With a nod, she quickly made her way up the stairs, counting the doors as she hurried by. Once she got to the third one, she hurried inside. The moment she closed the door behind her, she allowed herself a moment to breathe before she began to undress quickly. The last thing she wanted was Aunt Marianne throwing a tantrum because of her absence at the table.
Just as Cecilia slipped out of the gown, she made to search the dimly-lit room for her bags when the low, sharp voice of a man broke the silence from the other end of the room.
“What on earth do you think you are doing in here?”
CHAPTER TWO
It felt like the earth itself stilled.
Cecilia’s breath lodged somewhere between her throat and her lungs as she turned, slowly, towards the voice. Standing at the far end of the room was a man. Tall. Broad shoulders. Slicked back dark hair and a glare that thinned the air around her.
“What?” was the only thing Cecila could utter.
It felt as though she wasn’t seeing things clearly. A strange fog seemed to cloud her thoughts, blurring the line between what had happened and what surely couldn’t have.
A man. In her room?
It didn’t feel possible. It couldn’t be possible.
“Again, I ask. What are you doing?”
Cecilia jumped at the sound of his deep voice, pulling her down to the reality of that moment. She had only her shift and stays on, and her gown lay on the ground, surrounding her. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to cover herself, to speak. But she could do none of it. Even though a part of her knew that her eyes were not deceiving her, she could not, in that moment, fully comprehend the situation.
The man’s gaze did not drop, did not waver. It was not lecherous, but it was studying her asif she were a puzzle, a portrait, a thing entirely unfamiliar and faintly inconvenient.
Then, he stepped forward.
Just one pace. Perhaps two. But it was enough.
The space between them began to shrink, and with it, Cecilia’s breath. Her lungs tightened as though bound with ribbon. The closer he drew, the harder it became to hold herself still beneath his gaze. It pressed against her, an invisible tension that made the fine hairs on her neck rise.
He said nothing. But his presence, cold, commanding, and far too compelling, seemed to fill the room. He was young from what she could see. If she had to judge from how he carried himself, he was probably titled too.
Do something, Cecilia. Anything! You are half-bare!
“I…” She cleared her throat. “I believe there has been a mistake,” she managed, her voice shaking as she took a small step back. Her skin burned beneath his gaze. “This room is meant for me. I was told my bags would be in here, brought in by the–”
“You’re in the wrong chambers,” he said coldly, cutting her off. His voice was deep and even, carrying no hint of alarm or embarrassment. “This is mine.”
Her mouth opened, then closed again. “Yours?” she echoed, heart still thudding. “But I counted three doors,” she mumbled, almost to herself. “Or did I? Was it two?”
“You may find it easier to think,” he said coolly, “once you have put your gown back on.”
Cecilia blinked.
For one dreadful moment, she had been so stunned by the sight of him that she’d entirely forgotten that she was still standing there in nothing but her shift and stays.
Her face flamed.
“Oh,” she gasped, turning her back to him at once and all but diving for the discarded gown. “Oh goodness, yes, of course. I’m so—this is—please forgive me, I thought—” Her fingers fumbled at the fabric, gathering it in shaking hands. “I thought this was the room Lucy said was mine.”
There was no reply.
Whether he was still standing behind her or had mercifully turned away, she didn’t dare to check. The silk was suddenly slippery, her hands were clumsy, and her pride was in tatters. She pulled the gown on as fast as dignity would allow, but one foot caught in the folds of silk, and before she could steady herself, her ankle twisted.
A startled cry escaped her lips as she tumbled forward, landing hard on the wooden floor with a graceless thud. Her elbow struck first, followed by her shoulder, and the gown she’d so desperately tried to wear became a crumpled mess beneath her.
Mortification rose like a tide inside her. She lay there, winded and utterly horrified, as a soft groan slipped from her lips, half pain, half disbelief.
