He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, feeling compelled to take hold of his restraint. Cecilia wore a dressing gown, which only emphasized how small and defenseless she really was. Then he remembered the marks on the side of the dirt hole, where she’d tried to claw her way out. She was stronger than she appeared.
But now that she’d washed away the concealing powder, the bruise on her cheek looked stark and ugly, a reminder of someone’s cruelty.
She stood in the center of the room and gracefully tilted her head. “Did you forget something, Michael?”
“Perhaps you did, if you think I’m going to allow you to be alone tonight.”
Cecilia felt a frisson of excitement that didn’t bode well for her vaunted mastery of any situation. Michael walked toward her out of the shadows, his shirt gleaming white, the collar open to display his tanned throat. His dark eyes beheld her as if they had the power to coerce her into ... anything.
“Michael, you sleep right next door. I think—”
“The past two nights I slept on the cot in the dressing room.”
Her eyes widened. “I had no idea.”
“But that didn’t help protect you, did it? From now on, either the most trusted servants or I will be with you at all times.”
She wanted to object, feeling as if her life was no longer her own. But it would be foolish to risk death because things were spiraling out of her control.
“I can call Nell back,” she began.
“That won’t be necessary.”
She could not help but glance at the bed.
“You have a chaise longue.” He gestured to the long reclining chair she kept near the window for better reading light. “I would never force you to do something you’re not ready for.”
They stared at each other, a silent battle of wills, one she should not even try to win.
“Very well,” she murmured. She went to the bed and removed the counterpane, taking it to the chaise, along with a pillow.
When he tried to lay the bedding out, she wouldn’t allow it, doing it herself while he clenched his cane.
“This isn’t about your being unable to help yourself, you know,” she said, feeling the presence of him behind her even though she wasn’t looking. “This is about my obligation.”
“ ‘Obligation,’ ” he said, drawing it out. “What an interesting choice of word.”
She winced. “I didn’t mean—”
“Cecilia,” he said softly, putting a hand on her arm. “You take everything so seriously.”
“And you don’t?” She regarded him over her shoulder as she straightened the pillow for a second time.
“I can be too serious, which is perhaps why I recognize a fellow sufferer.”
“You know,” she said, walking away from the chaise with an attempt to appear casual, “two of my father’s old friends were talking about you at dinner tonight, and I think they could be counted on to believe you far too serious.”
He said nothing.
“You’re not curious?”
“You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn’t mean to tell me.”
She rolled her eyes. “They were actually complimentary about your ruthlessness in battle, mentioning several examples of your determination not to quit.”
He nodded but remained silent.
“You expect me to trust you when you don’t talk about these things?” she asked with exasperation.
