Romancing Lady Cecily Read Online Free Page A

the door, folding out the steps and waiting expectantly. Her father cleared his throat. Cecily startled and turned her head. In the darkness, she could only see a slice of his whiskered cheek by the stripe of light from the lamps at the front of the Mayberry residence. “Time to go,” he said.
    â€œOf course.” Reaching forward, she allowed the groom to take her hand as she descended from the carriage. She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and stared at the town house while the earl and countess stepped down as well. The mansion was ablaze, every window lit from within. Streams of people thronged toward the door from the other carriages in line, their laughter and gaiety disquieting when the entire past week had been spent in nothing but tears.
    Tears for Angela, and thoughts of the Baron Sedgwick.
    It would be the cruelest turn of fate to face him again now, knowing she must soon belong to another in all regards. And because fate seemed to have no particular fondness for her, she knew he would be here. His presence would taunt her with her own weakness, the realization that she would never be able to forget him no matter how she tried. He was a curse, the only person who could have ever swayed her into defying her parents and running from the obligation of her arranged marriage. His eyes, his lips, the touch of his hands—how seductive memories of him were when she lay in bed at night, contemplating the realization that in only a few days she would lay beneath another man.
    She’d never condoned Angela’s plan to escape with her lover. Yes, she was glad to see her friend happy, but she’d refused to assist Angela in her preparations. They were proper ladies, the crème of the ton, respected and admired by matrons and debutantes alike. Neither of them was supposed to be the kind of woman who jaunted off to the Continent, leaving an ocean-sized scandal in her wake.
    Yet with each passing day that Cecily spent preparing for the wedding and shopping for the final pieces in her trousseau, and with each passing night recalling with fevered clarity the feeling of wholeness when the baron’s lips met hers, the fantasy of escaping England with her own lover became something she indulged in far too often. And though she tried to content herself with the knowledge that she was right in marrying the stranger her father had chosen, she couldn’t help remembering the overwhelming joy on Angela’s face the day she’d told Cecily of her plans to be with the man she loved.
    A hand touched her wrist and slid down to give her fingers a comforting squeeze. Cecily smiled at her mother and began the walk at her parents’ side toward the town house. They quickly converged with the other guests, all timely in their appearance—no one dared to arrive late to Lady Mayberry’s ball. Although she had the urge to crane her neck and look around for the baron, Cecily resisted. So many times she’d tried to guess if he was in the vicinity simply by evaluating any changes in her breath or any other physical reaction, but it became a pointless gesture; just the thought of the baron created a visceral response as if he’d stroked her from one end to the other.
    â€œIs it true?” someone asked in delight beside her.
    Cecily recognized her friend’s voice and glanced over at Eleanor, the daughter of the Viscount Morgan. Tall, blond, and slender, people had often commented on how similar she and Angela had appeared.
    â€œYes, I shall be a married woman this Friday,” Cecily said, sending a glance toward her mother. As much as Cecily loved her, the countess’ tongue for gossip was rivaled by only a few.
    â€œBut who is he?” Eleanor bent her head to whisper in Cecily’s ear. “Is he a Spaniard? Surely not a Frenchman!”
    â€œNo, no. Nothing so exotic or terrible, I’m afraid. Just another Englishman. And—” Cecily raised her hand to