Eight
Cecelia sat down on the garden bench and tugged her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. The night air was chilly, and her heart felt even colder. She’d made a mistake in letting Marcus kiss her. She should have soundly trounced him, rather than ever letting his lips touch hers.
She’d dreamed of another kiss for as long as she could remember. And it had been all she’d expected it to be. It was all she could think about. After dinner, she’d made her excuses, claiming to be tired. But she really just needed some time alone. She’d put a candle in her window to summon Milly and walked into the garden to wait for her to appear.
Cecelia sat back and looked up at the stars. They seemed brighter at home, although she knew these were exactly the same as the ones she’d looked at her whole life.
She took a deep breath. She’d gotten herself into a perfectly wretched position.
“That kiss in Paris was beautiful,” a voice said from behind her.
Cecelia closed her eyes and wished for Marcus to go away. She didn’t want to face him right now. “A gentleman would never discuss such things,” she scolded.
Marcus chuckled and dropped onto the bench beside her. “It’s a good thing I’ve never been a gentleman then, isn’t it?” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between his parted thighs. “Did it mean anything to you?” he asked, not looking at her. His hair was unbound and curled around his face. He was so handsome when he was unguarded like this. Like he was at home. Perhaps this was home now?
“I never know what to expect when I go on a mission,” Cecelia said with a shrug.
“Stop being obtuse,” he chided. “You know I’m not referring to the mission.” He still didn’t look at her. He looked at everything else.
“Marcus.” She sighed.
He leaned back, put his arm behind her on the back of the bench, and then slid over so that his thigh touched hers. “How many nights have we spent beneath the stars like this?” he asked.
“One too many, if you count tonight,” she said, her tone purposefully caustic. She tugged her shawl from beneath his thigh.
He sat quietly for a moment. “What will it take?” he asked.
“For what?” She knew what he was referring to. But oblivion was so much easier.
“For you to forgive me.” He didn’t elaborate. He just looked into her eyes. His were black in the darkness of the night.
Cecelia groaned, flinging her head back in frustration. She sat back up and said, “You’re forgiven.” If what he wanted was absolution, then maybe now he would go away.
“I’m going to tell you something that you might not like,” he warned.
“How will that be any different from a normal day?” she asked.
“I am very angry at you for not accepting me.”
Cecelia’s back straightened. “What right do you have to be angry?”
He laughed, but it was a sound with no mirth. “None, apparently. But I’m still hurt by it.” He was suddenly, clearly serious. “I always thought it would be me and you until the end of time.”
“Things change when time and space separate people.”
“Things don’t change that much,” he ground out.
Marcus didn’t know about her mother’s death. He didn’t know about her father’s problem with drinking too much. He didn’t know that her father needed her until he could heal. He didn’t know anything about her obligations. “You have no idea,” she finally said.
His brows rose and his eyes flashed. “Beg your pardon?”
“We were once fated for marriage. But things change. They change in irrevocable ways.” Her voice rose. But she didn’t care. “I believe you weren’t in a rush to marry me because you knew I’d always be there. That I was yours for the taking. That I would go wherever you led and do whatever you want to do. I was easy. So, you just didn’t care to try.”
He made a noise at the back of his throat. “I can assure you that nothing with you has ever been easy. Including this.”
She snorted. She couldn’t help it.
“When you loved me, I threw it all away. But some day, you’ll love me again.”
“I can’t, Marcus,” she said. “You didn’t care enough.”
“No one will ever care more than me. Not even him.”
“Him who?”
“See,” he laughed. “You don’t even care enough to know his name. Yet you’ve promised to marry him?”
“Oh, him,” she said. “I didn’t understand what you were saying.”
“Who is he?” Marcus tensed, his back straight.
“He’s no one.” She heaved a sigh.
“He’s someone if you’ve promised your life to him,” Marcus mumbled.
“Oh, good Lord,” Cecelia said, getting to her feet. “Will you stop it? Envy is not a pretty color on you.”
“Get used to it. Because I’ll wear it as long as you’re promised to someone else.” He stood up and got close to her, so close that she had to take a step back. But he just followed. “I will never stop. I will chase you until I can’t chase you anymore.”
“I don’t want to be chased,” she whispered.
“You want to be married. And to have children. And to have a home of your own.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “You want me.”
She shook her head. This was going nowhere. “I’m going to bed.” She pushed past him toward the garden gate.
Marcus spun to chase her. “Tell me who he is.” He tugged gently on her elbow.
“Who?”
“The man who will keep you from me.”
He was never going to let this rest, was he? Ever. Cecelia squeezed her eyes closed. “There is no one, all right?” she cried. Her voice broke, and she hated herself for it. But the subterfuge wasn’t fair to either of them.
“What?” He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up there in the darkness of the night. “There is no one else?”
Cecelia steeled herself with a fortifying breath. “No. I just told you that to make you leave me alone.”
Talking about her father hurt too much. She didn’t have to tell him about that yet, did she?
***
He would never, ever, ever leave her alone. Not now. Not a chance. “I’ll never leave you again,” he promised. Hope bloomed within him.
“I haven’t said I’ll accept you back in my life,” she warned, holding up a finger to stay him.
He smiled. He couldn’t help it. “You lied to me about your availability.” The joviality in his voice made his comments sound like a song.
She blew a lock of hair from her forehead with an upturned breath. “And I’m pretty sure you lied too,” she said. She looked away, suddenly appearing uneasy. “How many women have there been since you’ve been here, Marcus?” she finally asked. “I have a right to know.”
A laugh bubbled up within him, but he tamped it down. “There’s only you, you ninny,” he said, flicking his finger against the tip of her nose. “How could I possibly be with another when you’re all I can think about?”
Marcus drew her into his arms, with her protesting all the while. He laughed at her reticence, but he needed to hold her. “You had better not be lying,” she murmured against his chest. “I will find out if you are.”
“Cece,” he said. He didn’t know how to tell her everything that was in his heart. But he felt it was imperative that he try.
“Let me show you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial of faerie dust. He tilted it back and forth in his hand, and Cecelia watched the glow of the flakes. He dumped a lump of it into his palm and blew it into the air. He said the words, “Show my love my heart.”
The dust began to swirl and formed a picture of Marcus with his ring on the day his father gave it to him. The words “faith,” “trust,” and “honor” appeared in the apparition. But then they were replaced by sorrow. Sorrow, despair, and dissatisfaction trumped happiness, and the second words gobbled up the first in their greedy jaws. Marcus wiped a tear from the corner of Cecelia’s eye. He swiped a hand through the dust and it dissipated, falling to the floor of the garden like sparks from the grate. Dust didn’t lie. He’d been as torn in two as she had over their separation.
“I had a lot to think about when I first came here.”
“Your sisters?” she asked.
Yes, he’d had to get his sisters out of one scrape or another. But then he’d gone home and his grandfather had died. And he’d taken some part of Marcus with him. “My sisters, and then my parents.” He’d wanted so badly to have parents. “I felt like I needed to make them love me, since they hadn’t done so my whole life. And I worried that the only way to do that was to dedicate myself to their way of life.” He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s the crux of it. And I’m sorry.”
She said something quietly against his chest.
“What was that?” he asked, pulling back from her.
She looked up at him, her blue eyes like limpid pools he could fall into. “I am not ready to forgive you yet.”
“My father warned me that you wouldn’t be so easy to sway.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “You talked to your father about us?”
“Who else am I going to talk to? Allen? He’d just as soon take you from me as help me.”
“Allen’s not so bad.” She took his hand and led him back to the bench. She sat down and pointed to her lap. “Come on. Put your head here.” She motioned him forward with wiggly fingers.
Oh, thank heavens. He could breathe again. He stretched out on his back and laid his head in her lap. The firmness of her thigh made him feel like he was coming home. She didn’t put her hands in his hair right away, and he needed for her to touch him. He wouldn’t feel complete until she did.
“Tell me what it was like for you when I left,” he said. He might as well hear it. He would have to hear it so he could help her get past it, because the fact that she wasn’t touching him, aside from letting his head lie in her lap, was telling. She still had some reservations.
“Someone took away my best friend,” she said. “Only it wasn’t like he was stolen. It was like he ran away from me. He went as quickly and as far away as he could. He went to a different world. I had no one to tell my secrets to. No one to tell me ridiculous tales just to make me laugh. No one to talk to about the horrible happenings in my life…” Her voice tapered off.
“My tales are not ridiculous,” he grumbled playfully. He lay on his back and looked up into her blue eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Her hand finally lifted, as though of its own accord, and she began to slowly run her fingers through his hair. “Perhaps someday,” she said, but a smile broke across her face.
He snorted. “I don’t expect you to make it easy.”
Her eyes met his. “I’d say I’ve made it pretty easy so far.”
“So,” he prompted, “there was no one else back home who took your attention?”
She looked away from him for a moment, so he jostled her arm. She looked down at him and lightly tapped his forehead. “Be quiet and look at the stars,” she said.
“I’d so much rather look at you,” he breathed, cupping her cheeks with his hands. She looked into his eyes, her hair falling around her face. He brought a lock of it to his nose and sniffed it. She smelled like sunshine. She always had.
“Stop looking at me,” she groused, but she turned her head and kissed the palm of his hand. The heat shot straight to his groin, and he raised a knee in hopes she wouldn’t notice how she affected him.
“Cece,” he whispered.
“What?” she whispered back dramatically.
“I want to kiss you,” he said softly.
“You already did that,” she replied just as quietly.
“I want to do it again and again, until I get it right.”
“I’d say that last kiss was right.” Her skin flushed and she closed her eyes.
“I was afraid I would do it wrong,” he confessed. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you in the ballroom. And every day before that. Every day we’ve been apart.”
“That kiss was a welcome surprise,” she admitted. “But you didn’t give me much of a choice.”
“We can practice,” he suggested, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Maybe,” she said with a wistful sigh.
“Maybe?” Certainly she wasn’t serious.
“I think this courtship thing is supposed to go slowly.”
If it went any more slowly, Marcus would lose his mind. He’d tasted her. He’d finally kissed her and had her back in his arms. And now she wanted to go slowly. “How slow?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Perhaps I should ask your mother how things are done here.” She laughed. “Though perhaps not about kissing specifically.”
“Are you serious? My mother would be overjoyed that I’m kissing you.” He pulled her hand down to lie flat on his chest and covered it with his. Her fingers played in his hair. “She helped me make a list of things I could do to win you back.”
“And just what was on this list?”
“I’ll never tell.”
She slapped his chest. “Tell me!” she cried.
“I may need to use that list in the future,” he said with a laugh. “In the odd instance that I make you angry at me.”
“I would say that’s a given,” she warned.
“You won’t leave me, will you?”
She quieted for a moment. “Will you leave me?”
“Never again,” he swore.
“Promise?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“I swear on my life.” He sat up and turned to her, sliding as close as he could without pulling her inside him. He tugged her legs over his lap and turned her to face him.
“Marcus,” she complained.
Her skirt showed her trim, silk-clad ankle, and Marcus moved to toss her dress back down. “I’ll never make it to the reading of the banns,” he swore.
“What?” Her brows drew together.
“In this world, you have to declare your intent to marry. And there’s this thing called ‘the reading of the banns’ that takes three weeks. If you don’t want to wait, we can get a special license.”
“Did I say I would marry you?” she teased.
“I’ll drag you kicking and screaming to Scotland and marry you over an anvil if I have to,” he warned. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he cupped her cheek in his palm. “I think we should practice that kissing thing from earlier, just to be sure we did it right.”
His lips touched hers, and she sat forward to reach him. Marcus was almost certain he couldn’t do this wrong, but her response to him was a salve to his soul. She murmured against his mouth, and when he drew her bottom lip between his, she gasped and wrapped her arms around his neck, hitching herself higher into his lap.
***
Ronald stood in the foliage and looked everywhere but at Marcus and Cecelia. He kicked at a rock with the toe of his boot and started to walk away. But when he turned, he bumped directly into a body. A small body. One proportionally his size. One that smelled like violets. One that smelled like home. “Millicent,” he gasped. “What are you doing here?”
He hadn’t seen Milly in months, and by the look on her face, she didn’t intend to let him forget it. “Cece sent for me,” Milly admitted. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve brought a mission for Marcus. What kind of a mission are you on?”
“You know I can’t tell you,” she began.
“You know you will,” he cajoled, stepping closer to her. He reached out to touch her, and she swayed toward him. “Are you well?” he asked. He lowered his hand just before he embarrassed himself and brought the gnome to rest in his arms. “Tell me,” he prompted.
“It has to do with her father.”
“Is he unwell?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Will it ruin Marcus?” Ronald asked.
Milly put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You worry about your family, and I’ll worry about mine,” she snapped.
“Milly,” he cajoled. “They just found their way back together.” He pushed the foliage to the side. “Look at them.”
Marcus and Cecelia were locked in a passionate embrace. “Go and get your faerie, will you?” Milly asked. “I need to take mine with me.” She shot him a glance. “In other words, get yours off mine.”
Ronald would have liked nothing more than to have his whatever on hers. But he assumed she meant Marcus and Cecelia. He wouldn’t separate them. Not right now.
“I won’t like what you’re planning to do, will I?” he asked.
“You won’t like it at all,” she said with a heavy sigh.
“There’s no way around it?”
“None.”
“Will she be coming back?”
“I know not the future,” she said softly.
He reached out and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb along the back of it. “When can I see you again?”
She shook her head. She nodded toward Marcus and Cecelia. “I’ll come back for her later.”
“Please don’t.”
“I can’t help it. She’s my family. I have to take care of her. The Trusted Few have called.”
“She better be here when he wakes up tomorrow,” he growled.
“We shall see,” she breathed.
“Young love,” he said with a laugh that sounded forced, even to his own ears.
“I don’t remember what that’s like,” Milly whispered.
Ronald did. He turned to pull Milly to him, but she was gone.