Rescued from Ruin Read Online Free Page B

behind him, just like his relationship with Cecelia. At the end of that summer, they’d both made their choices. He refused to regret his.
    ‘I’m going to my club.’ He patted Reverend, then flicked his hand at the bed. ‘Up you go.’
    The dog jumped up on the wide bed, turning around before settling into the thick coverlet, watching as Mr Joshua helped Randall on with his coat.
    Randall straightened the cravat in the mirror, then headed for the door. ‘Don’t expect me back until morning.’
    * * *
    Cecelia sat in the turned-wood chair next to the small fireplace in her bedroom, staring at the dark fireback. Still dressed in her evening clothes, she shivered, having forgotten how cold London could be even in the spring, but she didn’t burn any coal. She couldn’t afford it.
    She closed her eyes and thought of the warm Virginia nights heavy with moisture, the memory of the cicadas’ songs briefly drowning out the clop of carriage horses on the street outside.
    The sound drew her back to Lady Weatherly’s and the sight of Randall approaching from across the salon. He’d moved like the steady current of the James River, every step threatening to shatter her calm like a tidal surge driven inland by a hurricane. She’d known he’d be there tonight. Madame de Badeau had mentioned it yesterday, leaving Cecelia to imagine scenario after scenario of how they might meet. Not once did she picture his blue eyes tempting her with the same desire she used to catch in the shadowed hallways of Falconbridge Manor. Back then every kiss was stolen, each moment of pleasure fumbling and uncertain.
    There was nothing uncertain about Randall tonight, only a strength emphasised by his broad shoulders and the height he’d gained since she’d last seen him. Her body hummed with the memory of him standing so close, his musky cologne and hot breath tempting her more than his innuendoes and illicit suggestions. Yet she’d caught something else hovering in the tension beneath his heated look—a frail connection she wanted to touch and hold.
    She opened her eyes and smacked her hand hard against the chair’s arm, the sting bringing her back to her senses. There’d never been a connection between them, only the daydreams of a girl too naive to realise a future Marquess would never lower himself to save her. He hadn’t then and, with all his wealth and privilege, he certainly wouldn’t now, no matter how many tempting suggestions he threw her way. No, he would be among the first to laugh and sneer if the truth of her situation was ever revealed, and if she could help it, it never would be.
    She slid off the chair and knelt before the small trunk sitting at the end of the narrow bed, her mother’s trunk, the only piece of furniture she’d brought back to London. The hinges squeaked as she pushed opened the lid, the metal having suffered the ill effects of sea air on the voyage from Virginia. Inside sat a bolt of fabric, a jumble of tarnished silver, a small box of jewellery and a stack of books. It was the sum of her old possessions and the few items of value she’d managed to secrete from Belle View after Paul had taken control. They sat in the trunk like a skeleton in its coffin, reminding her of everything she’d ever lost. For a brief moment, she wished the whole lot had fallen overboard, but she needed them and the money they could bring.
    She pushed aside the silver, the metal clanking as she lifted out one large book on hunting from beneath a stack of smaller ones. It had been Daniel’s favourite and the only one she’d taken for sentimental reasons. She opened it and, with a gloved finger, traced a beautiful watercolour of a duck in flight, remembering how Daniel used to sit in his study, his brown hair flecked with grey falling over his forehead as he examined each picture.
    Guilt edged her grief. In the end, this book would probably have to be sold, too.
    She snapped it shut and laid it in the trunk next to the velvet