A little way along the corridor from the bedroom she was assigned, this bathing chamber was both larger and more luxurious than the one given to her and Mary in Holt House. They did not enjoy rose-scented soap, an extensive selection of sponges and brushes, or such soft, white towels either.
Swirling the scented water and breathing in the steam, Cecily felt her muscles finally relax and the urgency of Mary’s plight fade. There was, after all, nothing more she could do tonight. Thismoment of peace was likely only the calm in the storm, but it might be the only such moment she would get for a while, and she might as well enjoy it.
Despite trying to dispel the day’s confusion from her mind and the tension from her body, the perplexing Duke of Greyhaven kept returning to her thoughts.
What kind of man was he? She could not figure him out. She had even less understanding of his younger brother, Patrick, who could either be Mary’s salvation or her ruin.
Who are you, Nathaniel Winslow?
The name recalled dark, unruly locks, deep blue eyes, an insouciant manner, and a carelessness of dress that was close to indecent. His open shirt came back to her mind again, together with the sight of his bare chest beneath, strong, muscular and scattered with dark hair. What did the rest of his body look like, she wondered?
Shocked by her own curiosity, Cecily imagined the limbs that complemented such a chest and untidily handsome face. She supposed she would see all of him soon enough, and the thought made her hotter and more breathless than the comfortable bath could account for. Trying not to think of him only seemed to conjure him more vividly.
As time went on and the water cooled, she finally gave up trying to push the Duke out of her mind. Reluctantly, she climbed outof the bath, wrapped herself in a large towel, and walked into the dressing room where she had earlier left her clothes.
The dusty dress, petticoats, and stays were gone from the floor, along with her shoes and stockings. For a moment, Cecily stood there blinking, then realized that the maid must have briefly returned to the dressing room while she was splashing in the bath and had taken the clothes to either the bedroom or laundry.
She glanced at the bell pull, hesitant to disturb the servants at this hour or to have her own peace broken. She really wanted to be alone tonight.
Well, if she was unwilling to call for help, she would just have to walk back down the hallway to her room wrapped in a towel.
Setting her jaw firmly, she opened the door a crack and peered up and down. In the dim golden glow of the lamplight along the corridor, she saw no one, so she stepped out and stole back toward her room on her bare feet.
How many doors away is it? Four? five?
Cecily turned a handle and found a completely different empty room, its furniture covered with dust sheets and its darkness unlit beyond the candlelight in the hallway. She almost jumped upon seeing a flash of her own reflection in a mirror where the cover had fallen away.
This feels like being the heroine in a gothic novel, lost in some sprawling mansion, but at least they are always wearing more than a towel.
Beating a quick retreat back to the corridor, she tried the room next door, which did not even contain a bed.
Did I take the wrong direction from the bathing chamber?
Rushing back in the opposite direction, she tried again at the other end of the corridor, only finding locked doors. It was late, she was very tired, and any relaxation she had found in the warm water was now rapidly dissipating.
With hesitation, she turned a corner and saw another stretch of corridor ahead, lit by similar lamps and lined with similar doors.
What if she never found her room and ended up wandering here alone in a drying sheet all night? Worse still, what if there were other guests and she accidentally walked into someone else’s room while they were asleep?
Red-faced at the very thought, Cecily ran back in the opposite direction and turned the other corner, but everything looked so similar that she did not know where to begin.
Then, suddenly, heavy footsteps approached the corridor from somewhere, and a loud male voice sounded before she even saw the speaker.
“Miss Osborne, I told you to put her to bed hours ago… What in God’s name…”
“Oh!” Cecily gasped, almost mute with embarrassment at finding herself face-to-face with a first stern but then astonished-looking Duke of Greyhaven.
His appearance was as disheveled as ever, having discarded his jacket, stock, and waistcoat somewhere since she had last seen him. This time, being only in a towel, she knew she was in no position to criticize him.
“When I heard someone running about barefoot up here, I thought it must be Lilian again,” he remarked with an incredulous laugh. “You really are full of surprises, Miss Holt. First, I find you stealing food from the buffet at a musicale, and now you are wandering the halls of my house naked. Is there no end to your eccentricity?”
“I… It is not as it seems,” she managed to squeak. “I did not think…”
“I have no idea what it seems,” the Duke guffawed, seeming increasingly amused by the situation. “Are you perhaps trying to demonstrate how eager you are for me, even before our wedding?”
Even now, he seemed not to take their situation seriously.
“No! Oh, how can you… No gentleman would make such a jest,” Cecily gasped, astounded by the mere suggestion. “I came out of the bathing chamber, and I could not find my room, and I…”
