Return of the Viscount by Gayle Callen Page A

our practical Lady Cecilia—pardon me, Lady Blackthorne.”
    â€œSo romantic,” Miss Jenyns said.
    Lord Blackthorne glanced at Cecilia, and with the slight arch of his brow, it was as if she could read his thoughts: I wrote romantic letters?
    â€œAnd there were so many men she could have chosen from,” Penelope spoke earnestly. “She’s been sought after since she came out of the schoolroom at seventeen. Oh, the proposals from besotted men—”
    She broke off when Cecilia stared pointedly at her. Lady Stafford lowered her amused gaze to the cake she nibbled, while Mrs. Webster regarded Penelope with fond exasperation.
    â€œThen I am lucky to have won Lady Blackthorne’s regard,” Lord Blackthorne said, setting down his teacup. “Ladies, I must take my leave. Lord Appertan is waiting for me in the park.”
    â€œHe told me you’re shooting together,” Penelope said. “He is quite the shot.”
    Lord Blackthorne nodded at her pleasantly enough, but Cecilia could only imagine that a trained soldier would be far superior. With the aid of his cane, he rose to his feet, then surprised her by lifting her hand to his lips.
    â€œHave a pleasant afternoon, my lady wife.”
    He spoke the words so close to her gloved hand that she could swear she felt the warmth of his breath through to her skin. His dark eyes met hers, and she couldn’t decide if he laughed at her or was trying to please her.
    She watched him as he limped across the room and out onto the terrace. When she turned back, all four ladies’ gazes were fixed on her with varying degrees of interest.
    â€œI knew he was romantic,” Miss Jenyns murmured.
    They only stayed for another half hour, but it felt interminable. Even Penelope abandoned her, saying she wanted to watch Oliver and Lord Blackthorne shoot. Her grandmother gave her permission, after reminding her they would be leaving soon.
    At last, Mrs. Webster said they had other calls to make and rose stiffly from the sofa, turning down Cecilia’s offer of assistance. Cecilia accompanied them to the entrance hall, where Talbot waited with their bonnets and wraps. He stood patiently as they adorned themselves, his gaze turned away with respect.
    Cecilia saw the change come over Talbot’s normally impassive face as he glanced up to the first floor, open to the hall below. To her shock, he cried, “Watch out!” dropped the garments, and launched himself at Cecilia, pushing her backward. She fell onto her backside and he tripped over her legs just as a bust that had sat upon the balustrade fell and cracked into a thousand pieces.
    Right where she’d been standing.

Chapter 7
    A fter the loud crash had settled into a frozen, shocked silence, Miss Jenyns screamed and covered her face. From her place on the floor, Cecilia vaguely heard people beginning to come to life all around her, the rustle of the ladies’ skirts, and the vague cries from other servants nearby, but she could only gape at the ruined bust shattered on the marble floor.
    â€œLady Blackthorne!” Talbot cried, crouching beside her in an undignified manner for the proper man. “Are you hurt?”
    â€œNo, no, I’m fine.” She let him help her to her feet and didn’t protest when he still clutched her elbow. “What happened?”
    â€œI do not know,” he said, looking bewildered. “Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement and realized something was falling.”
    When he looked up to the first-floor balustrade, she did the same. They both saw the head and shoulders of Susan, one of the upstairs maids, her cap askew as she gaped down at them between the giant potted ferns that framed the opening. Then she promptly burst into tears.
    â€œOh, Lord Blackthorne, I’m so sorry!” the girl wailed.
    Then Lord Blackthorne leaned over the balustrade at her side. “Is anyone hurt?”
    Cecilia should have