“Since I was in England, I wanted to see to your welfare, my lady,” Sergeant Blackthorne said. “I could not in good conscience visit my mother without seeing how you fare first.”
“I appreciate your consideration, Sergeant.” She prided herself on being able to judge a person’s character, but in so brief a time, Sergeant Blackthorne seemed utterly blank to her, except for the very cloak of masculinity that made him so different from her. The letters from him she’d once enjoyed now seemed foreign to her.
She mustn’t forget his history with her father. He’d opened himself up to her in his letters, granted her request though it had cost him his freedom from a marriage of his own choosing. She should be grateful—but she could not banish her suspicion.
“You are the daughter of my commanding officer,” Sergeant Blackthorne continued, “a man I held in the highest esteem. His death—” He broke off from whatever he meant to say, and his gaze went to the window, where the rain streaked down in rivulets. “He taught me what it was to be a man and a soldier. I will never forget my debt to him.”
He’d obviously looked up to her father, as had she. But she’d also resented his dedication to his regiment, the Eighth Dragoon Guards, for the many sorrows it had caused. It had made her mother miserable, and the older Cecilia got, the more her mother had confided that misery.
“So you consider me a debt,” she said slowly.
“No,” he said, then spread both his hands. “What am I to you?”
She stared at him, and was glad when Talbot himself, rather than a gawking maid, came into the room with a tea tray. Cecilia could only imagine how the servants’ hall was buzzing with news of her mysterious husband’s arrival.
“Since dinner is some hours away,” Talbot said to her, “I had Cook prepare sandwiches for Lord Blackthorne.”
“You are using an incorrect title, Talbot,” she said absently, still obsessed with staring at the sergeant.
Talbot hesitated. “I have served this family for long years in London, Lady Cecilia, and I have always prided myself on my knowledge of Society. I recognized Lord Blackthorne’s name and heritage, but if he wishes me to use his military title, then I shall. I acquiesced to your retention of ‘Lady Cecilia’ as your title, thinking you had personal reasons. I now regret my silence.”
“My mistake was not your fault, Talbot.” Cecilia turned back to the man she’d married. “Sir, you have a title I know nothing about?”
“It was in the marriage papers. You did not read them all? I hold a viscountcy.”
Talbot once again made himself scarce. Sergeant-Lord Blackthorne was not just a soldier; he was a peer, a man with even more power than she’d thought. She’d never heard of the title although she’d never had much time for London Society. She regretted that her lawyers had the marriage papers.
“You’re a viscount,” she began slowly, “yet you are a noncommissioned officer. I don’t understand.”
“I did not feel qualified to be an officer without the knowledge to lead. I wanted to earn my fellow soldiers’ respect before I expected them to follow me into battle.”
“So you enlisted like any ordinary man.” She’d never even heard of that being done by a peer. “And you call yourself sergeant? I don’t know what to think.”
“I don’t believe your thoughts occurred to me, my lady, considering I didn’t even know of you when I made my decision years ago. I would have thought my being a viscount might have appealed to you, might even have helped explain our unorthodox wedding. The fact that you didn’t realize it makes me very curious.”
“Curious?” She forced a smile. “That is the least of what I’m feeling about this awkward situation.”
“It seems we are beginning this marriage on the same footing.”
She willed her hands not to tremble as she poured his tea. “How do you prefer yours?”
“Plain, Lady Blackthorne. Thank you.”
She flinched at the use of her new title, then watched him sip his tea and eat several wedges of ham sandwiches.
At last he sat back and regarded her. “So, where do we stand, my lady?”
She truly was his lady, not just his wife. Their mutual stare seemed charged with awareness, a knowledge that they were man and woman—joined, at least legally, as husband and wife. It was an intimacy she’d never imagined. She got to her feet. “I don’t know what to say, my lord. I had never planned on marrying—I am far too busy here with the Appertan estates.”
He rose with a slow, graceful agility that suddenly made them too close. She stepped back.
“That is a strange sentiment for a woman. And yet you are now married to me. You cannot want an annulment,” he added, as if they were discussing the weather.
Then she’d be a ward again, at the mercy of her guardians, and without the power she needed. He knew that. “I need to give this ... situation consideration. If I decide to end this, then it could be scandalous that you lived here within the house. Please take no offense, my lord, but would you sleep in the dower house? It is just across the western lawn.”
For the first time, she watched his gaze move slowly down her body, taking in the flower-sprigged muslin. She suddenly had trouble catching her breath.
“So now I am a horse to be examined before a sale?” she asked quietly.
