Bedroom games? Was that how all husbands and wives referred to sexual congress? Cecily suspected not. The Duke had beenimplying something more than merely producing heirs, and this was beyond the limits of her knowledge and experience.
With equal trepidation and desire, she acknowledged that he was right in his assessment of her. She could not quite imagine what games he intended to play with her, but she longed for them anyway, sensing the enjoyment he mentioned but somehow fearing it as well.
“I will go through Mary’s letters and address book again,” she told her grandmother, then hurried upstairs.
Punctuated by painfully awkward and ill-tempered meals with her uncle and grandmother, Cecily worked steadily and unobtrusively on her plans for the rest of the slow-moving day.
“Yes, Miss Cecily?” asked the young maid who answered the summons of her bell pull shortly after luncheon, her too-curious eyes taking in the items Cecily had laid on her bed.
“Please put my cloak downstairs in the boot room, Betsy, on one of the pegs at the end where it’s easy to find. I may want to walk in the garden after dinner, and it looks like it is going to rain. I’m busy sorting my old clothes now so I can get rid of them.”
It seemed a sensible and credible explanation.
“Very good, miss. Are you really giving those away? They are lovely silks, and I thought you only got the green one this year.”
Cecily hesitated, conscious of the risk of tripping up on her own lies.
“Ah, no.” She made herself laugh. “These are the clothes I’m keeping, Betsy. I’m putting them aside on the bed and giving away the ones left in my wardrobe. In fact, you may have any of my old clothes you like once I’m done, if Lord Holt allows you. They’re no use to me and will fit you better than any of the other maids.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Cecily!” Betsy responded delightedly, before rushing away to do Cecily’s bidding.
Unlike Mary, Cecily would not be fleeing this house empty-handed. While her instinct was to trust the Duke of Greyhaven, regardless of his eccentricities, if he did let her down, she was determined not to be left without recourse.
She had therefore evaluated the importance and worth of her personal belongings, setting aside those that would be best sold or pawned, from silk dresses and barely worn shoes to her mother’s pearls, the only jewelry her grandmother allowed her to keep in her room. It was quite true that what was left behind would be of no use to her.
When the clock read quarter to ten, and the house seemed quiet, Cecily stripped both sheets from her bed and laid them on the floor. Piling her selected belongings between the two, she wrapped and tied them into two bundles and then prepared to creep downstairs.
Lady Holt had retired early, and Lord Holt had already drunk himself into a semi-stupor over dinner. Still, Cecily knew there could be servants around the house. Her foresight was wise, for she encountered Betsy again almost immediately, snuffing out the last of the candles in the hallway.
“I’m just putting these in the laundry room, Betsy,” Cecily said very quietly and calmly. “You can go to bed when you’re done here.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and continued her task, ignoring Cecily as she walked away toward the servants’ quarters, her soft shoes making no sound on the tiled floor. Passing the laundry, Cecily paused at the boot room and lifted the plain dark cloak from its hook.
Donning cloak and hood, she quietly slipped outside, closing the back door with infinite care before repeating the process at the back gate. As she stepped into the street and began to walk away from the house where she had spent most of her life, she hoped she looked like just another maid carrying laundry.
A carriage was waiting for her around the corner as promised, with two fine black horses snorting impatiently in their harnesses. The silent driver only acknowledged her with a nod as he got down to open the door into the unlit vehicle and help with her bundles. She wondered what the Duke had told the man about his errand tonight.
For a moment, with her foot on the step, she felt like Persephone going down into the underworld with Hades, but then shereminded herself that she was doing this of her own free will and that she was doing it for Mary.
Climbing inside without further hesitation, she settled back into the comfortable velvet seats and closed her eyes. It was done now and could not be undone.
A few moments later, with no noise beyond the clip-clop of hooves and rolling of wheels, the black carriage set off into the night, for better or worse, taking her to the Duke of Greyhaven.
* * *
The carriage first stopped at Greyhaven House, and the Duke himself opened the door and stepped inside, taking the seat opposite her. No torches flickered at the front door tonight, and in the dimness, she could only see his tall, dark figure.
His scent was already familiar to her, but her nose instantly recalled that faint woody cologne on warm male skin from when he had stood so close and taken her hands in his that afternoon. Breathing it in again made her feel restless and impatient, as if she were waiting for something and could not quite have it.
“Good evening, Miss Holt,” the Duke greeted her in a low voice as the carriage set off again. “I was right not to doubt your courage, nor your resourcefulness.”
“Good evening, Your Grace,” Cecily returned in an equally low voice. “I do not go back on my word, as I hope you will not go back on yours.”
He laughed a little as his eyes adjusted and he made out the two bundles on the seat beside her.
“Let me assure you that the Duchess of Greyhaven will have all her needs provided for,” he said, his low voice resonating in her chest.
“I am not yet the Duchess of Greyhaven,” Cecily pointed out. “I will not be until we find Mary and she is safely married.”
