He lunged forward. She dropped the coverlet, and he stumbled on it, but righted himself with surprising speed. She scurried around the other side of the sofa. How could she reach the door? She had to find Cecil, to make sure he was safe.
“Don’t make me force you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.
She had never been obliged to use her pistol before. Her heart thudded, but with an assumption of calm, she took out her own gun. “Don’t make me shoot you.”
Fury chased across Wellough’s features. He laughed shortly. “A pretty thing like you? Even if you can shoot straight, you don’t have the stomach for it.”
“You may take that risk if you wish.” Drat, her voice was trembling. A movement of the door caught her eye. With an effort of will, she kept her gaze on Wellough. At all costs, he must continue to watch her. If that was Cecil… If Wellough saw and shot him…
He wouldn’t, because she would shoot him first. Meanwhile, she would keep his attention on her. She ducked behind the sofa and put up a hand to fend him off. “I don’t want to kill you, but I shall.”
Wellough laughed again. “You’re shaking all over, girl. You couldn’t hit a stable door at close quarters, much less—
Cecil wrenched Wellough’s pistol hand down hard. The gun exploded, and Wellough screamed.
Half an hour later, the house was quiet once again. The gunshot had brought both Restive and DuFair from their rooms. Cecil had given a curt explanation of Wellough’s infamy, including two attempts to ravish Dorothea. She, in turn, recounted the conversation she had overheard between Wellough and the Contessa.
“My cousin, a traitor,” Restive said bitterly. “I should let him bleed to death.” The old man lay weeping on the carpet, clutching his injured foot. “This will mean scandal and likely ruin for my family.”
Cecil shook his head. “Sir Frederick Darsington will hush it up. It’s bad for morale if our aristocracy is seduced into working for the French. Our story will be that we were comparing guns, and his went off accidentally.”
Restive and DuFair between them carried the old man to his bedchamber, where they fully intended to lock him in. Not that he was likely to escape, with only one sound foot.
Cecil shut the door after them. Dorothea flung her arms around him and kissed him. “You were wonderful! How do you creep so silently? I was so afraid I would have to shoot him.”
“You’re the essence of courage, love. So cool, so calm, in the face of his gun. I was terrified for you.” He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair.
He should escort her to her room. She wasn’t in danger anymore.
Meanwhile, his cock reveled in their proximity, in her lush uncorseted curves and her intoxicating aroma. Soft, golden strands had escaped her plait. He caressed them despite himself. He kissed his way from her temple past her ear and then to her throat.
She moaned. His cock strained against his breeches. This was getting out of hand. “Dorothea, we shouldn’t.”
“We must,” she said firmly. “I want you to ruin me good and proper, so Mother will have no choice but to accept you.”
“Why do you care what she does? She disowned you tonight.”
“Yes, but it may not mean anything. She has never disowned me before, but she’s not one to give up.” She rubbed herself against him. How the devil was he supposed to resist that?
He tightened his arms about her. Her breasts pressed heavily against his chest. Before he knew it, his hands were on her bum. So much for restraining his desire.
He had to tell her the truth. Then, if she still agreed to marry him… He tried not to think about what her answer might be.
“I love you, and if that means she will never speak to me again…” She sighed. “So be it. I don’t like her much, but she is my mother.”
Cecil understood all too well. “My father was as obsessed with wealth and privilege as she. He hated my uncle—his own brother—for inheriting a large estate, when he had a small one that was perfectly adequate to his needs. He was furious when I became a revenue officer, saying it was beneath me to work for my living. We didn’t speak for the last months of his life. He wouldn’t allow me to visit him on his deathbed.”
“Oh, Cecil.” She hugged him tight. “I had no idea.”
“How could you? I never speak of it. I hope you can reconcile with your mother.”
She rested her head on his chest. “When I was a child, my mother loved this time of year. She organized all the decorating and planned the feast for the villagers, and it was such fun. Then I refused seven offers in my first season and attended reformist meetings in my second, after which she began dragging me from one house party to another, trying to force me to wed. I wish I could make her happy. I wish I could make her enjoy Christmas again…but I can’t.”
“I think—or rather I hope—that you can,” Cecil said.
She raised her head, frowning. “How is that possible?”
“It may involve the sacrifice of a cherished principle on your part.”
“What do you mean?” Crossly, she added, “It seems to me that you’re the one with all the principles.” She stretched and moved sensuously against him. His arousal was evident despite his breeches. “It’s freezing in here. Shouldn’t we get into bed?”
He dropped a kiss on her hair. “Yes, darling, I’m longing to get as close as humanly possible, but you’ll have to agree to marry me first.”
“I already have agreed to marry you.” She toyed with the buttons of his breeches, which was terribly forward of her, but she didn’t care. “Or rather, you agreed to marry me.”
“Yes, but you were unaware of something about me when you proposed. I have a confession to make.”
How ominous that sounded. Was he a criminal? An imposter? Inflicted with a fatal disease? She withdrew her hand. “What? Just tell me.”
“It’s nothing particularly dreadful, but it may matter to you.” He turned away to stoke the fire. “I’m the heir presumptive to an earldom.”
“An earldom.” How unexpected. “Why does no one know?”
He added some coals. “Because I don’t tell anyone. Haledon is an obscure Welsh title. My uncle is the current incumbent, but he has only daughters and hopes I will carry on the line. I don’t mingle in society much, so only a few people, such as Restive, know I’m his heir.”
A thought occurred. “Does my father know?” Even before Cecil nodded, she knew the answer. Papa invariably checked into the family backgrounds of his men.
Cecil Hale was the only minion assigned to her who had stuck to his role despite growing to care for her. How could Papa help but approve such an honorable man?
Well. That explained why Rigby had so readily agreed to stage an accident here. Father had given him permission ahead of time, just in case—for he knew her brother might come to her for help. He’d done so all through his childhood, so why not now?
Papa was endlessly devious, but he was also patient and fair. He’d waited until he found the right sort of man for her—but then let her decide for herself.
Cecil turned at last. She placed her palms on his chest. She wanted her naked breasts squashed up against him, her naked legs entwined with his…