The Earl's Secret Passion (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 1)

by Gemma Blackwood

  "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to try." Ignoring the squawks of protest emanating from the carriage, Robert led Cecily out into the trees at the side of the drive. Expecting every moment that she would tell him to stop, he took her deeper into the dappled cover so that they were completely hidden from her friend and her footmen.

  She followed him without a murmur of complaint. Robert wondered whether her blood, too, grew hotter with every step they took into the darkness together. He was not thinking straight, he knew. There was no excuse at all for hiding away with Cecily.

  Unless what he really intended was not a conversation at all…

  "That's quite enough," Cecily snapped. "I may trust you, my lord, but I don't think that gives you the right to make off with me into the woodland. The things I have to say to you are not fit for servants' ears, but we have gone far enough."

  "Say your piece," said Robert. He leaned against a tree and folded his arms, waiting. Cecily had evidently not expected him to be so docile. She floundered, just for a moment. It was charming.

  "Neither of us were alive when your ancestor ran off with a painter and blamed it on my dead great uncle," she began. A poor start. Robert could not conceal the annoyance that tightened his jaw.

  "You mean, when Lord Thomas Balfour kidnapped Lady Letitia Hartley?"

  "I don't know what your father has told you about that time," said Cecily, with a little sigh of annoyance. "And I must admit that I don't care to have my own friendships dictated by the woes of two people who are now long dead. I am more concerned with your family's recent crimes."

  "Are you speaking of the ball? I assure you, it was not my idea."

  "I suspected as much," said Cecily, a queer smile lighting her features. Robert underwent the uncomfortable realisation that she could read his character a great deal better than he could read hers. "But I did not mean the ball. As you know, Jemima and I did not suffer from the snubbing." She took something out of her reticule and held it towards him. Robert struggled to make it out in the darkness. "This is what concerns me, Lord Robert. I found it hidden away in the room you put me in at Scarcliffe Hall." Her voice softened, took on a tone that was almost pleading. "I can see no possibility of an innocent explanation."

  She pressed the item into Robert's hand. It was small and round. A ring? He peered at it, just able to make out the Balfour crest.

  "You found this in Scarcliffe Hall? That's quite impossible."

  "I hold no personal grudge against you, Lord Robert. I promise you, this is no invention." Cecily was toying unconsciously with a strand of hair she had pulled from her chignon. There was nothing suspicious about her demeanour; she looked truly worried. "Have you seen it before?"

  "Never," Robert admitted, passing it back. "I cannot think how such a thing would come into my family's possession."

  "But I can think how, and worse – why," said Cecily. "This ring could be used to seal a letter pertaining to be from my father. Any manner of ill words might be signed with his name and sealed with his crest. If you have never seen this ring – and I wish with all my heart to believe you – then it must be your father or brother's doing."

  "I cannot accept that. You may have been told otherwise, but they are both honourable men." Robert ran a hand through his hair, striving to find some explanation. "That room has not been occupied in many years. I doubt Hart, for one, has ever been into it. If a Hartley truly intended to do the Balfours ill with that ring, it must have been many years ago."

  "If only I could believe you!" she whispered. He wished there was better light. By the tremor in Cecily's voice, her eyes were filling with tears, but he could not read her expression well enough to judge whether words of comfort would be well-received. "The way your brother spoke to me tonight – once he realised who I was – that showed true hatred, Lord Robert."

  "Hart can be sharply-spoken, but he does not hate your family any more than I do," said Robert.

  "Sharply-spoken! A pretty way of describing a cruel man."

  "You would not speak of him that way if you knew him."

  "How am I to know which to trust?" asked Cecily. "Your kind words, or your brother's harsh ones? When two such opposite sentiments are presented to me, which I am to listen to? I am sure your brother hates me. Your father – I know he does."

  "I am not my family," said Robert. He spoke with all the passion he could muster, but he knew that would not be enough to persuade her.

  There was only one way to convince Cecily of what lay within his heart.

  He reached forward and took her face between his hands. He could barely see her reaction, but he knew by the way she gasped that she did not want him to stop. A trace of dampness traced its way down his thumb, the remnant of a single silver tear.

  "I must kiss you," he said, trying to ease the rough want in his voice with tenderness. "I've been thinking of nothing else since we danced. I –"

  "Why, Lord Robert," she said, with a touch of her usual spirit. "I had you down as a man of action."

  Whatever further teasing she had in mind, he did not hear it. His lips were on hers. There was too much at stake to be gentle. He kissed her fervently, unremittingly, letting every part of his honesty and his desire for her make itself plain.

  If he could have kissed away the generations of enmity, he would have. He settled for bringing Cecily's blood to the same feverish temperature as his own.

  Her hands clung to him, taking great fistfuls of his shirt, with an answering need that only sharpened his hunger for her. His own hands were in her soft hair, gripping it with a force that must have been near-painful. He could not get close enough to her. They could only meld so far via lips and hands and tongues. It was not enough.

  "We must stop," Cecily gasped into his mouth.

  "I cannot."

  "Nor I."

  "Cecily Balfour!"

  The shriek of horror tore straight down the middle of their embrace, sending them crashing apart. Cecily put her hands up to her half-tumbled hair, eyes wide and frightened. "Jemima! What are you doing?"

  "What am I doing?" Jemima took hold of Cecily by the shoulders as if she were going to shake her. "Are your brains completely addled?"

  He thought he made out a smile on those well-kissed lips. "Completely addled just about describes it, actually."

  "I should escort you both back to your carriage," said Robert, painfully aware that Jemima had shrieked Cecily's name so loudly it was probably heard back at the house. Jemima rounded on him in a fury.

  "You will do nothing more or less than keep away from Cecily! Leave her alone! You mean her no good, and I know it!"

  The two girls vanished back in the direction of the carriage. Robert was left to slump backwards against a tree trunk, listening to the passion in his own heartbeat.

  Jemima was right to doubt him. What Hartley had ever meant a Balfour any good, after all?

  At that moment, Robert could not say whether he meant good or ill by Cecily. Kissing her was, by any measure, a wretched mistake. The implications for her honour, her reputation, her future… Had he, in fact, meant to harm her? Was that the irresistible impulse which had forced his lips to hers?

  If that were so, then why did her sighs of pleasure still echo through his mind? Why was he filled with an unbearable aching, as though some vital part of him had been torn from his chest?

  Robert had always considered himself an honourable man. A man of true honour would have considered the consequences. A man with good intentions would not have kissed Cecily at all.

  Robert realised that he must be less honourable than he had always supposed. The only thought in his mind was of how and when he would be able to kiss Cecily again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The ball, with its memories both painful and pleasurable, receded into the past. Cecily attempted to return to her usual pastimes of riding, walking, painting, and visiting her friends in Loxton with her customary verve.

  The fact that she fell asleep every
night reimagining the kiss with Robert was of no consequence. Cecily had not suffered an infatuation before, despite reaching her twentieth birthday, so she supposed that this first one had all the gravity of her age behind it in addition to a first attachment's natural strength. She was not some silly girl of sixteen ready to be whisked away by the first man to catch her eye. She was a smart and sensible young woman. She was certain that her feelings would pass.

  Only when inclement weather kept her from her outdoor pursuits did she give in to her feelings of yearning. Cecily had always needed a great deal of entertainment to distract herself, and in these dire circumstance, rainy days simply would not do.

  "Another sigh," remarked Jemima, who was at the pianoforte, tinkling her way through a new book of music the Duke of Loxwell had recently gifted her. "I can hear you over my playing, you know."

  "It was a yawn," Cecily protested, taking up her needlework again. Jemima deliberately hit a wrong note, making her jump.

  "I know a sigh when I hear one. I only wish I didn't also know the cause."

  Cecily made a few careful stitches, sitting straight-backed and prim. She appeared the absolute opposite of the sort of wanton young woman who kissed questionable men under cover of darkness. Jemima, however, was not so easy to fool.

  "You are thinking of him."

  "On the contrary," said Cecily, lifting her fancywork up to the light to admire her own stitches. "I am thinking of the Countess of Streatham, dear Isabella. She is out of mourning for her husband now and she is longing to pay us a visit."

  Jemima left the pianoforte and came to sit at Cecily's side. "Be serious, Ceci. I am worried about you."

  "There is nothing at all you should worry about," said Cecily, with a bright smile. Jemima narrowed her eyes.

  "Tell me. How many times have you thought of Lord Robert this morning?"

  "So far?" Cecily could not stop her face from falling. She flung herself back onto the cushions. "At least a thousand times. But I am quite determined to overcome my – my silly little fancy."

  "I do not know that I would call it silly, Ceci," said Jemima, taking her fancywork in hand before it fell to the floor. "I have never seen you behave this way before."

  "What way is that?"

  "You really don't know? You have spent these past two weeks wandering about as though you are in a daydream. Even your mother has noticed. She was on the point of summoning Doctor Hawkins for you yesterday, but I managed to dissuade her."

  "Gracious! The last thing I need is one of his tonics." Cecily gave herself a little shake. She was ashamed to realise that she was doing precisely what she used to laugh at others for doing: losing her mind over some inconsequential man! "I need a good brisk walk outdoors. Not through Scarcliffe Forest. Papa's new pronouncement that I am to be accompanied whenever I set foot outside the house has me feeling rather stifled."

  "You don't need a walk," said Jemima sternly. "You need to speak to your father."

  "What about?" Cecily was half-afraid to hear the answer.

  "I think it is in your best interests to gather all the information you can about your family's history with the Hartleys."

  "But Jemima, I have just told you –"

  "Tell me whatever you like. I'd rather believe the evidence of my own eyes. You have lost your head over Lord Robert, and I'd be a fool not to notice it. Don't forget how well I know you, Ceci. I know your moods, and this is a new one. A serious one. You cannot conceal it from me."

  "I am not trying to be dishonest with you," sighed Cecily. "It's just that… I know I've been foolish. And I am not a foolish person, as a rule. It's almost embarrassing."

  "Love is nothing to be embarrassed about," said Jemima, with a smile.

  "Love! Who mentioned that?"

  "Go to your father," Jemima laughed, giving her a little push. "You have a fine mind, Ceci – even if this man has mixed it up a little – and you ought to be able to get to the truth of this feud if you try. Whether your feelings for Lord Robert come to anything or not, it would be a good thing if you could bring about a peace between Loxwell Park and Scarcliffe Hall."

  "That's true," said Cecily, glad that Jemima had not dwelt long on the idea of love. "I will go to him directly."

  The old Duke was a creature of habit, and Cecily knew that at this time of day she would find him going over the accounts of his estate with the steward. This was a task the Duke hated, and he would welcome any interruption.

  "May I have a moment, Papa?" she asked, sidling into his study without bothering to knock.

  The Duke made a show of considering it. "Well, Ceci, you have caught me at a difficult time, you see… Mr Halliwell here was just drawing a very important matter to my attention."

  "Oh." Cecily lowered her eyes. "I suppose my little thought must be less important. No matter. I can wait –"

  "Nonsense!" the Duke interrupted quickly. "Halliwell won't begrudge me a moment with my daughter, will you, Halliwell? Nothing is quite as important as your happiness, my dear. Wait for me outside, Halliwell. We won't be long."

  The steward gathered up his papers and left them alone. The Duke got up from behind his desk and went to sit in his great armchair. Cecily perched on the arm beside him and leaned fondly against his shoulder.

  "Now, what seems to be the matter?" asked the Duke.

  "Oh, it's just some gossip I heard in town," said Cecily airily. "Something I heard about the Earl of Scarcliffe and his family."

  "Ha! What villainy have they been up to lately? No, don't tell me. It is best you think as little about that family as possible, my dear. They are far beneath you."

  Cecily did not think there was much chance of her thinking any less of Robert. She tried a different tactic. "Why exactly are they thought of so badly, Papa? I know the old story about Uncle Thomas who died in a carriage accident, but you have never explained to me just why it was the Hartley family's fault."

  The Duke sighed and rubbed a hand over his knee. "It is not a pretty story, Ceci. I wish you would have me tell you something else."

  "I am not a child, Papa."

  "That's true. That's true. And perhaps it is better that you know the truth, so that you may arm yourself against falsehoods. The fact of the matter is that our family was once very close with the Hartleys. Why, when I was a boy, I spent more time at Scarcliffe Hall than I did at home! The Marquess and I were once great friends. Once, I even hoped that our friendship might survive our father's falling out. But, when we became men, it was clear that was not meant to be. It is not proper to remain friends with a man who continues to spread such evil lies about our family. It is not right. And, for the sake of my departed father, I cannot forgive him."

  "Tell me everything that happened," said Cecily. The Duke patted her hand.

  "I am getting to the point, Ceci. Don't rush me. The sad truth is that the Hartleys, though a noble family, are not deserving of their fine titles. The carriage which carried Uncle Thomas to his death was one of theirs. They simply did not take good enough care of their possessions. They were always a little wild – I am sure you cannot have escaped hearing of the wildness of the Earl of Scarcliffe and his brother – and it was their neglect that killed poor Thomas. He was a very sweet man. I will never forget the way he used to supplement my pocket money from his own allowance! I was a favourite of his, I believe, and he never wanted me to go without. The way my grandmother wailed when she heard of his death will haunt me till my dying day.

  "Well, after the tragic accident – and no-one ever claimed it was anything more than an accident, mark you – you would expect that an honourable family would send their condolences. But that is not what happened. Those vicious Hartleys, in an effort to shrug off the blame for Thomas's death, accused him of a shameful kidnapping of a daughter of theirs. Her name was Letitia, as I recall. Nice girl, not too bright.

  "As you can imagine, the pain their lies caused my grandparents and my father was immeasurable. Thomas was an honourable man! No-one would ha
ve dared to accuse him of wrongdoing while he was alive. But in death, the Hartleys' true colours came out.

  "Worse still, it soon came to light that they had invented the kidnapping to prevent Letitia's reputation being ruined by her own foolishness – the daft girl had run away with a painter! Not the sort of match the Hartleys could abide for their own blood, and so they chose to add to our family's pain with a cruel story." Noticing how quiet Cecily had become, the Duke gave her a bristly kiss on the cheek. "I know, my dear. It is all quite unpleasant."

  "It certainly is," said Cecily, a little faintly. She had not anticipated the disgust with which her father spoke of Robert's family. "But… perhaps this is a foolish thought, but Thomas and Letitia are now long dead. The old Marquess's words did not harm them, and you said yourself that the current Marquess was once your friend. Is there no hope of any reconciliation?"

  Her father had not been expecting that response. He burst out into a fit of outraged coughing. "Reconciliation? Have you not listened to a word of what I told you? Not only did they once insult our family, but they continue to do so! The Marquess has never apologised for his father's behaviour – nay, he actively supports it! You have had the good fortune of never encountering the man or his sons, my dear, so you do not know how they spread poison about our good name everywhere they go! Why, this ball they threw lately was a prime example. Do you think that if the Marquess was prepared to admit to the wrongs of the past, he would have snubbed us so? It is as plain as day that not one of those men repent their family history at all. No, it does not matter what the Marquess was to me as a boy – a true Balfour can never forget their insults, and must certainly not forgive."

  "Of course, Papa," said Cecily, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "I quite understand."

  "Now, see? I knew all this talk of villainy would upset you." The Duke gave her arm a comforting rub. "Don't dwell on it, Ceci. The Hartley men are nothing to you, and, with any luck, they know well enough to leave you alone."