Back In My Arms Again

by Cora Lee

  Cecilia had been ten years old the first time her brother had his first attack, and younger still when he’d complained of those first symptoms. “I was. Alston has been unwell for most of my life.”

  The statement hit her like a cricket bat. How had she never realized that before?

  Her surprise must have shown on her face because James reached over and clasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Did that, perhaps, influence you as you grew older?”

  What was he driving at? “Quite possibly. There were many times we had plans to travel here or there, or to participate in some event or other, and had to make last-minute changes because of Alston’s health.” She drew here eyebrows down as she thought back to her childhood. “It was never something we talked much about as a family. We just did it.”

  “You and your parents protected him.”

  She nodded. “I suppose we did.”

  “And that’s why, when I asked for your hand all those years ago, you declined. Because protecting your family is quite literally second nature to you.”

  Cecilia studied his face, his skin darker against the cream-colored coverlet, his mouth curving upward very slightly. “Perhaps it is.”

  He drew her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I didn’t see it before. I’m sorry, Cecilia.”

  “You can’t mean to tell me that you’d have taken my refusal with a smile had you known me better.”

  He dropped their clasped hands onto the bed between them and pressed his lips together for a long moment before speaking. “Not with a smile, no. But I may have spent less energy being angry with you afterwards.”

  “How angry were you?” The words slipped out in a near whisper. She hadn’t meant to ask the question aloud, but she was burning to know his answer. How much had he hated her?

  “Too angry,” was all he responded, his voice not much louder than hers, “for much too long. But I’m not any longer. I would do anything to protect my parents, my sister and her family, no matter how painful. That’s what you did for Alston, for Honoria... I understand that now.”

  Tension she’d carried in her heart for seventeen years finally eased, and Cecilia felt her body relax into the feather mattress. She sat up, releasing his hand and stroking his cheek as she looked down into his bright eyes. “I’m so glad, James. Truly.”

  There was another pause in the conversation while their gazes met and held. This was the same James she’d fallen in love with as a young woman, and she had no words to describe how good it felt to have him back.

  “Now,” he said, clearing his throat and breaking the moment. “When was the last time someone did something for you?”

  She chuckled. “You’ve seen my home. Do you not remember the servants there? Or here, for that matter?”

  “That’s not what I mean.” He snaked an arm around her body and drew her down to him, smiling up at her when she halted herself with a hand to his chest. “When was the last time someone close to you offered you comfort? Alston has his duchess and his children, and Her Grace has you. But you’ve had a rather fretful day yourself.”

  “And you’re offering to comfort me?” The tip of one finger had landed just inside the open neck of his shirt, and she drew a small circle on his exposed skin. His chest rose beneath her hand as he inhaled sharply.

  “If you wish it.”

  A part of her wanted to peel the remaining clothes from his body and spend the rest of the evening reacquainting herself with its contours. But worrying over Alston and trying to keep up a brave front for her sister-in-law had been exhausting, and her brother was still in danger. Instead, she slid her arm around him and nestled herself against his chest, tucking her head beneath his chin.

  “Would you hold me for a while? We can talk or not as you please, but I would very much like your arms around me.”

  James obliged, planting a kiss on her hair as they sought a mutually comfortable arrangement of their bodies. “My arms are at your disposal. And not just tonight. No matter what happens between us, if you should ever need me—for anything at all—you need only ask.”

  She turned her head slightly and pressed her lips to his skin, to the same place her fingertip had been. “Thank you, James. That means a great deal to me.”

  They fell silent once more and Cecilia closed her eyes, allowing the slow rise and fall of his chest to lull her into a dreamless sleep.

  When she blinked open her eyes, the bedchamber was dark and James had disappeared. Cecilia rubbed her eyes and sat up, noting that the room wasn’t completely dark—there was a fire burning in the fire place. As her vision adjusted to the gloom, the outline of a man came into focus. He was sitting in a chair practically on the hearth, trying to catch the firelight on a piece of paper.

  Stretching as she slid off the bed, she crossed the room to join her husband. He looked up at her approach and offered a smile.

  “I thought you might sleep all night in your gown and shoes.”

  His body was turned toward the fire and Cecilia positioned herself behind him, resting her hands on his shoulders. “Is it very late?”

  “Nearly midnight.”

  “You could have woken me.”

  James shook his head, laying a hand over one of hers. “Extra sleep never hurt anyone. And I suspect you needed it.”

  “I did,” she replied, realizing the truth of her words as she spoke them. Between her brother’s health and Grimsby’s blackmail, the past few weeks had been more distressing than she’d realized. “What about you? Did you sleep?

  “No. I couldn’t stop thinking about these.” He held up the letter he’d been reading and its companion, folded but with a broken seal.

  “From the farm?”

  He nodded, glancing down at the paper in his hand.

  She slid her arms down his chest and lightly embraced him. “All is well, I hope.”

  James rested his cheek against hers, and she felt him smile for the briefest of moments. “It seems to be. My father has confirmed everything the steward has reported...”

  His voice trailed off, and Cecilia kissed his cheek. “But you wish you were there to see it with your own eyes.”

  He inhaled deeply and let the breath out on a sigh. “Yes, I do.”

  “We can—”

  “No need,” he interrupted. “At least, not yet. Your brother needs you more than my farm needs me right now.”

  Cecilia tightened her arms around him, dropping another kiss on his cheek. “Thank you. I want to meet your parents, your sister and her family, but I’m reluctant to leave here.”

  He unwrapped her arms from his shoulders and led her around the chair, snaking an arm around her waist and drawing her onto his lap. “They will be pleased to meet you, and not just because you saved the farm. I think they’ll like you.”

  She dropped her head to his shoulder and smiled, hoping the low light of the room masked the anxiety that suddenly welled up inside her. “I hope so.”

  “I can’t, however make any promises on behalf of our animals,” he laughed. “We have one old cow who has appointed herself guardian of the others...”

  She felt her body tense and James’s voice trailed off. He ran one of his large hands up and down her arm in a gesture that she thought was meant to be reassuring. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to work when you’re on the farm. You won’t have to deal with the livestock—”

  “James.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and met his gaze. “Might I confess something to you?”

  “Of course.”

  His eyes were wide in the firelight, his brows raised in silent question. Would he be angry? Would he judge her to be just another spoiled aristocrat?

  There was only one way to find out.

  “I am terrified of visiting the farm.”

  His brows rose even higher, but his hand began rubbing her arm again. “What? Why?”

  Cecilia wanted to bury her face in his shirt so she didn’t have to look at him, but sh
e forced herself to maintain eye contact. “I have only the most rudimentary knowledge of farms in general, and only old stories of your farm in particular. I am afraid that, not only would I be completely useless, but that I would actually hinder operations.”

  He smoothed her cheek with roughened fingertips, grinning. “Cecilia Fitzsimmons, a hindrance? Never.”

  “I’m serious, James. I was trained to dance at balls and converse with strangers. I know nothing about cows or crops.”

  His hand dropped from her face and his smile faded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to poke fun at you. But you are the least useless woman I have ever known, and I was trying to picture you bumbling about the stables and fields. The vision was so incongruous with your actual capabilities, I couldn’t help but smile.”

  “What capabilities?” she asked pointedly. “I have no skills that would be useful on a farm.”

  “You are an excellent manager of people,” James replied, the corners of his mouth turning up once more in a smaller smile. “That is enormously useful on a farm such as mine that is worked by a small army. There are always more tasks to be done than can be completed in a day, and someone needs to keep track of which tasks are completed by which people and how well it is done. I saw you do the very same thing at your home in Town.”

  “Of course I did—that’s called managing a home. But your farm doesn’t have a butler or housekeeper.”

  “No, but it does have a steward.”

  He had a point there. The role of property steward was not unlike that of a housekeeper, and Cecilia had dealt with housekeepers for years. “Are you going to keep him on after you return?”

  It was only after she’d asked the question that she realized how full of meaning it was. James wouldn’t need to retain the steward if he planned to remain in residence once he returned to the farm. And if James wasn’t leaving, that meant Cecilia would be traveling about the country alone, separate from her husband.

  Separated from her husband?

  “I don’t know.” James sighed again. “I’ve spent my whole life on that farm, given my whole life to that farm. I love it as much—” He stopped abruptly and dropped his gaze to her lips. Then he cleared his throat and raised his eyes to hers“—as much as I love my family. And it hurts to leave it in the care of another. But I have also enjoyed my time away, being something of an idle gentleman for a few weeks while I spend time with you.”

  He liked spending time with her, away from his work. Her younger self would have swooned to hear such words from her dedicated farmer. Her current self couldn’t help but smile broadly. “Speaking of idle time together, may I ask you one favor before we descend upon your family?”

  “Ask away.”

  “Would you come with me to London when we leave here? From there we can go directly to the farm and stay as long as you wish. But I’d like very much for you to escort me to a ball when the Season opens.”

  His entire face seemed to frown. “A ball?”

  “Just one, given by Benedict’s cousins every year. Grimsby will undoubtedly be there—everyone is—and I’d like to have a word with him. In public.”

  She winked with her last statement and James laughed. “I see. Well, I can’t fault you for that.”

  “You might even take pleasure in it.” She leaned in close, her mouth just a fraction of an inch from his ear. “As much pleasure, perhaps, as I will seeing you in your evening clothes.”

  “When you put it that way...” His warm lips brushed her neck, her jaw. “Maybe we could stay in Town for a bit. A few days alone together might do us some good.”

  She kissed his temple, but forced herself to draw back. Her body very much wanted to take the next logical step with her lawfully wedded husband, but their future together was still so uncertain.

  Perhaps in London they could settle things between them.

  “Yes,” she agreed with a soft smile, “they might.”

  Chapter 8

  James and Cecilia stayed two more weeks with the Alstons, until His Grace could almost take a normal breath again. He was still weak and tired easily when they departed, but the rest of his symptoms seemed to have subsided. So, too, had Cecilia’s apprehension—or, at least, that’s the way it appeared to James.

  They’d decided to share the large bed in their chamber and keep nighttime activities confined to sleeping only. Both of them had kept their promises faithfully, but James had been a little overwhelmed by the intimacy of lying in bed beside his wife. It wasn’t just that they wore thin nightclothes and fewer layers than during the day, though that was part of it. For James, though, the simple act of being unconscious and the vulnerability that came with that was new. Who else could he be so completely unguarded with?

  Who else could she trust with the same feeling?

  Despite their firmness about falling asleep on opposite sides of the bed with plenty of empty space between them, James would often awaken with the sun to find Cecilia’s back pressed against his. She never put her arms around him as she slept, but if he rolled over and cradled her in his, she would relax into his chest with a little sigh. He’d never felt such contentment wash through him as he had on those mornings.

  And he couldn’t wait to tell her she snored.

  But he kept that bit of information to himself, trying valiantly to rein in his own apprehension. He hadn’t been to a society event in seventeen years, and that had been a public assembly with other invitees from the untitled gentry like himself. The event they would be attending, Cecilia explained on the way to London, was the Marchioness of Whitby’s Black and White Ball, the first major event of the Season each year. The ballroom would be decorated in black, white, and silver, as would the guests if they adhered to Lady Whitby’s rule. And everyone important in society or government would be there, wondering who this upstart was and why he was bothering Lady Cecilia.

  As luck would have it, though, Cecilia’s niece and nephew-by-marriage were among the first people they found upon entering the Whitbys’ ballroom on the appointed evening.

  Honoria smiled when James bowed over her hand. “Uncle, how wonderful to see you here.”

  “We have one more item of business to attend to before I sweep your aunt away for an extended stay on the farm,” he smiled back, slightly disappointed that there would be no hug from his new niece due to this public setting.

  “How exciting!”

  Cecilia laughed beside him, threading her arm through his. “Everything is an adventure to you, isn’t it?”

  Benedict took his wife’s hand and grinned first at her, then at her aunt. “It is when you have the right company.”

  James glanced at his own wife and smiled. He’d originally planned to take her to the Fitzsimmons farm after their betrothal when they were young, but that never happened. The circumstances were different now, but he discovered he was still looking forward to showing her his property, his livelihood.

  And he very much wanted her to meet his family.

  The couples parted after requesting dances from each of the ladies, and James escorted Cecilia around the perimeter of the ballroom.

  “Lady Whitby outdid herself this year,” Cecilia said, her eyes roaming around the room.

  “Has she? I hadn’t noticed.” His voice was low and he waited until she met his gaze, then pointedly looked her up and down. She’d explained the details of her silver gown when they’d dressed earlier that evening, right down to the material making up what she’d called an overdress. But he saw none of it, only his lovely bride.

  She swatted his arm, the tiniest hit of pink coloring her cheeks. “Am I so distracting?” she asked with half a laugh.

  “You’re beautiful,” he answered without hesitation. She’d always been pretty, but tonight her eyes sparkled more brightly than ever despite her visible efforts to hold back a grin.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder for an all-too-brief moment before murmuring, “Thank you.” When she straightened again, she looked rat
her serious. “Will you kiss me for luck?”

  “Here?” He’d kiss her anywhere she liked, but it was highly unfashionable to show affection to one’s spouse in public. Kissing in the middle of a ballroom was unheard of.

  “I don’t want to lose my nerve.”

  Ah, she was worried about Grimsby. Cecilia had told James a bit of what she had planned for the blackmailing earl, and that she’d purposely left some of the encounter to chance. That, she’d confessed, made her slightly anxious.

  “You’ll be just fine,” James said with a smile, laying his hand over hers as it rested on his arm. “No one wrongs Cecilia Maitland Fitzsimmons and escapes unscathed.”

  Her chin lifted and her grin returned. “You’re absolutely right.” Then she leaned in and brushed her soft lips across his cheek. “But a little luck never hurts.”

  She released his arm headed into the crowd—it was also highly unfashionable to be always together with one’s spouse at a ton entertainment—leaving James on his own. He felt a wave of heat flood his body and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands now that he had no wife to hold. But he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding briefly at an older couple as they strolled past. If Cecilia could take on her blackmailer, James could get along in public without her for a while.

  ~*~

  Cecilia couldn’t remember the last time she was so tense at a ball—she was normally rather comfortable, even in the crush that was the Whitbys’ Black and White Ball each year.

  But she hadn’t had a blackmailer to call out before.

  Not that she was going to challenge him to a duel, of course. But she did plan to challenge his morality and honor before the entire assemblage. If she failed, if Grimsby was too clever to take the bait, then she could be the one humiliated.

  And her husband and brother along with her.

  But, oh, if she succeeded...

  She smoothed her gloved hands down her cloth-of-silver skirt and set her shoulders, moving slowly but purposefully through the ballroom looking for Grimsby. She paused in her pursuit on occasion to talk to and be sociable with the other guests, trying to maintain a demeanor of gaiety as she would at any other entertainment. She circled the dancers and chaperones and gossiping dowagers, moved past the table laden with punch and lemonade, but the earl was nowhere to be found.