“Are you hurt?” His eyes held concern but it was easy to see that he was struggling to hold on to his temper.
“No. I’m fine.” She smiled weakly. “Just hungry.”
He nodded. “Where did you spend the night?”
She swallowed. “Rand’s hunting lodge.”
“I see.” A little vein in his forehead had begun to throb. “And you’re certain you’re alright?”
She nodded.
“Then what the hell were you thinking?” he roared. “Damn it, Cecelia! We were terrified something terrible had happened to you.”
She cringed. She had never seen him so furious. Or heard him shout so loudly. “Please don’t shout at me, Eugene. When it began raining, I was too far from home to return safely. I was on the other side of the creek. I didn’t mean to ride so far.”
“The storm came up without warning,” Rand broke in. “You can’t blame her for that.”
Stratton glared at him. His gray eyes had darkened until they were almost black. He was beyond furious. “Shut up, Rand. I’ve half the village out looking for her.”
“But what are you doing home, Eugene?” Cecelia asked suddenly. “I didn’t expect you and Priscilla home so soon.”
“Obviously,” he snapped. “You never would have tried this stunt if you had known we would be here. Priscilla wasn’t feeling well, so we decided to return. And after waiting out the storm in some louse ridden inn I wouldn’t normally keep a dog in, we returned home this morning only to find that Aunt Mirabella was laid up with a sprained ankle and that you had ridden off without escort yesterday and still hadn’t returned. We were sick with worry. Aunt Mirabella is in such a state, I’ve had to send for the doctor.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
He raked his hand through his hair. “There’s a reason you’re not supposed to ride past the orchard by yourself! How in the devil did you end up on the other side of the creek? You were damned lucky you managed to find the lodge.”
“Rand brought me there when the storm hit. It was the closest shelter we could find.” Cecelia shut her mouth abruptly realizing she had volunteered more information that she had intended.
You spend the night at the lodge with Rand?” He looked at Rand who could only nod in confirmation. “Was anyone else there? The housekeeper or possibly a maid?”
She shook her head.
His voice was deadly quiet. “The cook?”
She shook her head again.
“No one other than Rand?”
“No.” Her voice was barely audible.
His jaw went rigid. “Go in the house, Cecelia. I need to speak with Rand.”
Her eyes flew desperately from one man to the other. “It wasn’t his fault, Eugene. He was just trying to get me out of the rain.”
“Go.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Very well.” Head high, carriage erect she strode toward the manor as if she were on her way to meet the Queen. An impressive feat, Rand considered, given the sorry state of her mud splattered riding habit, ruined boots, drooping hat and the mass of unruly red hair streaming down her back.
Stratton waited until she reached the house before turning back to Rand. His expression was taut, his eyes were blazing and the little vein in his forehead was still jumping. “We’ve known one another most of our lives. You are my best friend. I probably know you better than anyone else. Tell me the truth. Did you in any way take advantage of my sister?”
The look on his face must have betrayed him because before he could open his mouth to speak, Rand felt Stratton’s fist slam into his face and he was flat on his back with a pounding ache behind his left eye and stars dancing in his head. He slowly opened his right eye to see Stratton standing over him shaking out his hand.
“Get up you bloody bugger,” he hissed.
Rand lifted a hand and gingerly felt the area around his eye and cheekbone and decided it wasn’t broken. He might not be as lucky a second time. He tried to focus on Stratton’s face. “Are you planning to sucker punch me again?”
Stratton opened and closed his fist several times before answering. “Bloody likely.”
“I may well deserve a thrashing, but I’m not stupid enough to get myself killed if I don’t have to and as furious as you are, it is a distinct possibility. But that said, I don’t think you’re disposed to hit a man while he’s down so I’m remaining where I am for the moment.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Stratton growled.
“I won’t presume to offer any excuses or explanations for our night together. The circumstances were unfortunate. But I have tried to press upon her the need for us to marry. Regrettably, I haven’t been able to convince her. She doesn’t believe I’ll make a very good husband.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Stratton sourly. “But that’s neither here nor there, at this point. God damn it man, sit up! I can’t talk to you lying flat on your back like that. We look like a couple of bloody imbeciles!”
Rand sat up slowly. His head ached and his left eye was swelling but overall, he hadn’t faired too badly. He was still breathing. “It happens that my position has changed,” he explained. “Drastically. I must marry.”
“An understatement if I ever heard one,” Stratton observed sarcastically.
“My situation changed before I even left London. I’m now the bloody Marquis of Clarendon.”
Stratton lifted a dark brow in astonishment. “How in the blazes did you manage that?”
“Blasted heirs kept dying. Most by their own hand.” He noted Stratton’s expression and added, “By stupidity not suicide. And all but one within the past year. Solicitor barely broke the news to one heir before he had to go on to the next. I’m the last in what had been a fairly long line and if I don’t marry and provide an heir the title dies with me. I’m not certain why I even care, but I do.” He shrugged. “I’d decided to marry before the solicitor had even left my office.”
The black look on Stratton’s face made him realize that he hadn’t explained himself very well. “This wasn’t planned. It wasn’t my intention to compromise Cecelia into marriage. It’s just that she looked so...”
“Shut up,” Stratton said. “Spare me the details. Any details,” he added emphatically.
“I want to do the right thing. I like Cecelia. I know I’m not what you had in mind as a brother-in-law, but I do care for her. That will never change. But I need you to help me convince her.”
Stratton’s face was grim. “She doesn’t require convincing. It will be much easier if she agrees, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m convinced, and if need be I’ll lock her in her room until the day of the wedding. At first, I’d thought to procure a special license, but considering the black eye you’ll be sporting we’ll post the banns and you’ll wait the required three weeks. I wouldn’t want it said you were forced into marriage. And it will give us adequate time to put together a reasonably nice wedding for Cecelia. Once that’s accomplished, I can spend time with my bride, you can spend time with yours, Aunt Mirabella will hopefully be closer to recovery and she and her blasted dogs will leave for Bath and everyone will be happy.”
“Is Priscilla ill? You mentioned she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Not ill, but I didn’t want her overtaxing herself. I thought she could be better cared for at home.” He actually smiled. “I believe the condition is called morning sickness.”
“Congratulations, old man!” Rand face split into a grin and he winced. “Bugger it! I’d best not smile for a few days. Damn thing hurts.”
“Glad to hear it. I’m presuming you will stay at Bryony Hall until the wedding.”
“Of course. I hadn’t planned to bolt if that’s what you’re afraid of. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I know you would hunt me down to the ends of the earth.”
“Damned right,” Stratton remarked. “And then I would have to kill you which would complicate my life horrendously.” His expression grew somber. “You told me once that you didn
’t want to marry because you were afraid you couldn’t be satisfied with only one woman. You know I won’t let you get away with that.”
He nodded soberly. “I presumed as much. If it makes you feel any better, I severed my relationship with April before coming here. Got clouted on the head for it too. In fact, I’ve been clouted on the head three times in the past week. I’d swear we were back at Eton. Got clouted on a regular basis there and usually for good reason.” He carefully touched his cheekbone again. “Hurts more now than it used to, though.”
Stratton almost laughed. “Who else other than Miss Lamont and myself, hit you?”
“Your sister. She boxed my ears when I asked her to marry me.”
This time Stratton actually did laugh. “She’s no docile little lamb, but after her shining performance for her come out this season, I daresay you’d forgotten that.” He extended a hand.
Rand groaned as he took the hand that was offered and got to his feet. “I’m not apt to forget again.”
“Cecelia!” Priscilla cried. The petite, blond, blue-eyed woman came at her in a rush and threw her arms around her. “I’m so glad you’re safe! We had the most dreadful visions of what might have happened to you. Where were you? Are you alright?”
Cecelia gave her sister-in-law a long tight hug before disengaging herself. “My beautiful new riding habit is ruined, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“A riding habit can be replaced, milady. You cannot.” Their butler had entered the large foyer and his normally dour tones were tinged with emotion. “It’s most gratifying to have you back.”
Much to his obvious surprise, she turned and hugged him, as well. “Oh Reeds, I’m so sorry to have worried you. But I rode too far and then I was caught in the storm. We had to find a place to stay until it stopped raining. This morning, the ground was horribly muddy and with that and all the fallen trees and broken branches it took forever to get here.” She stopped a moment to catch her breath then added, “And I’m dreadfully hungry.”
“I’ll have a tray sent to your room, milady.” The dour tones were now properly in place, but he wasn’t quite able to keep the smile from his face as he bowed and left the room.
Cecelia let out a soft sigh. Even with Eugene as angry as he was, it was nice to be home again.
“Cecelia, could you come here a minute?” Priscilla was peering out the window. “I don’t quite believe my eyes. Doesn’t it appear as if Stratton has knocked Rand to the ground? Why ever would he do that?”
Cecelia came to stand behind her in time to see her brother flexing his fist.
“Blast! I should have known he wouldn’t understand.” She paused. “Does Aunt Mirabella know I’m back?”
“Yes. She’s most anxious to see you…”
Cecelia grabbed her hand. “Then come with me. Please. The more people I have around me when Eugene comes in, the safer I’ll be.”
“But why?” Priscilla asked as she followed her up the steps. “It isn’t as if he beats you.”
“There’s always a first time. He very well may this time.”
“That’s just silly. Of course he wouldn’t.”
“You may as well know now as it is certain to come out,” Cecelia said in a loud whisper. “I spent the night at Rand’s hunting lodge. With Rand. We were caught in the storm together.”
“Oh.” Priscilla stopped suddenly as understanding dawned on her. “Oh. But you didn’t. It’s none of my business, of course.” When it became obvious that Cecelia wasn’t protesting her innocence Priscilla exclaimed, “Good heavens. You are in a pickle aren’t you?”
“I believe so. Just stay close for now. Please.” She pulled Priscilla up the remaining steps, down the corridor and then rapped on Lady Fitzberry’s door and pushed it open.
“Cecelia, love!” Aunt Mirabella screeched. “Oh, do come here.” Tears were streaming down her face. “Let me put my arms around you so I’ll know that you’re really here.”
Cecelia went to her aunt’s side and sat down on the bed. Mirabella hadn’t dressed and she was still in her night cap. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were swollen. It was evident; Cecelia thought guiltily, that she hadn’t had an easy time of it. She put her arms around her aunt’s considerable girth and said, “I’m home, Aunt. I’m so sorry you worried.”
Then the dam broke and all the pent up emotion of the past few hours poured out. Try as she might Cecelia didn’t seem to be able to stop the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. After a few minutes, she took the corner of the sheet and wiped her aunt’s eyes and then her own. “What a watering pot I turned out to be,” she sniffed. “The next thing you know I’ll be swooning.”
“Oh, my,” Priscilla said faintly.
Cecelia looked over at her sister-in-law whose complexion had taken on a green tinge. She went to her side and steered her into a comfortable chair. “Are you ill? Eugene said you weren’t feeling well.”
Priscilla smiled weakly. “I had a bit of queasiness. Nothing to worry over. It will pass. It always does.”
“It’s happened before?” Her own troubles were forgotten. “Let me get Eugene.”
“No. Please don’t. He’s been most vexing about this. If you say anything he’ll put me to bed and demand that I stay there. If I allow him to begin ordering me about it will be unbearable.” Some of the pink had returned to her cheeks and she even managed to roll her eyes. “I was perfectly content to spend the next few weeks in Dover but he insisted that we come home." She smiled. "I fear he may become increasingly difficult over the next seven months.”
"Seven months?" A second later, Cecelia threw her arms around her sister-in-law. “Oh, but that’s marvelous!”
Mirabella appeared very perplexed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand this at all,” she said. “Why is it marvelous to not feel well? And for seven months? That’s a terribly long time to be ill.”
“I’m increasing, Aunt Mirabella,” Priscilla explained. “You’ve another grandniece or nephew on the way.”
“Oh.” Mirabella’s mouth formed a perfect O and then she crooned, “This is indeed marvelous! Cecelia is home safe and we’ve another sweet baby to look forward to. Such a happy, happy day.”
Cecelia’s happy day lasted long enough to see her through a hot bath, a change of clothing and a hearty meal. It lasted long enough to allow her to play with her kitten, Ashley, and help Priscilla and Aunt Mirabella sort embroidery silks. It almost lasted long enough to make her believe she might escape her brother’s wrath, altogether. And then she received the summons to his office. It seemed all was lost when she learned that he and Rand had spent the past three hours ironing out her marriage contract. She knew she was bound to fail but she wasn’t about to go down without a fight. To be forced to marry was both unfair and humiliating. It was a matter of pride.
“I won’t do it!” Her palms were flat against the desk as she leaned over and faced her brother nose to nose where he sat calmly behind the desk. “You can’t force me to marry anyone!”
“Sit down, Cecelia,” he said quietly. “I can and I will. If you don’t want to marry Rand you should have taken that into consideration before you put yourself in this situation. Your actions were not well thought out.”
Rand sat with a cold compress on his eye, watching the two and wishing Stratton hadn’t insisted that he be present for this conversation. “I’m finding this immensely unflattering,” he mumbled, though neither appeared to have heard him. “I’ve been chased relentlessly by marriage hungry females for the past thirteen years and now it appears the good viscount can’t give me away. And I’m even a marquis to boot! I do believe I’m a much better catch than this heated exchange would indicate. This is devilishly insulting.”
He stopped muttering just in time to hear Cecelia say, “It isn’t fair to Rand. And I don’t see why you found it necessary to hit him. It’s barbaric.”
“You hit me this morning,” Rand pointed out.
“His eye looks dreadful,” she continued.
“It isn’t as if he asked me to ride over to visit. I did it on my own accord. I was so lonely with everyone gone, I felt like I’d been abandoned. Not that it’s anyone’s fault. And then it began to rain and I was so cold and wet and we had to find a place to stay. He isn’t to blame. I am.”
“Cecelia,” Stratton broke in.
She ignored him. “He doesn’t even want to marry me. He only offered, because well, it was the polite thing to do.”
Both men blanched.
Rand pulled the compress off his eye. “I’m just being bloody polite?” His eyebrows had practically disappeared beneath the wave of sandy blond hair on his forehead. “Your reasoning is illogical, brat.”
“Stop calling me brat!” she retorted. “If I’m old enough to tum… kiss I’m old enough not to be addressed as brat.”
“Good God, Cecelia, stop.” Stratton’s face had gone gray. “I don’t want to hear this. Please.”
“If you don’t care to be called brat,” Rand ground out. “Then don’t behave like one. This is a full-fledged temper tantrum you’re subjecting us to. And you weren’t behaving like a brat last night. You were a beautiful, desirable woman, not a shrieking child who throws fits when she doesn’t get her way. Christ! You’ve more colors than a chameleon. How many personalities are stored in that lovely skull of yours?” He broke off abruptly and glanced over at Stratton who had his face buried in his hands. “Sorry, old man,” he apologized. “My tongue got away from me.”
“Apology not accepted,” Stratton muttered. “The word desirable is off limits when it pertains to my sister. And I still may have to kill you.”
Rand turned his attention back to Cecelia. “I don’t understand your objections. Marriage makes perfect sense. Our properties join. Our families know one another. We’ve known one another forever. My mother adores you. We get along for the most part.”
“It makes good sense? Our properties join? We get along for the most part?” Her voice rose with every sentence. “Less than a week as a marquis and you’re thinking like a blasted aristocrat! And what makes you think I want sensible? I told you what I wanted and you weren’t even listening!”
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 8