Cecilia saw the suspicious glance Oliver gave him, as if Lord Blackthorne shouldn’t be curious. He was her husband, after all.
Her temporary husband, she reminded herself.
“Of course, Lord Blackthorne,” Oliver said at last. “I have time to ride this afternoon.”
He sounded as if he had a rigorous schedule that he could hardly interrupt, Cecilia thought, briefly lowering her gaze to hide her amusement.
“Cecilia,” Oliver said, “I will be having several friends over tonight for an evening of cards. Would you speak to the housekeeper and make whatever arrangements are necessary?”
She withheld a frown as she considered him. He’d always met his friends elsewhere for whatever drunken fun they had. Was the sudden change due to the arrival of Lord Blackthorne?
“Oliver, I will see that you and your friends have whatever refreshments you need.” She barely knew his friends, only one or two of whom were from local families, and the others up from London on occasion.
“We’ll use the billiard room. Oh, and you might have the maids prepare several guest rooms, just in case.”
She nodded, not wanting drunken young men falling from their horses. He did not ask Lord Blackthorne to join them, and Cecilia gritted her teeth at his rudeness. She was about to speak, when she could have sworn Lord Blackthorne almost imperceptibly shook his head, as if he had other plans for her brother.
She’d agreed to this, she reminded herself. She’d wanted Lord Blackthorne to focus on someone other than herself. When the men left on their ride, she told herself she was relieved to be free of the both of them.
That night, well after midnight, Cecilia could hear the drunken laughter of Oliver’s friends echoing through the castle. She was in her room but not undressed; servants kept sending messages via the new page, Francis: “Are you certain we should provide more brandy, Lady Blackthorne?” “They are roaming the corridors, Lady Blackthorne, making a terrible mess in more and more rooms!”
She had greeted their guests earlier in the evening, of course. They’d grinned as they each bent over her hand, eyeing her too boldly, making her feel uncomfortable and embarrassed. They made what they thought were sly jokes about her as if she were too simpleminded to understand the crude references. They’d already been imbibing and were hardly witty as a result.
Strangely, she’d found herself wishing Lord Blackthorne had been present, as if she needed to remind the men that she had a husband who might take offense. But her “husband” had spent the evening in the library after his long ride with Oliver. She’d seen him limping stiffly away from the stables, wondered if perhaps he’d overexerted his injured leg. But one could never tell a man so.
Oliver’s friends had been upsetting the household more and more as the evening advanced. Susan, the upstairs maid, had heard something crash, and when she went inside the billiards room to investigate, she’d been indecently handled by one of the guests. That was the last straw, as far as Cecilia was concerned. If Oliver didn’t see that his friends were abusing his hospitality, thenshewould make them understand.
After sending Susan to bed, Cecilia moved through the darkened house, carrying a candleholder, the sounds of revelry growing louder and louder as she descended to the first floor. Something else crashed, and she could hear a roar of laughter.
She approached the billiard room from the rear of the house rather than the front public rooms. The way was darker, and to her surprise, lamps were once again extinguished, which made her progress slow. With her candle, she could see a short distance before her, but every alcove or corridor became a gaping hole of darkness once she passed. She shook off her uneasiness—she was only reacting this way because she’d tripped at the top of the stairs the other night.
Just as she reached the closed double doors to the billiard room, she heard a rush of air behind her, then a man’s arms closed around her. She cried out, but the sound was lost against the loud voices from the billiard room, even as the candle fell from her hands and went out before it hit the floor.
Stunned, she felt the man’s hot breath against her ear, his moist lips moving. “We’ve been waiting for you. But maybe you’d like to play a bit first.”
And then he was dragging her away from the billiard room. She struggled, appalled and offended and a little bit frightened that she could be overwhelmed so easily—that decent men could lose their heads like this under the influence of strong drink. And these were the kinds of men who befriended Oliver? He was so gullible that perhaps he gave them whatever they wanted, money, liquor, his influence.
Not loose women, surely, she thought, not in this house. She opened her mouth to demand her release, but he clamped his damp palm over her mouth as if he sensed her intent. The lit edges of the billiard-room door receded into the darkness, and she had her first moment of real fear. If she could not make this drunken brute realize his error, she wasn’t sure what might happen.
She tried to bite his hand, but he gave her a tight squeeze around the ribs that made her groan instead.
“Be a good girl, now. You’ll get your money at the end of the night.”
Then she heard the strangest sound, a growl of rage from nearby that made her assailant pause. They weren’t alone anymore.
“Unhandmy wife!” barked a voice in the commanding tones of a man used to being obeyed.
Lord Blackthorne, she thought with relief. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but neither could her captor.
The man laughed. “She’s no one’s wife, except one for hire. Wait your turn.”
She felt the rush of air beside her, heard the sound of flesh meeting flesh, then a man’s grunt. The hold on her loosened, and she ducked away, crying out as her hair, brushed out for the night, was caught from behind.
“Damn you!” Lord Blackthorne grunted.
She felt him lunge past her. She flung back the door to the billiard room, and yellow, flickering light spilled out into the corridor, illuminating the shadows. She whirled about and saw Lord Blackthorne in his shirtsleeves, trousers, and boots. He knelt above her assailant, pummeling him. The man—she now recognized him as Sir Bevis Fenton from London—threw a couple punches of his own, but Lord Blackthorne had him pinned to the floor. Helplessly, Cecilia picked up his cane, not knowing what else to do.
Oliver staggered to the doorway and was bumped from behind by several other curious men, who stood on tiptoes to see past him.
