Page 7 of A Match of Misfortune (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #7)

“Nash?” The grogginess was gone from Cecily’s voice. “What in the?—”

“Shhh!” he said, lifting a warning hand toward her, though it was doubtful she could see it.

The bed shifted beneath him. “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” she hissed. Her voice came from above now, and he could barely perceive the outline of her sitting up.

“I believe I could ask you the same considering this is my bed.”

“Never mind that. You need to leave. At once.” A set of hands thwacked into Nash’s chest with such force it pushed the breath from his lungs and nearly sent him onto the floor. “Go.”

Nash took hold of her wrists to prevent himself from toppling backward. “I intended to, so you needn’t push me,” he whispered. “Unless you wish for me to fall and alert the others of our nighttime tryst ?”

“You are as ridiculous as ever.” She gave a little grunt and wriggled her arms free of his grasp. “Now make haste. And be quiet about it.”

Nash contemplated tarrying a moment longer simply to irk her, but she threw the coverlet off of him, letting in a blast of frigid air.

If he could see her face, he was certain she’d be wearing that smug little smile of hers that he always enjoyed evoking.

His thoughts lingered on the memory of her lips a bit too long, and he pushed the image away.

“Go on,” she urged again.

“Gads. You certainly haven’t lost your gall.” He found his footing on the cold floor and took a step forward with outstretched hands.

“Wait.” Cecily’s voice paused him. “Where are you going?”

Where did she think he was going? The woman had all but thrown him from the bed. And rightfully so, which made her question all the more perplexing. “I’m leaving. Clearly.”

“I only meant, where are you to sleep? Adelaide is in the Blue Room.”

“And your father?”

“He did not come to Town with us.”

How strange. Sir Vincent always accompanied them to London, though he supposed they usually came for their yearly visit in autumn. So why were Cecily and her sister here now? Nash nearly asked, but he figured the conversation was better saved for the light of day. “I’ll head upstairs, then.”

“The room across from the nursery has a comfortable bed.” Was that concern coloring Cecily’s voice? Nash smiled. Perhaps she didn’t despise him as thoroughly as she’d declared the last time he’d seen her. A most promising development, to be sure.

Nash continued in the general direction of the door, his hands once again stretched out in front of him and his foot searching for objects with each cautious step. When his fingers grazed something solid in front of him, he took hold of it. What piece of furniture was this? The armoire or the?—

A loud clanking echoed through the room, and a splash of water wetted his hand and soaked the end of his shirtsleeve. The water pitcher and basin. He must be at the dressing table.

A quiet groan sounded from the bed.

As he wrang out the saturated shirt sleeve, the bite of cold water against his skin reminded him of his discarded coat and waistcoat. The evidence would be too condemning to leave, so he turned toward the bed again.

“What are you doing?” Cecily whispered before he had a chance to explain his shift in direction. Her eyes were clearly more adjusted to the lack of light.

“My coat is draped over the footboard. I figured you wouldn’t wish to explain how it got there in the morning, but if you would rather, I can?—”

“No. You may retrieve it.”

When his searching hands again came in contact with the bed, he made his way along the edge until he located his discarded items. He glanced over his shoulder, and though he could not make out Cecily’s form in the darkness, he smiled at the thought of her being placed in his room.

At having to sleep in his bed. She’d likely hated the assignment, but regardless, he would certainly need to tease her as though it had been her choice.

What was it about Cecily that made her so fun to rankle?

Six years apart had not dampened his desire to evoke her ire against him.

An ire that he’d always found entirely too endearing. “Enjoy my bed.”

He waited to hear her agitated exhale, then started his cautious walk across the room with a satisfied smile on his face. He’d just made it to the door when the sound of shifting blankets, followed by pattering steps in his direction, lit him with amusement. “Not ready to say goodnight quite yet?”

“Would you like to know the real reason I left the warmth of the bed?” Was there a touch of playfulness in her voice? It couldn’t be.

And yet, Nash’s interest was piqued. “If you wish to tell me.”

Cecily pulled in a slow, audible breath. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he felt the air shift, as though she’d leaned toward him. “I want to lock the door after you leave. Prevent any other unwanted nighttime visits.”

Without warning, his amusement surfaced at the unexpected response, and a low, rumbling laugh escaped him.

“Quiet,” Cecily snapped, slapping a clumsy hand over his mouth. “We shall be discovered.”

Nash stifled his laugh, partly because it would be most unfortunate for him to travel all the way from India only to have Cecily murder him now, partly because he had no desire to alert his parents to his being home just yet, and partly because Cecily’s hand against his lips was far too unnerving.

He’d clearly been at sea for too long with no females as company besides three matrons over twice his age.

But again, this was Cecily, and she’d always had that effect on him, despite how illogical it was.

Needing to get ahold of himself, he peeled Cecily’s hand from his mouth, attempting to ignore the buzzing sensation that flooded through his fingers at the contact with her soft, warm skin.

“Come now. Would that be the worst thing?”

“The two of us being found alone in a darkened bedroom? I cannot think of anything worse.”

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Had you not awoken and had I not heard you, there is a chance that, tomorrow morning, we could have been discovered sharing a bed. It makes our standing here together feel rather fortuitous. Does it not?”

Cecily gave a muted scoff, as though she understood his jocose suggestion precisely as he intended it. “Are you now also capable of talking yourself into good fortune?”

Nash quirked his head. “Is that bitterness I sense?”

“Perhaps it’s perplexity?”

Nash couldn’t fight his smile at her indirect acknowledgment. “Well, I’ll have you know, fortune does not favor me any more than anyone else. As you said, I simply choose to focus on the positive.”

“That sounds like the precise declaration of someone who is accustomed to being the constant benefactor of good luck. But unfortunately, I do not have that benefit.” The door gave a slight creak as she opened it a sliver. “So go.”

She was clearly aware that he would not dare linger near the open door for risk of being heard, so Nash reached down, blindly searching out the items he’d set near the door. When he had retrieved them, he slipped out into the corridor with his armful of possessions.

Though it was still dark, there was some ambient light that reached them from the moonlit skylight over the staircase, and his returned sense of sight, as limited as it was, was a welcome development.

He turned back toward Cecily, not to get a glimpse of her, or not only anyway, but because he also wished to do the gentlemanly thing and bid her goodnight. “I?—”

The door clicked shut, and the distinct sound of the lock followed.

Nash smiled. All things considered, his first meeting with Cecily Bradshaw had gone rather smashingly.