Romancing Lady Cecily by Ashley March Page A

umbrella at her shoulder, then the sight of her servant three feet away, tucking a coin into his pocket. The footman met her gaze and lifted a brow. It wasn’t the first time he’d been bribed to leave her side, yet he never departed without her acquiescence.
    Cecily inclined her head.
    As he turned and marched off, heels splashing water with each step, the umbrella above her head lifted higher. Cecily forced her gaze from the blue waistcoat threaded with silver to the black cravat above, then finally to the face of the man she most dreaded to see. Baron Sedgwick.
    She jerked away, angling her chin so he wouldn’t be able to see the tears slipping hotly from beneath her lashes.
    A finger touched her chin, a slight caress made all the more sensual in its brevity. “Why are you crying?”
    â€œWhy are you here?” she returned, her voice slashing wildly, disguising her grief with anger. He always seemed to prowl on her weaknesses, always glimpsed the vulnerability she tried to keep hidden from others. But she didn’t know if she had the strength to push him away today, nor the will to battle wits with him.
    He gave a low chuckle, the sound slipping beneath the drum of the rain and seeping into her bones. It spread beneath her skin and ran through her blood, a comfort she’d rather have refused. “Dear kitten, I’m always here.”
    Yes, he was here. And Angela was gone.
    It was an uncharitable thought to have, to wish for him to be dead instead, and one she immediately regretted. She didn’t want him to die, but neither did she welcome this continual craving to crawl inside his coat and bury herself against him. Even now she desired him when she shouldn’t, when she wanted to surrender everything in grief for the loss of her closest friend.
    Cecily blinked the wetness from her lashes and met his eyes, black pools which haunted her dreams, though she would have far preferred them in her nightmares. “Leave me be,” she said, but her voice hitched in the middle and the last syllable ended with a whimper. She dropped her chin to her chest, her limbs shuddering from her attempt to not wail before him.
    â€œMy carriage is around the corner, away from prying eyes.” His voice was clipped, as if he disapproved of her show of emotion. His fingers—those which possessed such damning knowledge of the texture of her skin, the best paths to travel to elicit her sighs—they wrapped around her wrist and lifted her arm. The heat from his gloved touch enlivened every nerve just as the rain and cold had begun to numb her pain with a new sort of wretchedness. She hated him for it, for making her feel again.
    He pressed the handle of the umbrella into her hand. “I’ll walk ahead first. As soon as you see me round the corner, start following.” He paused, his thumb stroking idly across the ridges of her knuckles. “And Cecily?”
    She gripped the umbrella so tightly it shook. Raising her head, she glared at him. “Yes?”
    A narrow smile eased the warning in his voice. “Should more than two minutes pass before you come, know that I’ll return and carry you, your betrothal and your reputation be damned.”
    He strode away. While Cecily’s mind might have fantasized about rebelling, her feet obeyed him. They didn’t turn in the opposite direction and run after her servant but headed straight toward her downfall. The rain quieted to a patter above and her sobs grew in strength and frequency until, when she reached his carriage, they’d broken through the lump in her throat and issued forth in fractured, keening moans.
    He reached through the open door and pulled her inside, leaving the umbrella to clatter from her hand to the street below. The door closed and he gathered her onto his lap.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she whispered, burying her head in his neck and clutching at his shoulders. He pulled her away and framed her face