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C ecilia’s feet hit the first couple steps, but she was pitching forward, unable to right herself, terrified and helpless. Just as she would have tumbled headfirst into the blackness, her hand connected with the balustrade and gripped it hard to catch herself. She felt pain at her shoulder as her body came to a jerking stop, but she didn’t let go. Collapsing against the rail, she remained still, eyes closed, breath heaving in her chest as she hung there.

Slowly, she tried to stand up on the stair, and felt a mild twinge in her ankle that was nothing compared to what might have happened if she’d fallen all the way to the bottom.

She might even have broken her neck.

The candle had gone out; she could see nothing and certainly didn’t want to find the library in the dark. Gripping the balustrade, wincing from the pain in her shoulder, she limped up the few steps to the top, then bent down, trying to feel what she’d tripped over. Frowning when she discovered nothing, she dropped to her knees and widened the search with both hands. Still nothing. Had she just tripped over her own feet?

But her toes were sore to the touch, and she could swear they’d hit something hard. Shaking her head, she felt her way back down the corridor and into her room, where the candlelight was a relief. She washed her perspiring face with hands that still shook and couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened if she hadn’t been lucky enough to catch herself. Propping her foot on a pillow in bed, she picked up the book she’d just finished and, with a sigh, started from the beginning.

W hen Nell arrived with a tray before dawn, Cecilia debated telling the girl about her midnight accident but knew everyone would put up a fuss. She wanted to get on with her day, not be coddled. Her ankle felt better already, and she was determined to go on her usual long walk. As Nell styled her hair, Cecilia waited with resignation for the questions to begin. She didn’t hear anything from the dressing room.

Nell had seen her glance. “Only you, Lady Cecilia,” she said, shaking her head. “I guess I should say Lady Blackthorne.”

“Pardon me, Nell?”

“Only you would marry a man ye’d never seen, from halfway round the world, and be lucky enough to land a handsome one. We all thought ye crazy, beggin’ yer pardon, but ye come up smellin’ like a rose.”

Cecilia reluctantly smiled. “You know his features don’t matter at all, Nell.”

“Hmm, so ye say.” Nell continued to brush out Cecilia’s long blond hair. “But I will tell ye somethin’ ye might find interestin’.” She leaned closer before glancing out the window. “That husband o’ yours, who ye didn’t spend a wedding night with—”

“Nell, we don’t even know each other!”

“—he’s a proud man, that one. Said he didn’t want a valet, that he was used to takin’ care o’ himself in the army.”

That gave Cecilia pause. Lord Blackthorne had been raised as a gentleman—surely he was used to servants.

“When he needs laundry done, I’m sure he’ll give us a call.” Nell sniffed. “A strange man. Maybe you were right to make him wait on ye for a while.”

In the mirror, she met Cecilia’s eyes with her own wide ones.

“I mean, beggin’ yer pardon, milady.”

But there was a smile at the corner of the girl’s mouth; she knew what she could get away with.

“Nell,” Cecilia began hesitantly, “were the lamps lit in the corridor outside my room last night?”

Nell frowned. “Aye, they lit me way to bed. Why do ye ask?”

Cecilia shrugged and forced a smile. “No reason. I couldn’t sleep and didn’t see the flicker of light beneath my door, and I was just curious.”

The storm must have sent a draft through the old castle and blown out the lamps.

After Nell helped her into a plain morning gown—“Blue to match yer eyes!”—Cecilia ate a quick piece of toast with her hot chocolate from the tray Nell had brought, then took a shawl and went outside. The sun was only just above the horizon, the ground glittering with autumn dew, the leaves beginning to turn orange, yellow, and red. Though the breeze was brisk, it promised to be a lovely day. She followed her usual route, one that led her past tenant farmers and the mill, the stables and outbuildings, where people knew they could speak to her if they needed to. She avoided the soggy patches left over from the storm, even as gardeners were already picking up broken twigs.

She’d no sooner left the formal gardens when she pulled up short in surprise. Lord Blackthorne, limping along with the aid of his cane, had come to a stop when he saw her. For a moment, they stared at each other beneath a glorious sun. Though he was still dressed plainly, conservatively, nothing could hide the very maleness of him. He made her far too aware of him as a man—as her husband. She couldn’t help feeling that he wanted to look at her in a more thorough manner but stopped himself. She was used to the admiration of men, but this seemed ... different, brazen, dark, with maybe a touch of possession.

She thought of Nell calling him handsome. It seemed too tame a word for him. He was too unfashionably ... large. He wasn’t wearing a coat, only his shirtsleeves and a waistcoat above his trousers, a simple cravat tied at his throat. Now she could see that he needed no padding in his clothing, that he was broad through the shoulders, even barrel-chested, yet narrow through the hips. She felt herself blushing, remembering how she’d protested when he looked at her in the same manner.

He briefly doffed his hat. “Good morning, Lady Blackthorne.”

“Good morning, Lord Blackthorne. I am surprised to find you exercising your leg. Should it not be healing?”

“Your concern is appreciated, madam, but the leg will stiffen if I don’t use it. The stronger it gets, the less I’ll need to use the cane.”

“But ... the shrapnel?”

He shrugged. “The doctors say the pieces of metal might work themselves out on their own, or they might not. I’ll just have to become used to whatever the outcome.”

She hesitated, wishing she could say she preferred to be alone but knowing she couldn’t. “I am walking toward the stables, if you’d like to join me.”

He nodded. She expected to slow her pace to accommodate him, but he moved along briskly. He had obviously been in fine physical condition before the wound, and that must stand him in good stead.

“You are going riding?” he asked.

“No, I walk every morning. The stables are simply one stop on my way. Did you plan to ride?”

“I did enough of that yesterday. It made my leg quite stiff.”

Another awkward silence grew between them. She looked into the distance, at the green rolling hills, the occasional cottage.

“I love this land,” she found herself saying. “I wasn’t born here, and we did not spend much time here at all until Oliver returned to go to Eton, when Mother and I came with him. But there is something about the place of our ancestors that calls you to do your best to maintain it.” But not Oliver, she thought with a twinge of sadness.

“I understand,” he said. “I have been improving my estate to bring it back to what it once was.”

She gave him a curious glance but didn’t feel she could question him.

He accompanied her from building to building, and she realized ruefully that in less then twenty-four hours, the news of his arrival had spread far and wide. People turned out in droves to see Lord Blackthorne, and many boldly introduced themselves. What would happen when she had the marriage invalidated? There would be a scandal, of course, but her servants knew they had not spent the night together. And Cecilia didn’t care what other people thought, she told herself.

Lord Blackthorne proved a knowledgeable man about every position on the estate; if only she could discuss things like this with Oliver. As she answered various questions the staff asked about a grain shipment to London, or which cattle had been selected to be delivered by train to market, she felt the uncomfortable stare of her husband. He watched her like a falcon watched a rabbit, intently, single-mindedly, and it was like an itch she couldn’t reach, couldn’t scratch. By midmorning, she wished he would just go away so she could feel herself again, but he followed her into Appertan Hall and right into the study, where the steward and secretary both waited. She introduced her husband to the men, and was gratified when they did not begin directing their estate questions to him, as some men might have.

She spent another two hours dealing with estate matters and correspondence, and she kept waiting for her husband to leave, but he seemed interested. Even when he was leaning on his cane, staring out the window, there was an alertness about him that kept drawing her attention. More than once, she was distracted by him and lost her train of thought. The steward and secretary shared amused glances but wiped away their smiles when she frowned at them.

At last, the two employees left, and she sat back in her chair behind the desk and met Lord Blackthorne’s contemplative gaze.

“Go ahead, say what you need to,” she said briskly.

He perched one hip on the edge of the window seat. “Tell me about Lord Appertan.”

She frowned. “I thought I already had. And surely my father spoke of him often.”

“But I want to hear your thoughts.”

She wanted to say that her brother’s life—her own—was none of his business but didn’t want to antagonize him. She had already written to her lawyers, asking about the proxy marriage and what options she had. But she had to bide her time until she received a response.

She sighed. Anything she told Lord Blackthorne about Oliver could be gotten from any family acquaintance, after all. “As I said, we were born in India and had a home in Bombay. We spent summer in the Hills to escape the worst of the heat.”

“I am surprised your mother did not spend more time in England.”

“She did not want to be parted from my father.” Cecilia spoke impassively, but inside, her stomach churned with the memories that wouldn’t go away. How, as she grew older, her mother confided more and more in her as if she were a grown woman, about her fears that Appertan would find a mistress to shame her if she left him alone. Once or twice at a dinner party, she even forced Cecilia to follow her father, as if he might sneak away from the card room for an illicit affair. The constant neediness and dread and pessimism wore away at Cecilia, until she realized she could escape into her studies, into her books. And that also helped her escape the memories.

“You went on campaign,” Lord Blackthorne said, and it wasn’t a question.

“We followed the drum, a military family.” She forced a smile, her fingers playing restlessly with a quill on the desk. “When Oliver was younger, he played with all the other boys, and it didn’t matter whose father was a sergeant or whose was a colonel. But as he grew older, their different circumstances began to play out among even the children. When Papa decided it was time to return to England, for Oliver to attend Eton, I thought things would be better for my brother.”

“Eton can alter a boy,” Lord Blackthorne said. “I noticed it among my friends.”

But not himself? she wondered, but didn’t ask.

“It’s supposed to build character,” she continued, “or so I heard. But the friends he made weren’t the kind I would have chosen for him. They now like to drink too much and ... socialize with the wrong element. He is immature, and I wish my father were still alive to take him in hand.”

Lord Blackthorne briefly looked away. He must miss her father, and she would try to remember that.

“Every young man goes through such a period,” he said. “But Appertan has not come out of it, and, forgive me, but I don’t think you’re helping by managing everything for him.”

“I’m doing what I must,” she said coolly.

“Then I have a suggestion. Let me become involved.” He left the window seat and limped toward the desk, sitting opposite her.

She stiffened. “I am managing the estate just fine, my lord.”

“I don’t mean the estate—with Appertan. Let me get to know him, to guide him. I have a facility for instructing young men. I was often in charge of the new soldiers. And I have a brother, too. When I became the viscount, I, too, needed a guardian, but when I reached my majority, it was Allen, at twenty, who assumed much of the mantle of the Blackthorne estates. I know exactly what Appertan is going through. Although Allen and I are closer in age than your brother and I are, I do understand the competitiveness that can exist between men.”

Though he made a persuasive argument, she was ready to refuse. But at the last moment, her common sense overruled her feelings of defensiveness, and she remembered her situation. If Lord Blackthorne was busy befriending Oliver, she would have more time to make a decision about the marriage.

Surely, Oliver could deal with Lord Blackthorne. She remembered her father’s constant praise of the man, his ability to negotiate a compromise with even the most stubborn of enemies. It was almost like a character reference for a new employee.

“I do not know if this is a good idea,” she said slowly. “You are at least ten years older than Oliver.”

“Ten years exactly, my lady.”

“I have matchless deductive powers,” she said, forcing her voice to be light.

He nodded, so focused on whatever task at hand, even if it was just talking to her. When his dark eyes looked into hers, she felt as if she were the center of the world at that moment, very different from when her suitors used to fawn over her. It was too intense, even threatening to her very way of life. This man could wield so much power over her if he chose. She’d given him that power; she’d have to find the best way to take it back.

“If I allowed you to ... work with Oliver, what would you do?” she asked.

“Spend time with him in masculine pursuits—hunting, riding, even socializing. I imagine it would help to meet and understand his friends. Then I should be able to see why he so resists the responsibilities of his title.”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

He tilted his head. “Did I say something amusing?”

“Forgive me. I am trying to imagine you with Oliver’s fellow young bucks.”

His lips curved in the faintest hint of a smile, and he relaxed back in his chair. “I am well aware of the mentality.”

“Are you? Does that mean you went through such a period yourself?”

“Not a very long one. I enlisted at eighteen, and although men off duty often embarrass themselves in drink, that did not appeal to me.”

“I am not surprised,” she murmured, studying him just as intently as he liked to study her. “Are you and your brother close?”

His eyes seemed to focus inward. “We are. Although it has been twelve years since I’ve been able to spend much time at home, we were always playmates as children, and our letters have deepened our friendship as adults.”

“I find myself envious,” she murmured, her eyes stinging.

“It is not too late, madam.” He hesitated. “You can have such a relationship with your brother. With your parents gone, you need the closeness of family.”

Her throat was tight with the emotions she didn’t want to reveal. His kindness had shown through in his letters, and now, seeing it in person, made her feel so very confused.

“So I have your approval?” he urged.

“Are you asking for it?” She spoke softly, wondering about the kind of husband he’d be.

“He is your brother.”

“So if I asked you to leave him alone, you would?”

He regarded her solemnly. “He is in need of an older male influence, but yes, I would abide by your wishes.”

She realized she’d been holding her breath, and she let it out slowly. “Very well. You have my permission to attempt the battle of Oliver.”

His head tipped back as if in surprise. “He’s been as bad as all that?”

“No, no, but it is you who make it seem like he’s your new campaign.”

“I am a soldier; I see much of life like a battle to be mastered and won.”

“And do you often win, my lord?” she asked softly.

“Almost always, my lady.”

He’d lowered his voice until it was a deep rumble that reverberated through her. Again, she felt a twinge of intriguing danger, which she would do her best to ignore. She was responsible for Oliver, and she’d vowed never again to fail a member of her family.

The door swung open, and Penelope entered like a floral spring breeze. “Hello, Cecilia!” she trilled, then came to a stop upon seeing Lord Blackthorne, her happy smile fading to pleased curiosity. “Oh, I am interrupting you.”

Lord Blackthorne rose stiffly to his feet. “Good morning, Miss Webster.”

“You are always welcome, Penelope,” Cecilia said, finding herself relieved.

Hesitantly, the young woman said, “Did you remember that we were going to paint the autumn colors of your garden after luncheon? But we don’t have to, of course. Circumstances have obviously changed.” She gave Lord Blackthorne a bright smile.

Cecilia knew Penelope was thrilled with the revelation of Lord Blackthorne. But then she was very much like her sister, Hannah, who’d been a firm believer in true love. For a moment, melancholia rose inside her at the senseless drowning of her dear friend. Every death seemed to buffet Cecilia in a new direction.

“Of course we’ll still paint,” she said, grateful that she had the other woman to remind her that there was more to life than business.

“Oh, I’m glad,” Penelope said. “Talbot asked me to tell you that luncheon will be served in half an hour.”

Cecilia glanced at the mantel clock in surprise. The morning had passed swiftly. “We’ll be there.”

She expected Lord Blackthorne to follow Penelope out of the study, but after a couple limping steps, leaning heavily on his cane, he turned back to her.

“Miss Webster was introduced to me as Appertan’s fiancée. For a young man still living wildly, the engagement seems unusual.”

“They grew up in constant contact, as the Websters have long leased a manor from the estate.”

“And Miss Webster was determined she would be the next countess?” Lord Blackthorne asked.

“I never had that feeling,” Cecilia said, blinking in surprise.

“Then whose idea was it?”

She rose to her feet. “When my brother announced the engagement, I did not question what had gone on privately between them. I trusted their feelings. Oliver plans to wait until at least his twenty-first birthday to set a wedding date, which will give them time to decide if such a match truly suits.”

“He is not certain of that yet he already asked for her hand in marriage?”

“You make quick judgments, my lord,” she said coolly. “I wrote to you about Penelope’s sister, my dearest friend, who drowned in a pond near their home. Such tragedy often brings people together, and they no longer want to waste time alone.”

“Then it is good that I know these circumstances, madam. They might affect how I deal with your brother.”

“Be compassionate with him, Lord Blackthorne,” she said in a quieter voice, sinking back down into her chair.

“I do not believe compassion has helped him much, but I won’t forget that you requested it of me.”

He limped away before she could respond, closing the door behind him. She finished filling out her report to Oliver’s guardian about the daily management of the estate. But it wasn’t easy to think of business. Lord Blackthorne’s belief he knew what was best for her brother disturbed her. Was it that she herself should be able to help Oliver and couldn’t seem to find the way? Or was it that she found herself attracted to such a strong-willed man?