She nodded, heart beating fit to burst her chest, and he drew his hand away, but still held her firmly against him. “I don’t know what in Hades you’re doing here,” he said in the barest whisper, “but it’s not safe. Stay perfectly still and don’t say a word.” His breath was hot on her ear.
She thought he would let go of her now, but he didn’t. With his free hand, he pulled the door almost closed. Then he stilled and did nothing but hold her and…wait.
For what? Was he spying on whoever was in there? Eavesdropping—as he’d done earlier on her and her mother. But she dared not ask; somehow, she felt compelled to obey. It must be, she thought, that I feel safe with him. That if it truly were dangerous to be here—which it wasn’t—he would protect her.
She relaxed into his embrace. Now that she had calmed a little, she began to be not only curious…but excited. She had never, ever been in such a close embrace with a man. She’d hugged her brothers and kissed Johnny Magee, but this was much different.
Cecil’s powerful arm encircled her just below her breasts, which rested upon those strong muscles and tingled as if they relished it. This was pleasant but a bit mortifying, for he wasn’t the least bit interested in her in a sexual way.
But there was no point in being mortified, so since she couldn’t move an inch or say a word, she let her body enjoy his embrace. Unexpected heat coursed through her. The tingling shimmered from her shameless breasts to her private parts. She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations.
Damnation, thought Cecil, how was he supposed to concentrate on work while holding this luscious woman in his arms? His cock reacted in an entirely predictable manner. He mustn’t let her bum brush the bulge in his breeches. She was an innocent and would shrink in dismay. She might even shriek and ruin everything.
Everything being his mission. His personal hopes didn’t stand much chance, judging by where he’d found her tonight.
He peered through the crack in the door, unsurprised when the intruder proved to be Charles Dufair.
Something in Mr. Hale’s stance changed, and Dorothea opened her eyes. Perhaps he was disgusted at the way she leaned against him. How very lowering.
He pulled back a little. Definitely disgusted. Annoyed at herself, she peered through the crack in the doorway. It wasn’t Restive in the dressing room, but Monsieur Dufair. Heavens, was he looking for the medallion, too? What was Cecil’s role in this? Surely he didn’t want the medallion as well…
Suddenly he moved her away from the door. “Shh.” She glanced about… Oh, no! There was a light in Lord Wellough’s chamber. The old gentleman mumbled something unintelligible, and footsteps sounded. What if he came into the dressing room?
Thank God Cecil was here, for he would protect her from that horrid old man—but he would then find himself in the awkward position of being obliged to marry her. The gentlemen’s code of honor was such a nuisance! She wouldn’t marry Cecil, of course, but for the sake of his reputation, they should leave immediately.
What a pity, for despite his lack of interest, she’d been having more fun than in simply ages. When she tried to turn, he shushed her again. His arm still around her, he backed her not towards the corridor, but to the windows. A second later, they were ensconced behind the heavy curtains.
Like lovers in an alcove. Every other gentleman who had tried to get her into such a situation had seemed a threat, but not Cecil. She should be aghast at the possible consequences. It was utter folly to enjoy this, but she couldn’t help it. She stifled a giggle.
“Hush!”
That made her laugh even more. She put her arms around him and muffled herself against his chest. Then the door to Lord Wellough’s bedchamber opened, and she did her best to stay still.
“He must have gone to that slut’s room by now,” the old man said. “Damn, but I’d like a piece of that!” To whom was he speaking? No one responded, and only one pair of feet padded into the room. He must be talking to himself. “But the young chit’s even better. Gad, that golden hair! Muff must be golden, too.”
That stilled her utterly. She wasn’t sure what that last comment meant, but she could guess. Cecil held her close. “You’re safe,” he breathed, so close that his mouth almost touched hers.
Which distracted her from Lord Wellough and his vile comments. Safe from other men, yes. Safe from herself? Definitely not. She wanted to kiss Cecil Hale.
A moment later, she heard Wellough enter Restive’s dressing room. After several seconds’ pause, he trod onward to the bedroom. He didn’t exclaim in surprise, which meant Charles Dufair had made his escape.
Cecil eased them from behind the curtains, took her by the hand, and led her toward the corridor. He opened the door a little way. Stealthy footsteps sounded, then the closing of a door. “Now’s our chance.”
So much for kisses. He would escort her to her bedchamber, where she would crawl into her cold bed. She resigned herself to warming it with more shameless imaginings.
They hurried silently along the dark corridor, past the all too revealing light at the head of the stairs, and onward to her chamber. He opened the door and stood back to let her pass.
Then he followed her inside and shut the door behind him.
She turned, astonished and…excited. Heavens, how forward of him. Was he perhaps a little attracted to her after all?
No, he was frowning. “I have no designs on your virtue, but we have to talk.”
How stupid of her to think he might want her. Firmly, she reminded herself that what interest he had shown was nothing but a charade. Now he wasn’t the least bit lover-like. His mien was forbidding, his voice stern. He didn’t want to kiss her at all. He just wanted to talk.
So did she, as a matter of fact. She wanted to know what was going on—after she’d had a chance to kiss him. But that wouldn’t happen, so she said, “How dare you come into my room?”
“Don’t be missish.” He went over to the fire, stoked it a bit and added a log, and lit a candle. He turned, an ill-tempered crease between his brows. “This is a serious matter. I want to know why you were in Lord Restive’s dressing room this afternoon, and why you were in his bedchamber tonight.”
She put up her chin. “That is none of your business.”
He ignored that and went relentlessly on. “Even if you didn’t intend to entrap Lord Restive” —his sardonic tone said he didn’t believe her— “then why did you arrange to spend Christmas here despite your mother’s plans? Don’t give me the same story about avoiding Lord Forle.”
How dare he? “That story, as you put it, is true. My mother would have found a way to catch me alone with him by underhanded means, since I wouldn’t go near him of my own volition.”
“I daresay,” he said dryly, “but you didn’t have to come here to avoid him. You certainly didn’t have to go to Restive’s bedchamber to avoid him. You didn’t have to lie to me about your feelings for Restive—” He stopped in mid-sentence. “You’re right, that’s none of my business. If that’s why you came here, just say so, and I’ll...accept that explanation.”
She balled her fists. He would accept her explanation? He had no right to demand anything of her, much less to judge her, just because he was Papa’s minion and her sometime minder. How horrid of him to imagine she’d hoped to seduce their host! Next he would scold her, just like Mother. Dorothea’s erotic imaginings dissipated like smoke, leaving a sullen trace behind, a reminder of a far from extinguished fire.