, in the distance, Cecily saw Lord Kilburn strolling alone, swinging his cane as though he hadn’t a care in the world. He spied her and immediately headed towards their little group, which included Thea’s brother, Daniel, who had agreed to escort the ladies.

  Kilburn halted, raised his beaver hat and smiled.

  ‘Good afternoon, ladies, Markham.’ He bowed and each member of the group bowed or curtsied in reply.

  ‘Good afternoon, Lord Kilburn.’

  It was Rosalind who spoke, her voice cool. Cecily had confided in her about Kilburn’s behaviour the previous evening. Both Rosalind and Thea had privately expressed their support for Cecily and Zach, and both also promised to work to soften their husbands’ objections to him, but Cecily had told neither of her sisters-in-law about her visit to Zach the night before, or that he had failed to call upon her as promised today. She could not bear to be the recipient of sympathy. Not until she could find out what was going on. And, she suspected, here might be her chance.

  She smiled at Kilburn, who immediately said, ‘May I offer you my arm, Lady Cecily?’

  She inclined her head graciously. As she took his arm she shot a reassuring look at Rosalind and gave a swift nod in response to her arched brows. They began to walk, Kilburn and Cecily falling into step behind the others.

  Following the briefest of pleasantries, Kilburn said, ‘I must apologise for allowing my passions to get the better of me last evening, my lady. I am sure you will understand that I was overcome by disappointment and I promise you my behaviour was quite out of character. I can only hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me and to give me another chance?’