“Yes.” Milly arched a brow at her. “It won’t last long. If you don’t catch the wind now, we’ll have to go by way of the fish.”
Milly went by way of the fish all the time. But Cecelia had never done so. “I suppose we should hurry,” Cecelia said. “Will you come back tomorrow with a note for Marcus?”
“If possible, yes,” Milly said.
Cecelia nodded.
“There’s no time to gather your things,” Milly warned.
“Blast it,” Cecelia swore. She took Milly’s hand and let the gnome guide her to the window.
“Jump with me,” Milly said.
Cecelia arched a brow at her.
“Have I ever let you down?” Milly asked.
Cecelia threw one leg over the windowsill and jumped. The wind caught her, swirling her hair and her dress until she settled within it. Milly held tightly to her hand.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Milly said.
Cecelia could barely hear her over the wind. Over the breaking of her own heart. “I’m sorry too,” she whispered. She’d never been sorrier.
***
Marcus stepped into the breakfast room with a smile on his face. His lips were still tender from the night before, and he drew his lower lip between his teeth to worry it. He’d never imagined that kissing Cecelia could feel quite so… right. The feel of her in his arms, and those little noises she’d made. The way that her breasts pressed against his chest while her hands played in the hair at the nape of his neck. It was making him hard all over just thinking about it.
Marcus froze in the doorway as Ainsley and Allen sprang apart. Ainsley looked down at her plate, and Allen looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“Do you want me to leave and come in again?” he asked. A grin tugged at his lips.
“That won’t be necessary,” Allen said. He smiled at Ainsley from beneath lowered eyelids, and her face mirrored his, all rosy and uncomfortable.
“The two of you are thick as thieves, I see,” Marcus said as he filled a plate at the sideboard.
Allen grinned widely. “Do you really want to talk about relationships right now, Marcus?” he questioned.
“Why shouldn’t we?” Marcus asked.
“Because my bedroom window just happens to overlook the garden,” Allen said with a raised brow.
“Oh,” Marcus said, a laugh erupting from his chest. “I hope you didn’t overlook the garden for very long.”
“Long enough,” Allen murmured. He reached beneath the table to take Ainsley’s hand, and she turned even rosier. “I hope you plan to marry the chit,” he said.
“She’s not a chit. She’s to be my wife. As soon as she’ll have me.”
“Congratulations,” Ainsley said with a cheeky grin.
“Thank you,” Marcus said back. He couldn’t stop smiling today. He just couldn’t. His life was too perfect. He had his family. He had the fae and his missions. He had Cecelia, and he had his parents’ love. Things couldn’t get any better. “Have you seen Cecelia?” he asked.
Ainsley shot a worried glance toward Allen.
“What’s wrong?” Marcus asked.
“Nothing that we know of,” Ainsley said cryptically.
“Then why the long face?”
“Ronald and Milly are here. And Cecelia is gone.”
Marcus wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Gone?”
Ainsley looked down at her plate.
“Gone where?” Marcus asked, throwing his napkin down.
“We don’t know,” Ainsley replied. “Milly and Ronald are in with your parents.”
“Where?” He jumped to his feet.
“In the morning room,” Allen said. He looked down at Ainsley and shook his head. “Don’t say any more. You’ll worry him needlessly.”
Ainsley just nodded.
Marcus strode toward the morning room. Cecelia was probably there with the gnomes and his parents. She had to be.
He stepped into the room to find his father pacing from one end of the room to the other. “Someone had better tell me what’s wrong.” Marcus snapped. “And it had better be soon. Where is Cecelia?”
Ronald sat in the big, purple high-backed chair and swung his feet, eating a scone. “Millicent is the only one who knows where she is, and she’s not telling.” The gnome began to grumble. “Makes me want to toss her over my knee.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Milly spit out.
“Would you two stop it?” his father said with a heavy sigh. “This is getting us nowhere.” He turned to face Marcus. “It appears as though Cecelia has returned home.”
Marcus’s knees buckled beneath him and he sunk into a chair. “What?” he breathed. After the night before, she wouldn’t have left. And she wouldn’t have gone without saying good-bye and telling him when she would return. Would she?
“She received a summons late last night,” Milly said. Ronald was the only one who called her Millicent. Marcus still didn’t understand that.
“A summons home?” Marcus asked.
“A summons to the sit on the throne as the Queen of England,” Ronald said caustically. Then he rolled his eyes. “Of course, it was a summons home.”
“Ronald,” Marcus’s father warned.
The gnome settled down. But then he faced Milly. “I asked you not to do this.”
“It couldn’t be avoided,” Milly said, her gaze downcast.
“She left,” Marcus breathed.
“Yes,” his father confirmed.
“But she’ll be back,” Marcus said. Of course she would be back. She wouldn’t leave him. Not after last night.
“I sincerely doubt it,” Milly said.
She’d left him. She’d really done it. She’d sat in his lap and kissed him, and they’d talked long into the night. And then she’d gone straight to her room.
“Did she leave this morning?” Marcus asked.
“Last night,” Milly said. “Late.”
After their talk. After they’d spent so much time wrapped in one another’s arms. “She’s gone,” he said aloud.
“Marcus,” his mother began, her voice soft. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.” Marcus got to his feet, although he worried his knees would betray him.
He was sorry he’d ever kissed her. Because now their last kiss together would be the kiss he’d never forget. He’d relive every moment with her in his arms for the rest of his life. But she was gone. This time, she was the one who’d left. Was she still angry over what had happened before? It was the only way to explain her sudden disappearance.
She’d wanted to leave him. To make him feel as wretched as he’d made her feel. Only she’d done so with a purpose? That couldn’t be the case. She wouldn’t be so cruel. Would she? He quit the room. His mother and father followed him down the corridor until he turned the corner. He needed some time to think.
***
Milly looked at Ronald, whose anger flashed in his eyes like sparks from the fireplace. “You should have told him,” Ronald said.
“I can’t. They’re my family. Their secrets are mine.”
“I wish they weren’t mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish I didn’t know their bloody secrets.”
“I don’t understand.” Ronald had always been cryptic, but she could usually keep up.
“I saw the bruise on her cheek. A week after Marcus left. Her father, in a temper.” He patted his cheek as though he could feel it. “You shouldn’t have sent her back there.”
“She’s strong. She can take care of herself. And her father is not a bad man. He just has a problem.”
“A problem he can’t control,” Ronald shouted.
Milly startled. But Ronald didn’t scare her. She was more afraid that someone would hear. �
�No one else knows about that.”
“She covered the bruise well. But I could still see it,” Ronald admitted. “I’m worried for her.”
“I’m on my way back there now,” Milly said, getting to her feet.
“But even you can’t watch her all the time.”
“I can watch her most of the time.”
“Her father needs some help.”
“So does she,” Milly said. “Do you think Marcus will go to her?”
“I think Marcus is hurt by her disappearance. And I’m going to tell him if you don’t.”
“You can’t!” Milly cried. “It’s not your secret to tell. It’s hers.”
“She won’t ever tell him.”
“She gets a seat with the Trusted Few.”
“If she can’t govern her own life, how will she ever govern the land of the fae?”
“I don’t know,” Milly said quietly. “I need to get back to her.”
“Be careful,” Ronald warned.
Milly nodded.
“I’ll miss you,” Ronald said softly.
Tears pricked at the backs of Milly’s lashes. She nodded and threw herself from the open window. Sometimes, she wished for an easier life. But then she wondered what on earth she would do with one.
Ten
Cecelia closed the front door behind her and walked into the drafty old manor house. She’d only been gone a few days, yet already it appeared disused. Perhaps it was just because she didn’t want to be there. She wanted to be anywhere but there.
“Father!” she called out as she walked down the corridor toward his study. Before her mother had died, Cecelia would have laughed all the way down the corridor because she knew she’d find her mother perched on the edge of her father’s desk, and her father would be trying to make her laugh. Now her father didn’t laugh at all. Nor did he try to make anyone else do so. She raised a hand to her cheek.
He couldn’t help what he’d become, she supposed, but she didn’t have to like it, did she?
“Father!” she called again. A servant bustled into the corridor with a wet rag in her hand that smelled vaguely of spirits.
“Miss,” the house faerie said, dropping into a curtsy. She pulled the study door shut as Cecelia tried to look around her into the room. “I didn’t expect you to come home today. Is everything all right?” she asked.
The maid took Cecelia’s elbow to guide her from the door. But Cecelia stood firm. “Where is my father?” she asked.
She reached for the door handle, but the maid covered it with her hand. “You don’t need to go in there today, miss,” she warned quietly. She wouldn’t look Cecelia in the eye.
“Is he foxed?” Cecelia asked.
“Well,” the maid began.
“Tell me!” Cecelia snapped.
“Beyond foxed, miss,” the maid admitted. She rushed on to say, “But you need not worry yourself with it. We have it all under control.”
Not worry herself with it? How could she not worry herself with it? It was her father, for goodness’ sake. He seemed to want nothing more than to pickle himself on a regular basis.
“Step to the side,” Cecelia ordered.
The maid danced in her place.
“Now,” Cecelia said succinctly. She didn’t need to raise her voice. Not doing so in this situation was just as powerful. The maid took one small step to the side.
Cecelia turned the knob and opened the door slowly. “I told you to get out!” her father bellowed. Then a glass smashed on the wall right beside her head.
“Father!” Cecelia warned.
The broken man who sat crumpled at the desk wasn’t her father. He wasn’t. His eyes weren’t laughing, and his face was tarnished by days of beard growth. He may as well have died when her mother did. Sometimes Cecelia wished he had.
“Cece?” he asked. “Is that you?” He could barely hold his eyes open.
“Yes, it’s me.”
He reached out a hand to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his cheek, which was wet with tears.
“You left me,” he said softly.
“I’m back now,” Cece whispered, shushing him. “Everything will be fine.”
“Where did you go?” her father asked.
“I had a mission,” she said.
“Did it go well?” he asked. He propped his chin in his hand and spoke to her with his eyes closed. It was all he could do to hold his head up. Apparently, she wasn’t worthy of him even opening his eyes.
“As well as could be expected,” she sighed.
“I thought you left me,” he said softly. His voice broke. “Just like she did.” He swiped at his eyes. Her father was emotional when he was foxed.
“I have to leave from time to time,” she warned. His chin fell off his hand, and she slid beneath his arm to help him to his feet. If she wasn’t mistaken, he would soon fall on the floor and then he’d be there for the rest of the night, since she wouldn’t be able to get him up. Since he had a tendency to get violent, the footmen wouldn’t come to help. Not anymore.
“Did you see your fellow?” he asked, looking down at her as she struggled with his weight toward the door.
“I don’t have a fellow, Father,” she said.
“Marcus? Didn’t you see him?” he asked as she sat him down on the edge of his bed and bent to pull off his boots.
“I saw him,” she said as he fell back onto the bed. “He wants to marry me,” she said more to herself than to her father.
Her father’s eyes were closed, and his head lolled to the side. “Can’t leave me, Cece,” he murmured.
“I know.” Cecelia knew. She knew all too well.
***
Marcus paced across his chambers, trying to figure out what the devil he’d done wrong. She’d been so soft and warm in his arms the night before. What had changed from that perfect moment to the sun’s awakening in the sky? Perhaps she’d had a chance to reconsider. But even if she had, she should have left a note.
A knock on his door jerked him from his pacing. “Enter,” he called absently.
Tatten, his father’s butler, opened the door. “Your father would like to see you in his study, sir,” the man said.
Why would his father want him now? “Did he happen to say what he wanted?”
The butler shook his head. “He did not. He has his steward with him, and they were deliberating over some ledgers.”
The last thing Marcus wanted to do was pore over his father’s books. But now he remembered that he had an appointment with his father to learn more about the running of the estate. “I’ll be there in a moment,” he said to Tatten.
Tatten looked about the room. “Will you be staying at Ramsdale House much longer, sir?” he asked.
Marcus’s head shot up. “Why do you ask?”
The butler arched a brow. “I was inquiring so I can find an appropriate valet for you, sir, if you intend to remain.”
“Did you get one for Allen?”
“The younger Mr. Thorne uses your father’s valet when he’s in residence.” Of course he did. He was at home here after all. He’d grown up here. Marcus had not.
Marcus shook his head. “I won’t be staying long.” Not now that Cecelia was gone. He’d be going back to his bachelor’s quarters. Until then, he could shave himself, couldn’t he? He hadn’t become so high in the instep as to need help with every little thing, had he?
“As you wish,” the butler said.
“Do you know where Miss Hewitt’s room is located, Tatten?” Marcus asked suddenly.
Tatten stood a little taller. “I know where every room is located, sir.”
“Show me,” Marcus said, striding toward the door.
The butler fell into step quietly beside him and motioned toward the guest wing.
“She’s not in the household wing?”
“No sir,” Tatten said.
“Well, hurry up about it,” Marcus urged. This was the first remnant of hope he’d grabbed hold of all day. Perhaps if he took a look at her room, he might understand a little more about why she left.
Marcus followed until Tatten stopped at a doorway, and then he knocked softly and pushed the door open. Marcus held up a hand to stay him. “That will be all, Tatten,” he said.
“As you wish,” Tatten said flatly. He bowed and then turned away down the corridor. Marcus closed the door behind him.
“What the devil were you thinking, Cece?” he whispered to himself.
Her brush still lay on the dressing table, along with a neat stack of hairpins and a bottle of perfume. He pulled the stopper and sniffed. It smelled like sunshine. Like her. He put it back on the table. Her trunk lay at the foot of the bed, and the top was still open, her shoes and other odds and ends littering the interior. Her dresses still hung in the wardrobe, several of them in fact.
How odd that Cecelia would go home and leave all of her belongings behind. Perhaps she planned to return? And to return soon, if the status of her belongings was any indication.
The door creaked open and Marcus turned to scold Tatten, but a dark brunette head came through the doorway. “Marcus!” Ainsley cried, laying a hand above her heart.
“Ainsley,” Marcus muttered absently. “What brings you here?” he asked as he picked up a slipper from the trunk and dangled it from his fingers.
“Not molesting Cecelia’s things, that’s for certain.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You should respect her privacy, Marcus,” she warned.
“Why are you here?” Marcus asked again.
Ainsley sighed heavily. “I just wanted to see if it was true.”
“If what was true?”
She scratched her head. “If she really left,” Ainsley clarified. “I’d hoped the gnomes were wrong. She needed to be here. More than anyone else, she needed to spend some time in this world.”
What the devil did she mean by that? He dropped the slipper back into the trunk. “Did she say anything to you?” he asked. He watched Ainsley’s face closely.
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