Lady Cecily And The Mysterious Mr Gray

‘Thank you.’

‘You are welcome, Lady Cecily.’

‘You disappeared after the breakfast. Where did you go?’

‘I am flattered you noticed.’

‘I believe Mr Markham remarked upon your absence.’ It was a lie, but she would not have him know she had been watching him. Or, in truth, been fascinated by him. ‘Is your...er...tribe staying hereabouts?’

‘No. I have come alone.’

‘So where did you go?’

He stepped back. ‘I am a free man. I go where I please.’

‘Of course you are. I apologise. I did not mean this to sound like an interrogation.’

He inclined his head, but said nothing further.

Cecily frowned. ‘You do not sound like a gipsy.’

‘And how should a gipsy sound, in your vast experience, my lady?’

She stiffened, her chin lifting, irritated by his readiness to take offence.

‘In my experience,’ she said, haughtily, ‘gipsies often speak with a foreign accent. I merely meant you sound as English as I.’

She swung his jacket from her shoulders and thrust it at him. ‘Thank you. I am warm enough now. I must return to the party.’

He reached and in one smooth movement took his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. He then grasped her hand before she could withdraw it, his warm fingers closing around hers.

‘I was born in England. And we prefer to call ourselves Romanies, or the Rom.’

It was not an apology, but she was mollified nevertheless. Mr Gray gave the impression of a man not given to apologies or explanations.

‘I shall endeavour to remember that,’ she said, by way of appeasement.

Although her brain instructed her to snatch her hand from his, she allowed it to remain—intrigued by the unexpected gentleness of his touch as he unhurriedly removed her evening glove, and strangely soothed by the caress of his thumb as it circled her palm.

‘And is your mind now trouble free?’ His intense gaze bored into her. ‘I watched you. In the church.’

His words reignited her fears for her future as she had watched Vernon and Thea exchange their vows and her inner turmoil erupted anew. She pressed her free hand to her belly in a futile attempt to calm her nerves.

‘And now I ask myself why the sister of a rich and powerful duke should have any reason to be unhappy.’

‘Unhappy?’

He shrugged, his thumb still circling her palm in that spellbinding way, and by concentrating on that motion her inner chaos subsided again. His free arm slid around her waist and his hand settled at the small of her back. With a gentle nudge, he turned her to continue to follow the path and she found herself walking side by side with Mr Gray away from the house and deeper into the garden, even though his palm was no longer at her back and he had at some point released her hand. Cecily swallowed.

I should not go with him. I really should not.

‘Walk with me. I will listen.’

He halted and so did she. He touched his finger to her chin...such a fleeting touch. ‘I will not judge.’

Then he began to stroll along the path again.

And so did Cecily.

Yet again, all the precepts of her upbringing screamed at her to return to the house. To surround herself with...normal...people. To do and behave as would be expected of her and as she expected of herself, as she had done her entire life. But the urge to unburden herself was stronger. There was nobody in her life she could confide in. Not about this.

Maybe...

She stole a glance at the man by her side. His expression gave away nothing of his thoughts, but it was relaxed. Not tense, closed off, secretive or eager, just...he was just...

He is present...neither planning tomorrow nor brooding over yesterday.

The words whispered out of nowhere and she recognised them as the truth. He was calm and unhurried. Not impatiently waiting for her to respond, like most men of her acquaintance would be—wanting to deal with whatever she was fretting about so they could then get on with their more important lives.

He is content to wait and for me to speak or not speak as I choose. What harm can there be? He is a gip—Romany—and in a few days I shall return to my normal life. Our paths will never cross again.

And, somehow, that freedom to choose, the magic of the night, the scent of the roses and Mr Gray’s calming presence combined to induce a trancelike state in which the normal rules by which Cecily always lived did not apply.

‘I was thinking about my future.’

‘And you see unhappiness ahead for you?’

‘I... Yes.’

Silence reigned.

‘My brothers’ marriages...so close together... I did not expect...’

Her throat tightened, holding her words inside. They had reached the end of the path, arriving at an open area paved with flagstones, bordered on the far side by a stone wall as high as a man, with an arched gateway. Cecily crossed the area to a raised pool set in the middle and gazed into the still, black water at the reflection of the moon—a silvery sphere that, as she trailed her fingers in the water, shimmered and danced. She turned to face Absalom Gray. Here was her opportunity to sort out her tangled thoughts and feelings—to speak her concerns out loud and to think over her choices for her future. Mr Gray remained at the edge of the square, but the weight of his gaze upon her made him feel closer. Gave a feeling of intimacy. Cecily took a breath.

‘I never expected my brothers to marry. Leo...he was married before and it was not a happy experience for him, although the marriage did give him two sons and a daughter.’ She paced across the square, and back again to the pool. ‘He is forty years old now and has been a widower for thirteen years. He has been pursued by endless females with the desire to be a duchess. I never...ever...’

‘You never expected he would fall in love?’

There was no condemnation in his tone, but she felt her defences rise up.

‘I am happy for him. I love my brother and I liked Rosalind from the moment I met her. We became friends. But... I was seventeen when Leo’s first wife died. I raised his children and I ran our household. And now...and now...’

* * *

Lady Cecily’s voice faded into silence and Zachary Absalom Graystoke waited, content to allow her to unburden herself in her own time, knowing she would feel better once she had released whatever was troubling her. He was happy to help this duke’s sister to face up to and resolve whatever was troubling her. Beyond that, he had no intentions. No ulterior motives. These people were as far removed from his life as it was possible to be. Facts were facts and a half-blood Romany was no more acceptable to the society in which the high-born Beauchamps moved than a full-blood Rom, no matter who his father had been.

Lady Cecily Beauchamp had fascinated him from the very first moment he set eyes upon her. She had arrived late in the church and had slipped into the back pew, next to him. Someone else had come in with her, sitting on her far side, but Zach had not the smallest interest in the young man, who was clearly related to the Duke. But the woman—he did not know her identity at the time—had captured his attention with her intoxicating scent and her tightly controlled emotions and her luscious curves. She sat there, next to him, all prim and proper and ladylike—a perfect lady—dressed in a gown the colour of bluebells, with a bonnet to match, and she did not see him. She had no concept of his presence until—with the need to move past her to go and help Daniel’s father into his carriage—he had touched her elbow.

He had felt the jolt of connection deep in his gut: an emotional connection that continued to bridge the physical distance between the two of them even when they no longer touched, shimmering between them. And he had recognised then, and later at the wedding breakfast, the disquiet she was at pains to conceal from everyone around her, using her perfect, ladylike manners as a shield. And he had suffered another jolt, this time one of disappointment, when the Duke had introduced her as his sister, Lady Cecily. And although the distance between them had become a chasm, that connection lingered, even though Zach knew damned well he had nothing to offer any woman, given the way he had chosen to live his life.

‘And now...’ her voice as she continued drew Zach back to the present ‘...here I am, thirty years of age, and—as Vernon would say—at my last prayers.’

He had thought her a similar age to him, but she was the older by four years. Another gulf yawned between them, but it barely mattered—a hundred such gulfs could make no difference.

‘I have never had a great ambition to marry, but then I thought I would always have the Abbey to run; I thought I would always be at the helm of the family, helping Leo.’ Her voice shook and she sucked in a deep breath. ‘I feel usurped. There. You asked why the sister of a rich and powerful duke should have any reason to be unhappy and now you know. You may see what a horrible person I am, beneath all this.’ She indicated herself with an abrupt sweep of her hand.

‘You fear the change your brother’s marriage will bring?’

‘Yes. And I know that is selfish. The strange thing is...Leo has been married a month already, so I knew everything had changed, but I pushed it from my mind. There was Olivia’s come out to manage—’

‘Olivia?’

‘My niece. Leo’s youngest. She made her debut into society this spring.’ She perched on the low wall surrounding the pool and trailed her fingers through the water again. ‘It was not until I saw Vernon and Thea together in the church that the truth hit me...’ She surged to her feet once more and again she paced. To and fro. ‘In my world—’ she halted in front of him, and he tamped down the urge to touch her; to soothe her ‘—if a lady does not marry, she eventually becomes...oh, I don’t know how to explain it...invisible. Unnecessary. She fulfils no useful function but to run occasional errands or to carry out the tasks nobody else cares to fulfil.’ She fixed him with eyes that glinted fiercely. ‘I do not want to be that supplicant living in other people’s homes; tolerated rather than wanted or needed; dependent upon others for her very existence.’

‘Let us walk.’ Movement would help him to resist her.

She nodded, once, and glanced back towards the house. She turned, resolutely, and set off towards the archway in the wall. Through there was an expanse of meadow and a small ornamental lake that had been formed when a stream was dammed.

‘You believe that is what your future now holds?’

‘It is inevitable, but I cannot talk to my family about it. They would ridicule such fears—especially Leo and Vernon. They will reassure me that I am loved and that my home will always be with the family at the Abbey. But Rosalind is the lady of the house now and she, like me, is accustomed to being in charge, having raised her younger brothers and sister. And I value our friendship... I do not wish to clash with Rosalind over anything when we all return home for the summer.’

‘Do you have choices?’

‘Choices for ladies who do not wed are limited and they are neither enviable nor easy.’

‘But you would not have to earn your living?’

‘No.’ They strolled down the gentle slope of grass towards the lake. He heard her sigh. ‘No, I would not. Leo would give me an allowance. A generous one. And I am fully aware that makes me sound ungrateful for my life of privilege.’

He sensed her eyes upon him, but kept his attention straight ahead, on the stretch of water ahead, gleaming in the light of the moon.

‘I am aware of how fortunate I am.’

‘Yes. You at least do have choices, unlike some.’

Unlike Mama.

His mother’s face materialised in his mind’s eye and a wave of grief rolled through him. He did not fight it, nor did he succumb to it. Grief was a part of life and living and he had learned to accept its appearance, knowing it would recede soon enough.

They paused at the water’s edge.

‘It may help you to decide what to do if you speak your choices out loud.’

There was a lilt of humour in her voice as she said, ‘You mean you are not going to advise me what my choices are?’

‘Should I?’

‘You are a man. In my world, most men would fall over themselves to prove they know the best way for me to proceed.’

‘I am not most men.’

There was a pause. ‘No. That appears to be true.’

‘So tell me then—in your world, what choices are there for an unmarried lady of your birth?’

‘For a respectable lady with a need to earn a living, she might choose the role of a companion or a governess.’

‘And for a respectable lady with no need to earn her living?’

She sighed. ‘Nothing. There is nothing to look forward to but that slow descent into the role of dependent relative, as I said.’

‘But if you have an allowance, does that not give you a choice?’

‘Such as?’

‘If you could choose your ideal life, what would it be?’

She laughed, but it turned into a sob, quickly choked off. He couldn’t help himself. He put his arm around her shoulders, and smoothed his hand down the bare flesh of her arm. Her head tipped towards him and rested for a moment against his shoulder before she pulled away.

‘And that proves how pathetic I am. You ask me about my ideal life and all I can think is that I want my life to continue as it has always been. I want to care for my family and I want to run a large, happy household. It is what I have always done and what I always expected to do. I want nothing else.’ She bowed her head, pressing her fingers against her eyes. ‘But that is the one thing I cannot have, is it not? My brothers are now married and our family has already changed, and I can only selfishly dwell upon how those changes will affect me and my life.’

He touched her nape and stroked, relishing the silky warmth of her skin and the delicate bumps of her spine.

‘Change is like that, is it not?’ His mind drifted back to his own past and he brought it swiftly back to heel. ‘It is the nature of the beast; it can affect our lives in ways we cannot begin to imagine.’

She turned her head to look up at him. She was so close he could hear the quiet sough of her breathing, and her scent—reminding him of sweet apple blossom—mingled with the night air until he felt full of her. He forced his hand from her and crouched down, feeling around in the damp soil at the edge of the lake. His fingertips found the smooth surface of a large pebble and he picked it up, smoothing his thumb over it as he regained his feet.

‘It is like the change a pebble makes when it is thrown into a pond.’ He tossed the stone high and long, aiming for the middle of the lake. ‘It sinks below the surface to lie unseen on the bottom, but the ripples it causes touch every inch of the shoreline.’

‘Yes. Yes, it is just like that. And I am on the shore, and the ripples are...oh, I don’t know...unsettling...disturbing...and they force me to acknowledge that even good changes...wonderful changes...can have negative consequences.’

‘And one of those negative consequences is how your brother’s marriage will affect you?’

‘Yes. No.’ A sound of frustration, like a low growl, emerged from her and Zach hid his smile at the idea of Lady Perfect growling. ‘I ought not to be talking to you like this.’

‘But you wish to—need to—or you would not be doing it. Life is more content if we all follow what we choose to do rather than what we ought, should or must do.’

‘If everyone did that, chaos would ensue. There has to be some discipline. Some law. Some obligation.’

‘Of course there must, in wider society. I meant on a personal level. You are so bound by the etiquette and rules of your world that you cannot look beyond those boundaries.’

‘That is easy for you to say.’ Bitterness laced her words. ‘But that is my—oh!’

Lady Perfect fell silent as a familiar ghostly shape swooped towards them. She did not scream as he feared she might. Rather, she watched, entranced, as the barn owl flew low across the pond, her flight silent, and landed on Zach’s outstretched arm.

‘What...?’ Cecily’s voice was a whisper, full of wonderment.

‘Lady Cecily Beauchamp, meet Athena.’

Chapter Three

Cecily had never been this close to an owl before. Athena stunned her, with her heart-shaped face and huge dark eyes and the contrast between the buff-coloured feathers on her wings and back with the snowy white of her face and breast. Mr Gray took Cecily’s ungloved hand and raised it to the bird’s breast. Her fingers sank into the soft feathers, more deeply than she anticipated.

‘She is beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Why is she so tame?’

Mr Gray touched the owl’s head with his forehead, then lifted his arm high. The bird launched into flight and glided away as silently as it had arrived.

‘I reared her from a fledgling.’ His hands cupped in an unconscious gesture, as though he remembered the finding of her and as though he still protected her.

‘How old is she?’

‘She is nine now.’

‘Do you keep other animals, Mr Gray?’

He rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘I do not keep them. They are free to leave if they so wish.’

‘Will you tell me about them?’

‘Another time. Maybe.’

He began to walk back across the grass towards the garden and regret swirled through her. She followed him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

‘I am sorry. I did not mean to pry. I should not have questioned you.’

‘There you go again, with your “I should not have...”’ he growled.

He slammed to a halt and pivoted to face her with such suddenness that she almost cannoned into him. Her feet, still clad in her satin dancing slippers, skidded from under her and she reached out, clutching his lapels to steady herself. His arms came around her, hauling her close, and she found her cheek pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping in her ear...far steadier than her own erratic heartbeat which flittered, soared and swooped.

‘Steady.’

His voice rumbled through her. His arms still held her captive, but they loosened a little, allowing her to tip her head back to look at him. His eyes flashed and a muscle leapt in his jaw as one hand slid lower and settled at the small of her back, fitting her snugly into the warm contours of his body. His breath caressed her skin as his free hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb drifting across her lower lip. Her breath quickened as his head lowered and, without volition, she rose on her toes to close the gap between them.

His warm lips were soft and smooth, exhilarating and yet soothing. She had only been kissed once in her life and the experience had been...forgettable. This...

Oh, this...

She pressed closer, slipping her arms around his waist, revelling in the sensual glide of his mouth on hers, lost in the moment. She tensed as his tongue probed her lips, but he murmured deep in his throat, a calming sound, and she parted her lips and let him in. Their tongues slid together as he entered repeatedly, exploring her mouth, delicately and without haste. An unfamiliar sensation gathered deep in her stomach, a growing ache of yearning...of desire. She settled deeper into his embrace, his male scent surrounding her as her pulse ran riot and her toes curled with pure pleasure.

It was he who ended the kiss, lifting his lips from hers and drifting them across her cheek. He nibbled her earlobe, then traced the outer rim with his tongue as she tilted her head to ease his access. Her wits were reassembling but, although she was shocked by her wanton behaviour, she felt no shame. His hands framed her waist and lifted her, setting her away from him. She resisted the urge to seek again the heat of his body, the security of his arms.

‘That should not have happened.’ The wicked glitter in his eyes belied his words.

‘Should not?’ she teased, even though he was right. Of course it should never have happened. But she challenged him nevertheless. ‘Why not?’

He barked a laugh. ‘That, my Lady Perfect, is a foolish question.’ He raised his arm, gesturing at the night sky. ‘Let us blame the magic of the moonlight and come the dawn we shall forget it ever happened.’

‘Did you not enjoy kissing me?’

He reached for her hand, holding it in both of his, playing gently with her fingers. Then he raised it to his mouth and pressed hot lips briefly into her palm before folding her fingers over as though to hold his kiss in place.

‘I did.’ His voice was low. Sincere. ‘But you know as well as I that a boundary was crossed. Until that moment, we were indeed fellow guests merely talking. Now...our consciences know the truth, but it can never be revealed to anybody else. Ever. It would be the ruin of you, were it known you kissed a Romany.’

She knew he was right and she still could hardly believe she—who prided herself on always being ladylike and correct—had behaved so out of character.

‘Mayhap you are right and it was the effects of the moonlight,’ she said. ‘You were not thinking clearly. You were angry with me for prying into your life.’

Thea had already warned her that Mr Gray was a very private man. She should have taken heed.

He laughed. ‘That, sweet dove, was not an angry kiss. It was not a punishment; it was self-indulgence. I have wanted to kiss you ever since I first set eyes on you in the church.’

Her insides lurched and heat washed over her face at the thought that such a virile man—such an intelligent and thoughtful man—could look at her in such a way.

‘And I was not angry with you for prying,’ he went on. ‘You wanted to know something about me and you are entitled to ask. But, likewise, I am entitled not to answer.’ He smiled, taking the sting from his words. ‘I should not have walked away from you as I did.’

‘Walked? That was very nearly a run.’ She was desperate to lighten the mood. ‘But I shall accept you do not wish to tell me about your life.’

‘It is not—’

He stiffened, tilting his head to one side. Cecily listened, but could hear nothing.

‘They are calling for you,’ he said. ‘You had better make haste.’ He pointed at the archway that led back into the garden.

Guilt intertwined with the dread that her brothers would find her out. They would be furious, but with Mr Gray, not with her. They would blame him entirely. She would not allow that to happen. He had helped her and she would protect him in return. Somehow, she now felt better able to cope with the changes in her life.

She faced him, and held out her hand. ‘Thank you for listening, Mr Gray.’

He stilled. He stared down at Cecily’s outthrust hand for so long, she feared she had transgressed another of his unwritten laws. As she began to withdraw it, though, he grasped it and closed his fingers around it, saying, ‘Zach. Call me Zach.’

His touch sent tingles racing up her arm and another flush to heat her cheeks. The memory of his lips on hers seared her brain.

‘Zach?’

‘Zachary. That is my name.’

‘But...Absalom. They said you are Absalom Gray.’

She stared up at him. At the intensity of his expression.

‘Absalom is my middle name. I should like to hear my given name on your lips, but I shall not insist. You must do as you wish.’

As I wish... It reinforced the message he had tried to convey about her future. She could choose.

She smiled. ‘Zachary, then. Thank you for listening, Zach.’

He bowed over her hand, turned it and feathered warm, soft lips across the sensitive skin at her wrist and then, in that same calm, unhurried manner, he reached into his pocket, withdrawing her lace glove. He slid it on to her hand and smoothed it along her forearm. Tingles changed into sparks that radiated throughout her body and a feeling of nervy anticipation coiled in the pit of her stomach.