Page 39 of Return of the Viscount
“Explain yourself.”
He raised both hands. “Calm down! They were just accidents. Cecilia knows that, really.”
“ ‘They’?” Michael stressed the words in a low rumble. “She’s had more than one accident?”
“Penelope said she shouldn’t have told me, but Penelope tells me everything. Seems Cecilia almost fell down the stairs a couple nights ago, caught herself on the balustrade. She probably tripped and doesn’t want to admit that she could be as imperfect as the rest of us.”
Michael barely resisted taking him by the collar and giving him a shake. “Go on.”
Appertan shrugged. “Penelope said Cecilia thought something actually tripped her, but she couldn’t find it. Of course not, because she just missed a step in the dark.”
Teeth clenched, Michael glowered at the foolish young man. Cecilia never exaggerated or misspoke—he already knew that about her, and if Appertan were sober, he’d remember that as well. So Cecilia felt that she’d been deliberately tripped. “She didn’t fall all the way down the stairs,” Michael said slowly. “Or otherwise ...” He restrained a rare shudder at the thought of her body broken at the bottom of the stairs.
“Or otherwise ...” Appertan used his finger to mark a line across his throat. “She only told Penelope. I’m a little offended.” He snorted a laugh into his glass of port. “And, of course, it was an accident. EveryonelovesCecilia.”
He didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm—or his jealousy, Michael thought. “And then the bust fell on her in the entrance hall.”
“Another accident. The maid was right there, dusting. Cecilia is just being overly dramatic.”
“And have you ever known her to be overly dramatic?” Michael demanded.
“She’s a woman, after all.” He stood up unsteadily. “I’m tired of talking about her.”
Michael almost pulled him back down, but knew it was pointless to interrogate Appertan when he was drunk. “I’m heading back to Appertan Hall. Would you care to accompany me? Cecilia said the roads are hard to follow at night.”
“You’re so easy to read, Blackthorne,” Appertan said, shaking his head and wearing a foolish grin. “You’re just trying to get me to make an early evening of it. It’s only one in the morning, and there’s more fun to be had,” he added after squinting at the clock on the mantel. He slurped the last of his port before slamming down the glass. “As if a soldier couldn’t find his way back on good English roads,” he muttered, walking away with a noticeable lean to one side.
Michael no longer cared if Appertan made it home. All he could think about was Cecilia alone and unprotected, fearing for her life—and maybe with good reason.
Chapter 10
Cecilia wasn’t certain what woke her. She’d been exhausted when she’d fallen asleep after an evening of pacing. Now, as she rose through the depths of slumber to awareness, something wasn’t right.
She didn’t open her eyes—couldn’t. Her breathing was shallow with sudden fear, but she controlled it, controlled herself, when she wanted to fly from the bed.
The floor creaked. Someone was in the room, and she knew it couldn’t be Nell, who hummed when she worked.
Cecilia debated what she could use as a weapon. The letter opener was on her writing desk across the room. All she had nearby was a candleholder of heavy pewter. How could she reach for it without attracting notice?
The steps didn’t come closer; someone hovered, watching her, and she felt a strange, tingling awareness. She was so helpless, so vulnerable. But she couldn’t lie still and simply let her assailant do as he wished. Slowly, she opened her eyes the slightest crack. She was relieved she’d left the curtains open, so that faint moonlight glimmered, giving everything a ghostly hue.
The shadowy outline of a man stood unmoving near the open dressing-room door. The moonlight reflected off something—a polished cane. Lord Blackthorne’s cane.
Suddenly, he sat down in a chair and leaned his head back. His eyes were black hollows in the moon-touched planes of his harsh face. He gave a great sigh, his wide chest lifting and falling.
“You’re safe,” he whispered.
Safe? Why would he say such a thing?
Her breathing calmed, and she silently berated herself for her momentary fear.
But perhaps her husband felt compelled to claim his marital rights. She had heard her friends whisper that a manneededa woman, that it was painful for him if he did not ... if she didn’t allow...
She could no longer pretend to sleep, stirring as if awakening. He stiffened but remained where he was; he didn’t care if she saw him.
She came up on her elbows first, doing a masterful job of acting drowsy and confused, or so she thought. “Is someone there?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I am. I did not mean to frighten you.”
