‘Hold this against it,’ Joe instructed when he had satisfied himself there was no great injury. ‘It’ll help with any swelling.’
‘Another skill you picked up from your time in the army?’ Cecilia asked as she took the icicles wrapped in a piece of fabric from him.
‘There were never enough doctors,’ he said grimly, trying to forget the dozens of times he had watched his men die when medical intervention might have saved them.
‘Do you still think about it?’ she asked. ‘The battles, the men, your time away?’
‘Yes. All the time.’ It felt strange to be admitting it. Normally he gave a terse reply to any questions about his time on the Peninsula—it discouraged any follow-up questions and allowed him to wallow in his memories alone.
‘If it wasn’t for your injury, do you think you’d still be in the army?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yes.’ He hated it, had hated war and fighting and death, but the army had been his life for nine years and it was hard to imagine anything else.
‘Perhaps...’ she said thoughtfully, grimacing as she shifted the icicle fabric to another spot, ‘you need to find some way to contribute that doesn’t involve actually fighting, of course.’
Joe glanced over to the small pile of papers in the corner of the room. On the top was an envelope, thick with documents and as yet unopened. His time in the army had been spent commanding men, making decisions and fighting on the front line. That was how he’d wanted it. There had been numerous offers to secure him a different post, something safer where he would work on an advisory level, but he had always turned it down. Somehow it hadn’t seemed fair, the thought of leaving his men without their commander. Still, the higher-ranking officers had always grumbled about what a shame it was to put someone like Joe at risk over and over again. Someone who could speak four languages and solve problems even the sharpest of mathematicians had trouble with.
Since his return to health he’d had a couple of offers from a friend in the Foreign Office, mainly translation work. To help keep the peace even if you’re a lame horse nowadays, Theodore Long had written.
Always he’d sent the packages back unopened, but perhaps it was time to stop wallowing in self-pity and find himself something else to focus on.
‘Let me see,’ he said softly, guiding her hand away and placing his fingers back on her leg. There was no bruising, no obvious swelling.
‘Will I live?’ Cecilia asked, her smile breaking through her mock-serious visage.
‘Don’t fret, you’ll live to see your spinster house yet.’
She grinned up at him and it struck him he’d never known anyone so happy at the thought of living out their life as a spinster. Women of Cecilia’s birth and upbringing were expected to marry, and before they did they were expected to obsess about their choice of suitors, about proposals and eligible bachelors. They weren’t meant to want to be ridiculed by society and spend their lives alone.
Suddenly Joe felt uneasy. The pieces were all beginning to fall into place: the reaction she’d had when he’d climbed into bed beside her, the handiness with a candlestick, her insistence that she would not marry, that she would stay a spinster.
‘Cecilia...’ he said, unsure how to put into words the question that was burning in his mind, ‘has that Turner boy tried to force you? Is that why you’re so adamant you won’t marry?’
She laughed, but there was little humour in it and Joe felt sick to his stomach. The idea of anyone touching her...forcing her...made him feel angry beyond belief.
‘Turner wouldn’t know where to start,’ she said grimly.
‘Someone else, then?’
He saw he’d come to the correct conclusion by the flare of desperation in her eyes and wondered at the world that left an innocent young woman open to this sort of abuse.
‘No one has ever laid a hand on me,’ she said. Joe believed her, but wondered at what cost.
‘Your guardian?’ he growled.
Silently she nodded. ‘Among others. Life changes a little when you have no one to look out for you.’
‘Surely you have someone?’ he asked, thinking of his large family, the group of friends who still maintained frequent contact despite his foul mood this past year, the men who’d served under him who would have given up their life for his.
‘No. No family whatsoever since my parents died. I have a few true friends—your sister, of course, and one or two others—but no one who can protect me from the man who is meant to put my welfare above anything else.’
‘What has he done?’ Joe asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.
‘Nothing, not really. Nothing that I could report him to a magistrate for, but I’ve learned that doesn’t mean anything.’ She paused, closing her eyes for a few seconds as if trying to block out the memories, then laughed bitterly. ‘What does it say about your life when your staunchest protector is Peter Turner, a man who couldn’t stand up to the friendliest of beetles?’
‘He tried to protect you?’
Cecilia shrugged. ‘In his own way. He’d distract his father if he was getting too insistent I sit on his lap, or pour his father another drink if he wouldn’t let me leave the dinner table and make my escape.’
‘Your parents left you in his care?’ Joe asked, incredulous.
‘No, not knowingly. The relative who was supposed to be my guardian died a few weeks after my father. Mr Turner was the last resort after him.’
‘And this is why you want to be a spinster? Not all men are like the Turners, Cecilia.’
She caught his eye and he felt something squeeze inside his chest. There was such sadness in her gaze and a sense that she was wise beyond her years.
‘Are you offering, Major Crawley?’ she asked and Joe was quick enough to school his face into a neutral expression. Of course she was joking, but it wouldn’t do to look like a petrified rabbit at the idea of marrying her.
‘You wouldn’t want to tie yourself to a lame dog like me,’ he said.
‘A lame dog is better than a lecherous one,’ she said quietly. ‘But don’t fear, I will not press you into marriage. And, no, it is not just because of the Turners I’ve decided to become a spinster. In three days’ time I turn twenty-one. Then I inherit my father’s fortune. I’m told it is quite considerable and, over the past few years, I’ve realised that people will do almost anything to get their hands on that money. Even pretend to be in love with me.’
Joe grimaced. He could just imagine the fortune hunters rubbing their hands together in glee when Cecilia made her debut. A pretty young girl with no parents or family to guide her, soon to be in possession of one of the biggest fortunes in England.
‘What’s your excuse?’ she asked, her eyes seeming to look beneath his skin and into his soul.
Joe almost laughed at the directness of her question. His mother could learn a lot from Lady Cecilia. For months his mother had tried to convince him that one near miss on the marriage front shouldn’t put him off for life, but had never been able to come out and ask directly what had happened with Rebecca.
‘I don’t have a fortune women are eager to possess, I’m not a perfect physical specimen and I’m a grumpy old cripple, too, not exactly the sort of man women are clamouring for.’
‘Any woman would be lucky to have you, Joe,’ Cecilia said softly, all traces of humour gone from her voice. He looked up at her then, saw the kindness and affection in her eyes and realised that there wasn’t any pity there. He hated pity, had grown used to it, but Cecilia didn’t look at him that way.
His hand rested on her leg and he felt the warmth and softness drawing him in. It would be so easy to kiss her, so good, so satisfying. Already he could imagine their lips meeting and was filled with a desire so intense it shocked him. He wanted to kiss her until they were both senseless and then make love to her for hours in front of the flickering fi
re.
Ever so gently his fingers moved on the bare skin of her leg. He heard her sharp intake of breath, saw the flush on her cheeks and the sparkle of desire in her eyes. For a moment he was about to go through with it, and then quickly he pulled away. As much as he might want this he couldn’t do this to her. She’d just told him about being pursued by men who shouldn’t have an interest in her—her guardian, the fortune hunters. While he was neither of those he wasn’t offering her what she deserved: a future. If he ruined her now, he would take away any chance of her being happily married one day soon and, although she might protest she didn’t want that, he’d seen the wistfulness in her eyes.
‘And any man who just sees your fortune is a fool,’ he said quietly, standing to put some distance between them.
Chapter Six
‘Don’t stick the bread right in the flames, it’ll get charred to a crisp,’ Joe said, laughing as she pulled the toasting fork back a few inches and inspected the burnt patch on her bread. ‘Here, have mine.’ He handed her a perfectly toasted piece of bread and popped another piece on his fork, lowering it closer to the flames.
They were running low on food, Joe had informed her apologetically, but to Cecilia freshly toasted bread and a generous spread of butter was her idea of heaven. They’d pulled their armchairs up to the fire and were using up the last of the bread. Tomorrow, no matter the conditions, they would have to venture out at least as far as the village to buy some food.
Glancing sideways, Cecilia felt a pang of sadness. No more snow had fallen this evening and the skies were looking clearer. It was still bitterly cold outside, but tomorrow the snow would probably thaw enough for their little secluded interlude to be over. Cecilia would have to return to the real world and Joe would disappear from her life.
She thought back to the moment when he’d nearly kissed her, earlier that afternoon. For a heady few seconds she’d been swept away in the fantasy and she had hoped he would take her in his arms. Of course it was foolish, to want a man who had no intention of ever marrying to seduce her, but she’d wanted it all the same.
As Joe handed her the second slice of toast she busied herself spreading the butter, handing one back to him once it was done.
‘Delicious,’ he said, relaxing back in his armchair as he ate. Cecilia couldn’t help but smile—never again would she get to see a gentleman so relaxed, so at home. All the constraints of society meant that unless you were married then everything had to be done properly, all the time. It was unheard of to sit in an armchair by the fire with an unmarried man and no chaperon, just enjoying the crackle of the flames and a simple piece of buttery toast.
‘That was heavenly,’ she said, licking the butter off her fingers.
She saw Joe watching her and wondered for an instant if she’d disgusted him with her behaviour, but it wasn’t disgust in his eyes. He gripped hold of the arms of the chair and mumbled something under his breath.
‘Pardon?’
‘Women,’ he said, even though the first thing he’d muttered had been considerably longer than one word.
‘What about us? Are you extolling our superiority? Our grace and wisdom, our composure and dignity?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Tell me,’ Cecilia said, feeling bold and licking the last of the butter from her fingers. ‘Which women were you referring to?’
‘All of you.’
‘All of us? I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with every woman in the world.’
‘Just the troublesome ones, it would appear,’ he said, watching her intently as her finger popped out of her mouth for the final time. There was desire in his eyes and it should have scared her, but instead she felt a shiver of excitement. She knew hardly anything about him, other than little pieces of news passed on from Elizabeth and what she’d learned these past couple of days. Still, it was enough. Enough to know he was an honourable man, one who would not try to seduce her. Even if a small part of her wanted to be seduced.
Behave, she told herself. Although who would ever know? If they were lucky no one would ever realise she’d spent any time here, so no one would know of a kiss. Just one kiss. Something to take into her spinsterhood.
‘Elizabeth told me of your engagement.’ The words were out of her mouth before she had time to stop them. The engagement hadn’t been a success, he was still a bachelor, after all, but it wasn’t a topic he would want to discuss. And it was sure to dampen down any feelings of desire towards her. Silently she cursed, that wasn’t what she’d hoped to do, although perhaps it was for the best.
‘Did she?’ Joe said, raising an eyebrow in a gesture that spoke of indifference, even though Cecilia could see it was feigned.
‘Miss Rebecca Farnham, wasn’t it?’ She didn’t know why she was pressing the subject.
‘Let’s not talk about Rebecca,’ he said quietly.
‘Did she hurt you?’
‘That is talking about her. And I wish to think of more cheerful things.’ He sat forward in his chair. ‘The present, not the past.’
‘I’m sorry if she hurt you. You don’t deserve that.’
Joe smiled then and Cecilia felt the full force of his masculinity hit her squarely in the chest. She was almost out of her chair and on the way to his lap before she caught herself.
‘And what do I deserve, Cecilia?’ He said her name as if it were silk, rolling it softly over his tongue and making the heat rise up from somewhere deep inside her.
‘Something...nice,’ she ventured, hardly able to think let alone speak. Her eyes were fixed on his, unable to pull away, and she could feel the colour rushing to her cheeks, betraying her as it always did whenever she was embarrassed.
‘Something nice,’ he mused. ‘You’ll have to be a little more specific. There are lots of nice things in this world.’
Joe leaned forward in his chair, his knees brushing hers, and even through the fabric of her dress she fancied she could feel his warmth. Closing her eyes, Cecilia tried to compose herself. It was just Joe, her friend’s brother, the man who had given her shelter. Joe whose strong arms she kept picturing wrapped around her, whose lips she wanted to kiss and whose body she wanted to feel against hers.
‘I need to...’ she said, standing abruptly, but stopped as he caught her hand.
For the past four years she’d been dodging the advances of her guardian and the droves of fortune hunters. Always she’d avoided any close contact, anything that could be misconstrued as a sign of affection, never wanting to give a man the chance to claim she was encouraging him. But right now she wanted to encourage the man in front of her and that scared her more than her deepest fear—getting caught in a compromising position with a suitor who only wanted her fortune.
‘What nice things do I deserve, Cecilia?’ he asked, his voice low and seductive, and she felt the last of her resolve crumbling.
Sinking back down into the armchair, she felt the warmth of the fire on her face and the heat of Joe’s body as he manoeuvred himself closer to her. In the flickering firelight he looked dashing, the shadows playing across his face and accentuating the glint of his eyes and the fullness of his lips.
‘There’s only one thing I want,’ he murmured, reaching forward and tucking a stray strand of hair from her face. Cecilia felt the tickle of his fingers as he lingered longer than he should and looked up into his eyes, knowing that with that one look she would be lost.
Instinctively she felt her body move towards his as his hands tangled in her hair. He kissed her, softly at first, teasing her lips with his own until Cecilia felt as though every inch of her body was on fire. Then he whispered her name and deepened the kiss until Cecilia was lost in a whirlwind of desire and heat.
She shuddered as he ran his fingers down the back of her neck, caressing the skin no one else had ever touched, and urged him to continue as he traced a trail over her collarbones.
Somehow Joe had looped his other arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap, their bodies pressed together as they kissed and Cecilia knew if he undressed her now she wouldn’t find the willpower to resist.
‘What are you doing to me?’ Joe murmured, his words tickling her ear.
Before she could answer he was kissing her again, his lips soft against hers.
It seemed to last both an eternity and no time at all and Cecilia found herself willing the seconds to stop ticking by so Joe would never have to pull away.
‘We need to stop now,’ Joe said, his voice unusually gruff.
Cecilia nodded, seeing the desire in his eyes, feeling the evidence of his arousal even through the thick layers of her skirts.
‘But I just can’t seem to resist,’ he murmured, kissing her just below her earlobe.
Part of her wanted to urge him on, to tell him she didn’t care, that she wanted this more than she wanted her virtue, but years of being told it was her most important asset won out. Still she didn’t move, just shifted subtly so she could see Joe’s face properly.
‘Will you just hold me for a moment?’ she asked.
He wrapped his arms around her even tighter, pulling her back to rest against his chest, and Cecilia felt her body relaxing. There was something so comforting, so right, about the touch of another person. Not since her mother had died six years ago had anyone taken her in their arms and held her. Even among friends there had to be a certain level of formality and, after losing her family, no one had ever been close enough to hold her again.
And if you become a spinster no one will ever hold you again, the little voice in her head whispered.
It was a sobering thought, the idea that she was resigning herself to a life with no physical intimacy and probably no emotional intimacy either.
‘Do you really want to go and live as a spinster?’ Joe asked, his voice slightly muffled as his breath tickled her neck.
‘Why do you ask?’ It was disconcerting, this way he seemed to read her mind.
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