Romancing Lady Cecily Read Online Free Page B

forestall the next question. “—you shall learn his identity at the same time as everyone else.”
    Thank God her parents had decided it best to keep her future husband’s name a secret from the ton. Although it created quite a stir and several jests over the past two years when the wedding had been delayed time and time again, no one realized that even Cecily didn’t know his name. It was also effective in turning away prospective suitors who might otherwise have pursued her hand and created an awkward situation. The only man who had dared to approach her since the news of her betrothal had been the baron, and he’d simply laughed when she first made certain to mention her engagement to him.
    â€œI want much more than your name bound to mine,” he murmured darkly in her ear. “I will have all of you, Lady Cecily, every hair, every breath, every heartbeat . . . and every moan.”
    â€œYou are such a tease,” Eleanor humphed, then squealed as she caught sight of someone else and hurried off. Cecily wanted to call her back. She should demand to know how the other woman could act so happy when Angela had died not even a fortnight ago. She’d seen Eleanor sobbing at the funeral, leaning on Lord Grayhurst for support. Had her tears dried so easily, then? Had it been easy to put away the memory of Angela and don such a convincing mask of happiness and frivolity?
    Carried along by the crowd, Cecily was swept past the front door and up the stairs to the entrance of the ballroom. Everyone quieted and formed an orderly queue as they strained to hear the announcements made of those before them.
    â€œHis Lordship the Earl of Marwick, Her Ladyship the Countess of Marwick, and Lady Cecily Bishop,” the butler read from their invitation. Cecily assumed the proper smile and followed behind her parents as they greeted their hostess.
    For the next hour she danced. Quadrilles, reels, and even a waltz or two. Even if the eligible men no longer sought her out as a potential bride, bachelors and married men alike still seemed to enjoy a partner with a pretty face. She counted everything. The number of dances, the number of people whom she spoke with, the glasses of punch she consumed. Twelve potted plants and six columns for couples to use when engaging in private conversations. Two terrace doors, three violinists, and one feathered hairpiece set atop the white head of the very eccentric Lady Abernathy. Unfortunately, she lost count of the number of times she smiled. There were far too many of those, prominent displays for all the world to see, when all she wanted to do was return home and crawl into her bed where she could simultaneously forget about Angela’s death and her upcoming marriage by dreaming about the Baron Sedgwick.
    The baron, who was nowhere to be found among the fourteen dark-headed men nearby, nor was he among the seven she’d counted tonight with similar broad shoulders or the two who, for a moment, made her smiles turn genuine with their well-pointed jests.
    But then he was there, standing before her with another glass of punch in his hand. And he was the only one she’d seen that night with black eyes, the only man who’d made her heart turn over as a result of his devastating smile.
    â€œGood evening, Lady Cecily,” he greeted. The meandering path of his gaze brought to mind the first time he’d seen her nude, when they’d escaped from the Carlisles’ musicale into the conservatory where he’d helped her to strip bare and then ordered her to touch herself while he watched. It was also the first time she’d realized that he meant to be her lover in all but the final act between a husband and wife.
    Cecily sucked in a breath, saw how his pupils flared in response. Like musical instruments they were, each taking turns to play the bow upon the strings to elicit a reaction from the other. Pleased, she breathed deeply again, her