Chapter Fourteen
In the fortnight since the ball, Robert's suffering had been equal to Cecily's, though he did not know it. Nor would it have done him any good to hear that she returned his affections. He had been raised to do his duty and support his family over all things, and falling for Cecily made both of those rather difficult.
For some time, he refused to admit to himself the state of his heart. He threw himself into hunting and carousing with Hart, Beaumont and Northmere. He cheated them all outrageously at cards, he won every game of billiards, he shot birds out of the sky with nonchalant ease on the hunt. He was every part the unattached bachelor.
And he was growing to hate it.
The summer at Scarcliffe Hall had been intended as an isolated paradise of rural enjoyments. Now, he found every moment clouded with the memory of a single kiss. A kiss! What was a kiss to him? He'd had more than his fair share before.
None which had ever affected him quite the way Cecily did. None which had ever so effectively dislocated his passion from his reason.
"You are grown quite sour, Robert," said Hart one day over a leisurely breakfast. Quite the remark, coming from him. "I hope you don't resent father's presence too much? He is not yet well enough to travel, you know. He'll leave us alone as soon as he can."
"You cannot begin to imagine the impositions father has lately made on me, Hart," answered Robert through gritted teeth, doing nothing to dispel his miasma of sourness. "Why, if it were not for him…"
If it were not for that dratted ball, he would never have kissed Cecily. His enjoyment of life would not have been so materially altered. He would be as he was before.
Hang it all, he couldn't bring himself to regret that kiss even for a moment. He felt like a babe born in winter, seeing summer for the first time. The air was fresher, the green of the leaves was deeper, the sun more warm. The world was horribly, painfully brighter, and all because of Cecily and her blasted irresistible smile.
Something had to be done. Something would be done.
The moment Robert resolved to take action, he felt significantly better. He was not the sort of man to sit around and mope over his own misfortune. He was built for great deeds and daring exploits. If he yearned for Cecily, so be it. He would act on it.
This was the impulse that brought him creeping through the shrubbery at the back of Loxwell House one evening, just after the sun had set.
Robert would be the first to admit that he was not known for deep contemplation. He was the man who had almost ruined his sister by shooting her betrothed in a duel, after all. So it was no surprise to him that the problems which threatened his scheme of meeting Cecily only presented themselves to his attention once he had already embarked upon the plan.
The most pressing issue, naturally, was that he had no idea which of Loxwell House's many windows belonged to his object of desire.
Robert hid behind a tall box hedge and craned his neck around to get a better view of the house. A few of the windows were lit. Those on the ground floor and the attic would be the servant's quarters. He was lucky that the shutters were all drawn.
In the house's east wing, candlelight glimmered through gauzy curtains. What sort of curtains would Cecily have in her rooms?
This was the first time Robert had ever given much thought to curtains, and he did not find the experience edifying.
On the western side of the building, two more windows were lit up. One overlooked a little ivy-grown balcony. The other window boasted a vase of flowers. Robert narrowed his eyes. Wildflowers. That seemed as likely to be Cecily's window as any.
Cautiously, he stooped to the ground and felt for a stone. It had to be the right size. Not small enough to go unnoticed, not large enough to shatter the glass.
He tossed a small pebble up at the window with the wildflowers. Not for nothing did his friends call him the finest shot in England. The stone struck the glass dead-centre.
Robert waited behind the hedge, holding his breath.
A shadow passed across the window, and the curtains were flung open.
A female head appeared.
A blonde head.
Robert jerked himself back behind the bush. Jemima was scanning the grounds below her window with suspicious eyes.
"If there should happen to be a gentleman outside this evening," she announced, finally, "he would be well advised to know that Cecily's window is the one with the balcony."
There was the sound of a window slamming firmly shut.
Robert crept out from behind the bush and made a dash across to the house itself. The ivy plant growing up to the balcony looked sturdy enough. It ought to do.
He set one hand on a feature of the ornate stonework, grasped a branch of ivy in the other, and hauled himself up. It was easier than he'd imagined.
His boots scrabbled a little for purchase as he reached up and rose higher, but they each found a nook in the side of the old building. He grasped another branch of ivy, grateful that it was so thick. The balcony was almost within his reach…
As Robert reached out a hand to grasp the balcony railing, the ivy he was holding began to peel away from the wall. He scrabbled for a moment in the empty air, fingers brushing the stone without finding anything to hold.
Then he was falling, falling, falling, and hitting the ground with a thud that drove the breath from his body.
Robert blinked, thoroughly dazed. He tried to leap up to his feet, certain that someone must have heard him fall, but found that he could do no more than wriggle his arms and legs. The world spun above him.
"It's you!"
With some effort, Robert focused on the balcony. More specifically, on the little O of surprise Cecily's lips made as she stood there, gazing down at him.
"What were you doing?" she demanded. Perhaps it was the shock of the fall, but Robert could not tell whether she was pleased or furious to see him. "Wait there! Don't move! I am coming to you."
Robert managed to recover enough to push himself up onto an elbow by the time Cecily came running in bare feet across the lawn. He assumed the most casual pose possible, looking for all the world as though he had chosen to have a lie down in the flowerbed beneath Cecily's window.
She knelt at his side. "Have you lost your mind?"
"That's possible." Robert was almost sure that he had not broken anything, but, judging by Cecily's concern, it was not immediately obvious to her that he had escaped unharmed. He pushed himself to his feet. Cecily jumped up with him, putting out both hands to keep him steady.
"Easy," she breathed. "Don't rush."
Robert clasped her hand where it touched his chest. "I am well. There's no need to look so alarmed."
"Alarmed?" Cecily's other hand struck him with an almost-painful slap to the arm. "What exactly about finding a man climbing up to my bedroom window at night was intended not to alarm me?"
"I admit, it was a little unconventional." Robert felt almost giddy after his fall. "I had to see you again."
"You could have paid a morning call like any other gentleman!"
"You know as well as I do that I would have been turned away at the door."
Cecily's eyes softened. "Not through any fault of mine. Nor yours, either. My father…" She turned away. He was glad. He couldn't bear to see the hurt on her face. "I spoke to my father, but it was quite hopeless. He told me it was my duty to hate you."
Robert realised that his hand was still intertwined with Cecily's. She was not wearing gloves. In fact, he was becoming increasingly aware that she was dressed in nothing but a long, white nightgown.
"Do you hate me?" he asked, through a mouth which had suddenly gone dry. Cecily did not answer. "Would it betray your family so deeply to tell me what your feelings are?"
"It is not that I lack the courage to answer. It is simply that I do not know what to tell you." She tore her hand back from his, the fist clenching in frustration. "I am so confused!"
"Perhaps I can straighten things out for you." Robert took her hand back, stroked it gently, and, before he could really think about what he was doing, he dropped down to one knee.
"I was right," Cecily gasped. "You have lost your mind."
"No. Say rather that I have found the only thing in this world that truly makes any sense." Robert pressed her hand to his lips. Her skin was warm. "Lady Cecily, would you do me the honour –"
"Don't ask me!"
He met her eyes, wide and glimmering like two sapphires in the darkness. "I cannot stop myself. To deny my feelings for you would take more strength than I have within me."
Cecily dropped to her knees as well, not caring that the mud would stain her nightdress, and pressed a hand to his cheek. "If you ask me, we will both be ruined," she whispered.
"Marry me."
"No." But everything about her – the clasp of her hand, the adoration in her eyes, the half-open tremble of her lips – was saying yes.
Robert did not drop her gaze. He had the sudden dizzy feeling that this was the most important moment of his life. Cecily might either destroy his hopes or make him happy forever. It all hinged on what he chose to say next. "I have not been mistaken. I know that you feel something for me, Cecily."
She closed her eyes in agony. "If I could only make you understand the depths of my feelings, perhaps you would leave me alone."
"Marry me."
"I cannot!" Cecily wrenched herself away from him and sprang to her feet. Robert pushed himself up and caught her by the wrist before she could run away. The moment he touched her, Cecily ceased her flight and became soft, pliable, willing to be swept into his arms and soundly kissed.
"Our families will tear each other apart," she protested. Robert kissed her. Before long, Cecily's arms were around him again, pulling him closer even as she tried to whisper fresh protests. His lips made their way down her slender neck until her whispers turned to sighs of delight.
"You will have your way," he said to her, still holding her body close against his. He could feel every sweet inch of her, and it made it too easy to forget the risk of discovery. It was all he could do not to pin her against the wall and let his passion lead where it would. "I will not marry you until our families are reconciled."
Cecily gazed up at him with such overwhelming trust that Robert almost regretted his words. He had no plan to ease their fathers' enmity. He only knew that to leave Cecily without hope for the future would be a wrench he could not bear.
"It seems an impossible situation," she said. "But I once thought it was impossible that I should ever have the chance to marry a man I desired – and yet…"
"And yet here we are."
"If we put our minds together, we are sure to find a way to bring our families back together," said Cecily. "The Duke of Beaumont was right. Our fathers tell two opposing stories of how our ancestors hurt one another. They cannot both be true. We must work to uncover what really happened, and prove it as well as we can. Then, all that will be required is for the family in the wrong to apologise to the other, and matters will be settled." At the sound of rustling leaves from the garden, she glanced about fearfully.
"There is nothing there," said Robert, turning her face back towards him for another kiss. Cecily held back.
"It is too dangerous for you to stay here. You must go."
"When will I see you again?"
"In the middle of Scarcliffe Forest, on my father's side of the river, there is an ancient oak which stands in a clearing. It is but a short way north of the bridge. Do you know it?"
Robert could not help but smile. "I am not so bold as you, my Cecily. I have never ventured to trespass onto Balfour land before now. But I will find it."
"Tomorrow, then – or, failing that, the next day the sun is shining. I will meet you there at noon."
"And may I write to you?"
Cecily's eyes narrowed. "You may write to me once I have accepted your offer of marriage. Not before."
Robert pulled her in closer, so that every curve of her body pressed into him, deliciously clear through the thin fabric of her nightgown. "I was not aware that we were going about this in a prim and proper fashion."
"You brute!" cried Cecily, but she was laughing – and behind the laughter in her eyes was something more. A spark of desire he had not seen before, but which he fully intended to kindle to a flame. "Let me go!"
"Is that what you really want?"
Cecily's fingers caught in his hair as she rose up on tiptoe to place a single, chaste kiss on his lips. "Until tomorrow, yes. I truly want you to leave. Get back to Scarcliffe Hall, and safety. I will not be satisfied until I know you are gone."
"And I will not be satisfied until I see you again."
Cecily sighed, her eyes fluttering downwards in what Robert had come to recognise as a sign of her happiness. "Go! Everything in me wants you to stay, but you must go before someone discovers us!"
As Robert relinquished her, he felt a strange pull within his chest. Half his heart had stayed in Cecily's arms.
"Wait!" she cried, as he turned towards the darkness of the forest beyond the garden. Robert looked back.
"You must take this," said Cecily, pulling a ring from her finger and folding it into his hand. Robert held it up to the moonlight.
It was the Balfour crest set with twin rubies.
"I ought to be giving you a ring," he commented, about to hand it back to her. "Not the other way around."
"It is the symbol of my trust in you," Cecily insisted, refusing to take it. "When I found that ring, I thought it proved you were my enemy. Now, I know that is not so. Keep it, and remember me."
"As if I could possibly forget you!" Robert slipped the ring onto his little finger. He would have to find some secret way to wear it. A chain around his neck, perhaps. Yes. It would be just right to have the emblem of Cecily's affection hanging beside his heart.
"The ancient oak," he promised her. "North of the woodland bridge. Tomorrow. Midday."
"You will be there?"
"Nothing could induce me to fail you."
Cecily blew him one last kiss and turned and disappeared back into the house. Robert followed her example, and ran as quickly as stealth allowed back towards the woods, where Thunder was tied to a tree.
He was so light-headed with joy that he wondered whether his head had really taken a knock when he fell from the balcony.
Cecily was his. Oh, she might not wish to admit it. She might make as many protestations about waiting as she liked. But she had called him the man she desired. She longed for him just as painfully as he longed for her.
As Robert let Thunder pick his careful way through the dark woods, he kept the hand with the ring clasped into a tight fist against his chest. That ring was now the most precious thing in his possession.
A position soon to be usurped by Cecily herself.