Page 23 of An Accidental Elopement

Cecilia jumped in the chair when Archie knocked on her door. At least she heard him this time. She watched with her heart in her throat as he opened the door and slowly made his way towards her. His movement and his gaze seemed more like ones that a man nearing a wounded animal that he feared might harm him would have. She tried to tuck the corners of her lips up in the semblance of a smile but was not certain she succeeded.

“Cecilia,” he said gently as he reached her and crouched in front of her. He slowly reached for one of her hands, looking into her eyes the entire time as if to see whether his gesture was too forward. He was probably afraid that she was going to burst into tears again.

She let him take her hand and looked at his dark blue eyes. She had wanted to swim in those eyes, disappear in them, and as she watched them now with all the care and worry they displayed, she still did. But she also knew that she needed to guard herself, guard her heart as much as possible. Because if she did not, it would destroy her when he tired of her and found a mistress.

“We can stay in your room tonight if you prefer that,” he said gently.

Cecilia shook her head.

“No, the scent of perfume is still quite heavy in here; it is giving me a migraine,” she told him.

He nodded and slowly rose. He was still holding her hand and unhurriedly dragged her to her feet. She followed him as he slowly walked into his own room and closed the door behind them.

“I’ve had some liqueur brought up if you want a drink. I think it’s blackcurrant.” He paused for a moment as he stepped towards the side table with drinks. “I gathered yesterday that brandy is not your favorite.” It seemed it was meant as a joke, but it came out strained. The tension between was practically sliceable. Cecilia wanted to relieve it, but it seemed the only way to do that was to sleep with him and she was not certain whether she could do it.

Archie handed her the delicate glass with the deep red blackcurrant liqueur and gently maneuvered her towards one of the chairs in front of the fire. Cecilia sat tentatively on the edge of it and carefully sipped the liqueur. It was sweet and fruity with only the slightest hint of alcohol when she swallowed it.

“This is dangerous,” she murmured while studying the thick liquid in the beautiful glass with flower carvings on the side.

“Dangerous?” Archie repeated, clearly perplexed by her statement.

“It’s better than ratafia, certainly better than lemonade. I could easily become inebriated by this if I was not careful,” she confided in him and with the smile he sent her and the slight one she returned it almost felt as the time before they had married when they had just been talking.

Archie must be aware of it too because he started babbling quite uncharacteristically about how his mother had the liqueur made from bushes on the estate grounds and had given him a bottle last year.

“Blackcurrant is her favorite berry,” he ended the tale and Cecilia could not help but smile broader. She had finished the glass and Archie gestured to her for a refill.

She nodded and he gently took it from her hand, their fingers lightly brushing each other’s as he did. Cecilia felt a frisson down her spine and did not dare look into his eyes. The whole reason she had ended in this mess was that he was too attractive and charming. But the frisson also gave her hope that she might actually be able to go through with it tonight.

“You’re very fond of your mother,” she stated as he was walking back with their glasses. Each seemed to contain a bit more liquor than before, both his brandy and her liqueur.

“Aren’t we all?” he asked with a shrug that gave her the impression that he did not want to talk about it.

“Yes, well...” Cecilia avoided his gaze as she tried to choose the right words. It was not that she did not like her mother it was just... really nice not having to live with her. “I suppose one of the benefits of marriage – at least for a woman – is that you escape your mother.” It had sounded diplomatic to her own ears but as she heard Archie’s chuckle, she realized that it had not been.

“Your mother does not strike me as too horrible,” he quickly amended while trying not to smile.

“Oh, I shall invite her to stay for a month or two then. I’m certain she can help me redecorate the entire house in that time.”

She could tell by Archie’s expression that he was not certain whether it was a jest or not.

“Do not worry. I have no intention of inviting my mother to stay with us before I absolutely have to and I have no plans for redecorating either,” she quickly told him. Her hand had come to lay on his sometime when she was talking, and she could feel his warmth through the dressing gown and how his muscles twitched as his arm shifted slightly underneath her hand. For some reason the combination of those two sensations took her breath away and she immediately snatched her hand away and took a large sip of the liqueur.

“Well, I am glad you find the cottage to your liking,” he murmured while rubbing his arm absentmindedly.

A silence settled between them. Cecilia stared at the fire while trying to find a suitable topic for discussion. All she could think of was his nearness though and the fact that she both wanted to sleep with him and knew that if she did, she was certain that she would fall so completely that she was not certain how she would recuperate when he tired of her.

“Cecilia,” he asked gently, and his tone of voice and the pause after he said her name made her slowly turn her head to look at him. His deep blue eyes were regarding her with a questioning and concerned expression. “What happened last night?” His voice had become even gentler as he posed the next question.

Cecilia tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. She hastily downed the last of the liqueur while frantically trying to think of what to answer.

“I suppose I was more nervous than I thought,” was all she would allow herself to say.

“You must know that I will not hurt you. That it will only be pleasurable for you as well?” She nodded while he spoke and bent her head to study the rug under the chairs. An Aubusson if she was not mistaken, with a blue, green, and white pattern. Her cheeks already felt as if they were on fire. “You liked it when I kissed you, did you not?” Archie went on. His voice was gentle, but another note had entered it: uncertainty, if she was not mistaken, but that seemed ludicrous since Archie was the most self-assured man she knew. Perhaps apart from Mark Walfingham but she was not going to think about him now.

Archie knelt in front of her, his hands came to gently rest on her thighs just above her knees.

“You liked my kisses, did you not?” he repeated.