Chapter Three
Cecily did not usually have occasion to kick and scream, but she took some pride in the fact that she rose to the moment admirably. The strange man who had heaved her into his arms like so much old baggage had a devilishly strong grip which would take some effort to break. She gave him a good crack on the shoulder, which made him stagger a little, and attempted to bring her kicking boots into contact with his chest.
"Let me go at once!" she shouted, her outrage only increasing as he began to carry her across to the house. "Who do you think you are, to manhandle me so?"
"I am the Earl of Scarcliffe," the man answered through gritted teeth. "And I would rather you did not die on my property, Lady Cecily."
Her fists stilled. He really was a great brute of a man – she might as well have been punching a tree trunk. "You know who I am?" she asked, trying to regain a sense of dignity, though one of the Earl's arms was lifting her to his chest and the other was crooked under her knees.
"I am painfully aware of it," he answered.
"Then you must put me down immediately. I refuse to be taken into Scarcliffe Hall!"
"That is quite impossible, my lady, for I refuse to leave you out in the rain to freeze to death." The Earl kicked open the side door and edged sideways into the house, careful to keep Cecily's head from knocking against the doorframe. "The fact of your trespassing will be addressed later, when you are warm and dry."
"Trespassing!"
"What else do you call it?"
To Cecily's shock, he dropped her unceremoniously to the ground. It was all she could do to keep from tumbling in an inelegant heap at his feet.
"I was lost," she snapped, throwing a hand out and catching his shoulder for balance. The man was built like a brick wall. "Believe me, nothing could possibly induce me to willingly enter Hartley land."
"Rest assured that you will not have to endure it for long."
Cecily was finally able to get a good look at her abductor-cum-rescuer. Her mental image of the Hartley family led her to expect a short, ill-favoured, unpleasant fellow who looked in need of a good bath.
Her astonishment when she was faced with a tall, strong-jawed man with banked fire in his dark eyes was so great that she almost lost track of her sharp retort. Almost.
"I am glad to hear it. I cannot admit to expecting much from your Hartley hospitality."
She was interrupted by a sharp, uncouth curse from behind her. On whirling around, she was horrified to find herself confronted by three gentlemen in varying states of dishabille.
The frontmost man, who shared the dark eyes and shapely features of the Earl, was the one who had cursed. "Robert!" he said, glaring at Cecily as though he could erase her from existence with a sharp look. "Don't you know who this is?"
"I am perfectly aware," said the Earl, stepping in front of Cecily just as she realised that the rain had left her dress plastered to her legs in a shamefully revealing manner. Robert kept his eyes firmly on Cecily's face as he settled the cloak around her shoulders, covering her entirely.
"Lady Cecily," he said, "I would like to present Benjamin Colborne, the Duke of Beaumont, Ralph Morton, Baron Northmere, and finally, my brother, Lord Jonathan Hartley."
Cecily's eyes were as wide as saucers. "You cannot expect me to greet these gentlemen in this state."
A flash of dark amusement lit Robert's eyes. "Quite right," he said, gravely. "Gentlemen, Lady Cecily is not on display in the zoological gardens. Please return to the billiard room, where I will join you once our guest is settled."
"Your guest?" Cecily repeated, aghast. "My lord, if you have a trace of decency you will lend me a carriage home and never speak of this meeting again!"
"I am perfectly decent," Robert answered coolly. "But what you ask is quite impossible. The roads between Scarcliffe Hall and Loxwell Park are not well kept, as you must be aware. It would be extremely dangerous to navigate them in this weather."
Cecily stared from him to the three gentlemen who were shooting her curious glances even as they filed from the hallway. "Then what do you propose?"
"You must stay the night, of course. We do not have much in the way of feminine comforts here, but my housekeeper will be able to make you tolerably at home."
"No!" Cecily was beginning to panic, but she was proud to hear her voice ring out stern and confident.
Robert raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"What you suggest is completely impossible." Cecily folded her arms under his cloak, wishing that she were not shivering so violently. "If you think that I, the daughter of the Duke of Loxwell, will suffer to be kept under a Hartley roof in the company of four strange gentlemen, you must be mad. If anyone should hear that I have passed the night here, I will be utterly ruined."
"Then we shall take care that no-one hears of it." Robert took a step towards her, as though he intended to fling her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs whether she wanted it or not. Cecily took a step back, finding herself trapped against the wall. "You are half frozen to death," he said. "I will order a hot bath for you. You may have to borrow dry clothes from the kitchen maids. We were not expecting female guests at all this summer."
"I am not your guest!" Cecily protested, though her chattering teeth mangled the words. Robert ignored her and began jangling a bell pull beside the door with great force.
"Smith! Where are you? Smith!"
A plump, cheerful, and somewhat bemused housekeeper quickly made an appearance.
"My lord!" she gasped, on seeing Cecily. "What has happened to this poor girl? Come along with me, Miss. We'll get you warmed up in a jiffy."
"This is Lady Cecily Balfour," said Robert stiffly. He rolled her name out between his lips as though it were a fishbone that had lately been caught in his teeth. "She is to stay here tonight, and you are to take excellent care of her."
"Balfour?" the housekeeper repeated, looking at Cecily in alarm. Robert leaned towards her and spoke in a murmur, though Cecily caught his words easily.
"I am trusting you with the secret of her identity. Lady Cecily is risking a great deal by passing the night here, but I see no other option. We cannot risk her coming to any harm, though it is through her own foolishness," he said. "If she catches cold, or if word of her visit ever leaves these walls, the Balfours will blame us – and I will blame you, Mrs Smith."
"Tush," laughed the housekeeper. "As if I'd let anyone come to harm under my care! Follow me, Lady Cecily. There's a lovely fire in the kitchen which will have to do until your rooms are ready. We will tell the servants you are my niece, visiting from London."
The thought of a warm fire was too much for Cecily to resist. She let the housekeeper lead her down a corridor – passing the open door to the billiard room with her nose in the air and her head held high – and down the stairs to the servants' quarters.
Exactly what she'd expect from a Hartley house – no provision at all for guests except in the kitchens!
As she went, Cecily could not help but risk a glance back at the man who had plucked her from the heart of the storm. To her surprise, he was watching her go. Not with mirth in his eyes, or the cruelty she might have thought to find there, but with a curious, thoughtful expression that she could not fathom.
Then she was away, lost in a bustle of towels and concerned kitchen maids and frozen fingers, and the inner workings of Robert Hartley's mind ceased to concern her at all.