Return of the Viscount by Gayle Callen Page B

answered at once; she should have reassured him. But she kept staring at him, wondering why he wasn’t out shooting with Oliver.
    Lord Blackthorne’s frown could have frozen a winter pond. “Madam? Are you well?”
    â€œI’m—I’m fine,” she said, then cleared her throat. She refused to sound weak although, at that moment, her knees began to wobble. A strange little shiver seemed to work its way up her back until her neck ached. She put a hand there in distant wonder.
    â€œDamn, stay still,” Lord Blackthorne called.
    She swayed again, and Lady Stafford surged forward to grab her arm.
    Cecilia blinked at her. “I’m all right. Truly I am.”
    â€œYou are too pale, Lady Blackthorne,” the other woman said, not releasing her. “I think you should sit down.”
    Cecilia had no choice, as Lady Stafford and Talbot guided her backward until she sat on an overstuffed chair. She could hear her husband’s quick, uneven steps as he came down the marble staircase far too fast for a man with a cane.
    She looked up as he limped toward her. “I am well,” she said, unable to stop staring into his concerned face.
    Why had he been on the first floor near the maid? How could that slip of a girl have knocked over the bust? It had been created in homage to her distant great-grandfather, wreathed in jowls, as the man had been. The maid almost would have had to throw her shoulder against it and push.
    â€œMy lady?” Lord Blackthorne said, crouching before her chair. “Are you going to swoon?”
    She straightened her spine. “I do not swoon.”
    â€œI didn’t think so,” he said dryly. He glanced at Talbot, who stood on the other side of her. “What did you see?”
    Talbot licked his lips and spoke sincerely. “Nothing except the bust falling forward. And Lady Blackthorne—” He broke off, his eyes a bit wide.
    Cecilia touched his arm. “I will be fine. I’m simply in shock.”
    â€œNice of you to diagnose yourself,” Lord Blackthorne practically growled.
    Then he lifted up both of her arms and turned them over, examining them as if she were a doll. She tried to pull away, but he ignored her, taking her whole head in his hands and running his fingers along her scalp, dislodging strands of her hair.
    â€œI say!” she cried. “Is this necessary?”
    The three older women stood together in a little knot and gaped at Lord Blackthorne’s familiar handling of her.
    â€œI wanted to make sure you’re not bleeding.” He examined his bare hands. “No blood.”
    â€œI could have told you that. I felt nothing.”
    Nothing at all, except the surprise of seeing Lord Blackthorne right where the bust had been.
    â€œWhat did you see, my lord?” she asked.
    He grimaced. “Nothing. I’d greeted the maid as I passed, and then I heard the screams below.”
    She stared up at him, unable to look away. Twice since he’d arrived, accidents had almost harmed her—almost killed her.
    He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment. “I must have startled her. It’s not her fault.”
    Cecilia realized she could still hear someone sobbing. “Oh dear, I must go to Susan.”
    She tried to push past Lord Blackthorne, but he caught her shoulders. “Your devotion to your servants is admirable, Cecilia, but you are as white as a flag of surrender. You should rest.”
    Surrender? Hardly. “I’m fine.”
    He released her only to take her elbow until she was on her feet.
    â€œSusan?” Cecilia called.
    The sound of the maid’s name set off fresh wailing from the far side of the entrance hall. Mrs. Ellison, the tall, thin housekeeper with spectacles perched on her nose, stood beside Susan, the plump maid who huddled on her chair clutching her dust rag. Giant tears seemed to smear the freckles that dotted her face. Mrs. Ellison