Authors: Diane Farr
Her mind would clear, she told herself, once she had rid herself of Mr. Whittaker
’
s attentions. She could not concentrate with Derek distracting her.
Of course, he was scrupulously
not
paying attention to her tonight, and she felt more distracted than ever. She sighed, and returned her attention to the new hand being dealt.
Ten more minutes crawled by. By a quarter past the hour,
Cynthia
’
s churning anxiety had reached a fever pitch. Would the evening never end? But when the duchess finally rose from her place by the fire, signaling the party to break up, it suddenly seemed to
Cynthia
that the interminable evening had flown past in an eyeblink. She walked off with her mother, carefully keeping her eyes on the floor to prevent them straying to Derek.
Arm in arm,
Cynthia
and her mother mounted the stairs with a stately slowness that, tonight,
Cynthia
found excruciating. Mama
’
s maid, Lucy, was asleep in her chair but jumped up when they entered. Mama and Lucy disappeared into Mama
’
s room.
Cynthia
ducked into her adjoining bedchamber and checked her reflection in the glass, nervously tucking her hair into place and praying that her upcoming escapade would avoid detection. With luck, Mama would not even know she had gone.
Half past eleven. Still too early to slip away. Perhaps it was just as well; it would be awkward to encounter Lucy in the hall. She would wait, and hope to put off her departure until Lucy was safely upstairs.
Twenty minutes to twelve. Lucy finished brushing Mama
’
s hair and came, yawning, to
Cynthia
’
s room to offer her assistance.
“T
hank you, Lucy, but I think I can manage for myself tonight.
”
Cynthia
hoped that her reassuring smile was convincing enough.
“Y
ou may go to bed if you like.
”
Lucy looked mildly surprised, but dipped an obedient curtsy and scurried off. As the door closed behind her,
Cynthia
heard her mother
’
s voice raised in anxious inquiry.
“
Cynthia
? Did you dismiss Lucy?
”
Cynthia
’
s heart sank.
“Y
es, Mama. Was there something else you wanted?
”
“N
o, my love.
”
But
Cynthia
heard the bed springs creak and knew her mother was snatching up her dressing gown to come and check on her.
Lud!
She seated herself hastily at the little vanity table in her room. By the time Mama appeared in the doorway,
Cynthia
was digging aimlessly through the vanity drawers. She met her mother
’
s eyes in the mirror, trying to appear guileless. Mama
’
s eyes were cold with suspicion.
“W
hat are you doing,
Cynthia
? You are not ready for bed.
”
“I’
m not sleepy tonight. I thought I might read for a while.
”
Mama frowned.
“W
hat has that to do with
—”
“A
nd I think I
’
ve left my novel downstairs in the library. So vexatious! I shall have to go and find it.
”
“Y
ou should have sent Lucy for it.
”
“I
couldn
’
t, Mama. I am not entirely sure where I left it. And it is so late that I didn
’
t like to keep her longer from her bed.
”
“A
nd will you go alone to the library, in the dark, at this time of night? Everyone else has gone to bed. I do not like it.
”
Cynthia
forced a little laugh.
“N
onsense, Mama. I shall carry a lamp. What harm could possibly come to me?
”
She rose and picked up a lamp as she spoke, hoping to make her actions seem reasonable.
Her mother did not smile. There was wariness in every line of her face.
“I
do not like it,
”
she repeated.
Cynthia
tried to look exasperated. She didn
’
t feel exasperated; she felt guilty.
“S
hall I take a dagger with me?
”
she asked, trying to make a joke without appearing disrespectful.
“R
eally, Mama, you are being overly cautious. I don
’
t think I will encounter many desperate characters at Oldham Park. None between here and the library, at any rate.
”
She bestowed a light kiss on her mother
’
s cheek.
“G
ood night.
”
“I
shan
’
t go to bed until you return,
”
said her mother grimly.
“I
f you do not return in ten minutes, I shall ring for help.
”
Dismay shook her. Ten minutes! She couldn
’
t say all she needed to say in ten minutes. And what if Derek came late to the rendezvous?
She patted her mother
’
s sleeve coaxingly, as she used to do when she was a little girl.
“O
h, pray, Mama. I thought I might read in the library for a while. It would be more comfortable there.
”
“N
o,
”
said her mother, with great finality.
“A
bsolutely not. Come directly back,
Cynthia
Fitzwilliam, or I shall raise the entire house to search for you.
”
She would do it, too.
Cynthia
knew she would. She dropped her hand and gazed at her mother, appalled.
“P
ray do not do anything to make us look ridiculous,
”
she begged.
“I
will try to hurry. But I may be back in ten minutes, or I may not.
”
“T
en minutes is more than time enough for such an errand.
”
“A
nd what if the book is not where I think it is? Allow me twenty minutes, Mama.
”
“F
ifteen. And not a second more.
”
“’
Tis a very large house. And I might have left it anywhere!
”
“I
f you do not find it, come back without it. I give you fifteen minutes,
Cynthia
.
”
The hall clock chimed faintly; it was a quarter to twelve.
“B
e back here by midnight.
”
She could not waste more time in futile argument.
Cynthia
carefully unclenched her jaw.
“V
ery well, Mama. Midnight. Or shortly thereafter.
”
She made good her escape before the anger she felt showed in her eyes, fearing it would lead to still more questions, still more restrictions.
A husband
’
s rule could hardly be worse than this,
Cynthia
thought resentfully. It would almost be worth it to marry
—
to marry anyone!
—
just to be rid of Mama.
The disloyal thought came unbidden, and immediately
Cynthia
was swamped with guilt. What a bad daughter she was: unfilial, secretive, disobedient, ungrateful! What was the matter with her? Why couldn
’
t she be
good
?
She could be good, she promised herself, and
would
be good. Fifteen minutes from now, her dangerous feelings for Derek Whittaker would be over and done with. Or, at the very least
—
since she did not seem able to control her feelings where he was concerned
—
the temptation to encourage him would be over and done with. She was about to
dis
courage him, in no uncertain terms. And once she had done that, it would no longer matter what she felt.
The lamp was steady in her hand. Her head was high. Filled with virtuous resolve,
Cynthia
closed the door behind her and started down the passage toward the stairs.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Derek fell into step beside her. She gasped, and he lifted a finger to his lips to warn her to silence. His eyes were laughing, but with mischief, not mockery. He placed his arm around her waist and pulled her farther down the passage, away from the door she had come through.
The touch of his hand did not help
Cynthia
’
s state of mind.
“Y
ou nearly startled me out of my wits,
”
she hissed, trying to sound more outraged than she felt. Her heart was leaping with gladness as much as fear.
“W
here did you come from?
”
“T
he statuary niche.
”
He grinned down at her, utterly unrepentant. The sight of that grin
—
a grin she found attractive enough at a distance, now only inches from her face
—
sent a flutter
of joy and desire through her.
She actually felt herself weakening. This was going to be harder than she had thought.
Meanwhile, the hand at her waist was guiding her, gently but inexorably, down the passage.
“M
uch as I enjoy hunting you down,
”
he remarked,
“I
couldn
’
t take the chance that I might miss you. I decided the best course was to wait outside your door.
”
“D
id you hear what was said?
”
“N
o. Tell me.
”
He led her to a window seat beneath a tall, gothic arch of many-paned glass. In daylight hours, the huge window lit the stairs and landing. In the darkness of near-midnight, the expanse of glass was opaque and black. She sank down onto the stone ledge and Derek sat beside her.
“I
can only give you fifteen minutes. I promised Mama I would return by midnight.
”
His brows flew up.
“D
oes she know you are with me?
”
“O
f course not. I told her I was going to fetch a book that I left downstairs.
”
Cynthia
shivered, suddenly dispirited again.
“T
he glass is cold.
”
Derek moved immediately to warm her, placing his arm around her and pulling her close against him. For half an instant,
Cynthia
resisted. Then she surrendered. After all, this might be
—
no;
would
be
—
her last chance to nestle into the arms of the man she
loved. Tears rose in her throat
and she swallowed hard to keep them from reaching her eyes. She must not cry. She had only fifteen minutes.
“D
erek.
”
She laid her head against his shoulder. It felt divine.
“I
have come to bid you goodbye.
”
She felt him go very still, and rushed into speech before he had time to recover and interrupt her.
“T
here is no hope for us. They will never let me marry you.
”
“A
re you telling me that you don
’
t want to marry me?
”
“I
am telling you that I cannot. That my parents will never agree to the match. I suppose you will say that we ought to defy them
—”
“Y
es, I jolly well will
.
”
“—
but I can
’
t. It would be very wrong of me.
”
“W
hat nonsense is this?
”
He took her by the shoulders and held her away from him, the better to see her face.
“I
know you feel the same things I feel.
”
His eyes, dark and compelling, held hers.
“I
know it,
”
he repeated softly.