Nineteen
Cecelia’s father was determined to keep her away from Marcus, and he was doing everything he could to prevent them from spending any time alone. If he knew what they’d done at the cabin in the land of the fae, he wouldn’t be so set on his mission to keep them apart. Or perhaps he would. But he would also feel the need to choke the life from Marcus if he knew, so she supposed this was for the best.
Her father had walked her to her chamber after supper the night before, and she could have sworn she heard him pacing the corridor during the night. She’d never wanted anything more than to hold Marcus in her arms. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. She wanted to hold him between her thighs.
“If your face gets any rosier,” Lady Ramsdale chided from across the breakfast table, “we’ll have to douse you with water to cool you off.” She arched a brow at Cecelia. Luckily, they were the only two people in the room. Cecelia had risen early, hoping to see Marcus before anyone else got up. Or rather, before her father rose from bed. No one else seemed to mind the way they pined for one another. But her father had lost time to make up for, she supposed.
“Woolgathering,” Cecelia muttered at Lady Ramsdale.
“Must be some rather warm wool,” Lady Ramsdale shot back.
Cecelia choked on her tea.
“Oh dear, I didn’t mean to make you choke!” Marcus’s mother said.
Cecelia held up her hand. “It’s all right,” she sputtered. “You just surprised me.”
“Darling, I’m not so old that I don’t know what you’re feeling.” She looked at Cecelia over the rim of her teacup. “It certainly won’t hurt Marcus to wait for a fortnight.”
But what if it hurt Cecelia? “Yes, Lady Ramsdale,” she said. “I know.”
“Are you nervous at all about the wedding?” Lady Ramsdale asked.
Cecelia shook her head. “I am not at all anxious about that. I’m more anxious about our life after that.”
“What about it worries you, dear?” Marcus’s mother asked, putting her teacup down.
Cecelia shrugged. “Sometimes I worry about going from one world to another all the time. I almost think it would be better for me to give up my wings and come here. We could live a quiet life.”
“You will do no such thing,” Marcus said as he barreled into the room. He walked over and kissed Cecelia on the forehead. His lips were soft, and he ran a hand down her hair before he crossed to the sideboard and began to fill a plate with his breakfast. “In fact,” he went on to say, “I would give up the title before I would allow you to do something that ridiculous.”
“You would do that for me?” Cecelia asked.
“That and more,” he said, and he pulled his chair as close to hers as it could go. “I would go to the ends of the earth for you,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. His knee touched hers, the heat of it seeping through his trousers to warm her leg.
His mother sniffled across the table and dabbed at her eyes.
“I can’t imagine you without wings,” Marcus said. “Preposterous.”
“We already have enough magic between us, Marcus,” Cecelia said with a laugh.
“As long as we don’t have magic between us,” Marcus clarified. He motioned from her to him and back. “As in keeping us apart. I would give up this world in order for you to keep your magic.”
“You mean more to me.”
“Oh, I can almost see it now,” his mother said. “For his birthday, you’ll give him your wings in a box. And for your birthday, he’ll give you his ring.”
Cecelia looked down at the ring that his father had given him. The family crest. “That wouldn’t do either of us any good, would it?” she said with a laugh.
“So I suggest you adapt to going back and forth. Particularly now that you’re both going to be seated on the bench.”
“I still can’t get over that,” Cecelia said with a sigh.
“Does it intimidate you at all?” Lady Ramsdale asked.
Cecelia shook her head. “Not really. Maybe we can do some good. I don’t think anyone young has ever been in leadership. Not that I can remember.”
“You two will do wonderfully. Perhaps someday, humans who marry fae will be able to go back and forth at will. Even without sneaking into a painting.”
“Marriage equality is the first thing on my agenda. I aim to rewrite the Unpardonable Errors.”
Marcus looked deep into her eyes. “I plan to help you.”
“We’ll do it together.”
Marcus certainly hoped so. “Where is your father?” Marcus asked.
Cecelia shrugged. “I suppose he hasn’t risen yet. I’m not certain.”
“I thought I would wake up to find you tethered to his side for the next fortnight.”
Cecelia giggled. “So did I, honestly.”
Beneath the table, Marcus laid a hand on her knee, and she looked up at him, scolding him with her glance. But he didn’t even look at her. He continued to eat with his right hand, while the tip of his left index finger drew circles on her knee.
Cecelia worried she would grow as bright as an overripe tomato. She laid a hand on his and squeezed. But when she did, he looked down at her. His eyes held a promise. One she dearly hoped he would fulfill. Soon.
His mother jerked her from his gaze when she cleared her throat and said, “The two of you do know where babes come from, correct?”
Marcus choked on his eggs. “Mother!” he cried.
She held her hands up as though in surrender. “I’m just asking.” She laughed to herself. “Do I need to remind you that babes typically take nine months to grow before they’re born, and that the ton counts those months the way they count the money under their mattresses?”
Marcus didn’t say anything. But his cheeks were rosy, and his neck and the tips of his ears were just as colorful.
“Although, I will admit,” she said, “that you were special, Marcus. You only took seven months and then there you were.”
“Oh, dear God,” Marcus grumbled as he looked down at the table.
Cecelia clamped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing.
“I should go get your father and let him have this talk with you,” Lady Ramsdale said. She started to get to her feet.
“Please don’t,” Marcus cried.
His mother plopped back into the chair and laughed. “If you’re certain.” She heaved a sigh. “I didn’t get to be your mother for a long time, Marcus. So, let me be one now.” She leaned forward, her weight on her elbows, as though she wanted them to listen closely. “The ton can go to the devil,” she said.
Then she got up and started for the door. Finally, Cecelia might have a moment alone with Marcus.
“Thank you, Mother,” Marcus said.
Mr. Hewitt appeared in the doorway just as Lady Ramsdale was leaving. “Mr. Hewitt,” she cried. “I’m so glad I found you. I have an emergency with my rosebushes, and I was wondering if I could prevail upon you to help me.”
“Well, I…” he started, but he didn’t get to finish, because Lady Ramsdale just threaded her arm through his and led him away, chattering like a magpie all the way.
“I think your mother just gave us permission to… you know.”
“I don’t want to talk about my mother,” Marcus groaned, and he took Cecelia’s face in his hands. His lips touched hers, his tongue licking over and into her mouth. Cecelia’s breath rushed from her body, and she found it difficult to get it back. “I need you,” he said. “Your father caught me in the corridor last night when I was trying to come to see you.”
“I thought I heard a commotion out there,” she said. “What happened?”
“He threatened to chop off my head. And my manhood.” Marcus shivered dramatically. “And I believed him.”
“He likes you.”
“He might like me, Cece, but he loves you. We became good friends through his recovery, but I’ll never surpass you in his heart. He’d sooner kill me than allow me to harm you.” He looked into her eyes. “Or bed you.”
Marcus glanced toward the door. “How long do you think we have before they come back?” He grinned, his eyes twinkling.
“Not long enough for what you want to do,” she said, laughing.
“At this point, I don’t think it would take me very long.”
“I vaguely remember it not taking you very long that first time. In fact,” she held up a finger, and he stopped her by kissing the tip of it.
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned.
She leaned closer to him. “I like that I can do that to you,” she said quietly. Then she licked her lips.
“Don’t do that,” he ground out.
“Do what?” she asked, but a grin tugged at her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She inched her hand toward the fall of his trousers.
“Don’t touch me,” he warned. “If you do, that same thing might happen again.”
He reached down and began to ruck her gown up in his fist, raising it higher and higher. The servant had vacated the room when she and Marcus had started kissing, thank goodness, because she wasn’t about to stop Marcus. When he had her gown gathered in his fist, he bent down, his breath heavy against her neck as he breathed, “Open up for me.”
His hand slid up the inside of her thigh. “Please touch me,” she begged, reaching for his shoulder to steady herself.
His hand was almost to the center of her, which was throbbing and aching for him, when loud laughter from the corridor made him jerk back, pull her skirt down, and sit up. He filled his mouth with egg, and she reached for her teacup, but her hand was too shaky to lift it.
“I don’t know if I can wait a fortnight,” he growled.
“Oh, I am sure they’re in the breakfast room,” his mother said loudly. “They have a servant with them, so I’m not worried,” she went on to reassure Cecelia’s father, he supposed. The servant entered through the rear door and positioned himself beside the sideboard. He looked like he wanted to grin. But he composed himself.
“I do love your mother,” Cecelia said.
“She’s very good at what she does,” Marcus said with a laugh.
If he wanted her nearly as much as she wanted him, he was sorely in need of attention. “I could sneak out tonight and come to you,” Cecelia said.
“He’ll hear you,” Marcus grumbled.
Cecelia heaved a sigh. They were doomed to wait a fortnight.
***
If Marcus got any harder, he would never be able to get up from the table. Even the servant shot him a sympathetic glance.
His mother made some more noise, and Marcus moved his chair back from Cecelia’s so that their legs weren’t touching beneath the table. To suit her father, he really should go sit on the other side of the table, but he couldn’t get up right now if he wanted to.
“I think your mother is choking to death in the corridor,” Cecelia laughed.
“She’s giving us fair warning,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes.
“If she hadn’t, they’d have walked in while your hand was up my dress,” she whispered, her face coloring prettily. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her until they were both naked and breathless and he was inside her.
“Bloody hell,” he groaned to himself.
“Might I suggest thinking about the ice sculptures your mother will buy for the wedding dinner, Mr. Thorne?” the servant said.
He motioned the servant forward. “Take Miss Hewitt’s plate over to the other side of the table, would you?” he grunted.
“Yes, Mr. Thorne,” the footman said with a smile.
Cecelia grumbled, but she went. The footman arranged her plate across from Marcus, and that was when her father and his mother walked back into the room.
“I’m so sorry,” his mother was saying. “I thought the roses needed some attention, but the gardener must have gotten to it before we got there. I regret wasting your time.”
“No harm done,” Mr. Hewitt said. He narrowed his eyes at Marcus. “Everything going well, Marcus?” he asked.
Well, I had my hand up your daughter’s skirt and you almost caught me, but aside from that… “Wonderfully,” Marcus said. “Did you sleep well?”
Mr. Hewitt arched a brow at Marcus. “Aside from a disruption or two.”
Marcus nodded.
“I hope we won’t have the same interruptions tonight,” Mr. Hewitt warned.
Marcus heaved a sigh. “Certainly not.”
Marcus would go mad before he got to hold Cecelia in his arms again.
“Certainly not,” Mr. Hewitt repeated.
His mother broke into their head-butting. “Cecelia, I thought you and I might be able to go shopping today.” Her eyes sparkled at Cecelia. His mother was up to something. He just didn’t know what.
“Of course,” Cecelia said. “When do you want to go?”
“Claire and Sophia are coming. We can go when they get here.” She winked at Cecelia.
Cecelia looked up at Marcus, a question in her eyes.
***
Cecelia wasn’t at all certain what was going on, but something was. Lady Ramsdale came to collect her, and they climbed into the carriage. “Where are we going?” Cecelia asked as she settled back against the squabs.
“We’re going shopping,” Lady Ramsdale chirped. She looked at Claire and Sophia and raised her brow. “You’re going to see Marcus.”
“What? I don’t know what you mean.”
Claire pushed back the curtain that covered the window, and there stood a painting. It was a beautiful painting of a small meadow. A tree stood in the corner, and a small stream meandered across the field. A blanket lay nestled in the tall grass with a basket of food beside it. “Marcus is waiting for you in there,” she said.
“He is? How did you?” Cecelia sputtered.
“Dear God,” Lady Ramsdale said, throwing her head back. “If I have to wait a fortnight for you and Marcus to spend time together, it’s going to be like talking to a bear. A big one. One that will bite my head off at every turn.”
“He’s not that bad,” Cecelia groused. He kind of was. Or she could imagine he would be. And she was dying to see him alone. She’d missed him so.
“Why are you really doing this?” she asked.
Lady Ramsdale wiped beneath her eyes. “I remember what it’s like to be young and in love. Embrace it, Cecelia.”
Sophia and Claire looked on sympathetically. Then Claire gave her a nudge. “He’s waiting for you.”
“We can’t give you very long,” Lady Ramsdale warned. “So spend your time wisely. We’ll collect you in four hours. Then I have to deliver you back to your father.” She looked out, her eyes dreamy. “You can take a long walk by the stream. You can sit beneath the shade of that tree. You can talk for four whole hours.” She grinned.
“Or you can just make love for four hours,” Sophia said, her voice bland. “Though it’s rather wretched sounding, and it makes me want to cast up my accounts. So, if that’s what you’re doing, I don’t want to know about it when you come back.”
“As if they would do anything else,” Claire said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.
“This is a bit awkward,” Cecelia said, hanging her head.
“He loves you. You love him. Enjoy your time together. Because you’re not likely to get any more.”
Claire held out her hand, and Cecelia dropped to her knees, ready to crawl into the painting.