But the kiss had been wonderful, unforgettable. She’d remember it forever. A vision of her portly cousin Percy flashed in her mind. She’d failed to sell her story. She’d be forced to return home and marry him. The thought made her want to gag, but she’d be willing to marry the hideous man if it meant saving her sister’s future. And that’s what she would do. She had to be strong. For Mary’s sake.
She mustered a weak smile. “It’ll be all right, Mary. We’ll go home and—” She choked on the last word and swallowed hard. If only she had one more night to pretend, one more night to be with Adam. Just one more night.
Would they give that to her, these people who had been so kind to her? Would they give her and her sister one more night of shelter? If she was going to ask, she must decide immediately.
“Mary,” she said quickly, grasping her sister’s small hands in hers. “I’m going to ask the duchess to do me a very large favor, and I need your help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Adam woke to the sound of light scratching at his bedchamber door. He blinked into the darkness and lay there contemplating his surroundings. Silence. He blew out a deep breath and folded his hands over his middle atop the covers. The day had gone nothing like he’d expected it to. When Mary had emerged from the drawing room, what the girl had told him made Adam’s chest inexplicably ache. Cecelia had remembered who she was.
Only one thought repeated itself in Adam’s mind. Cecelia would be leaving.
Then Mary had stared down at her slippers and calmly asked if she and Cecelia might be allowed to stay with them for one more night.
Cecelia had come out of the drawing room then, tears in her eyes. She looked up at him and their eyes met. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hunt.” Her voice caught on the last word. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve put you through. You and”—she nodded toward Lucy—“Her Grace.”
“Of course you shall stay with us one more night,” Lucy said before Adam even considered replying. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“Just one more night. That’s all I ask,” Cecelia had said in a strained voice, still meeting Adam’s eyes.
Lucy had bustled both of them away then, and they’d been served dinner in their rooms. He hadn’t even got a chance to call her by her real name.
Adam threw the back of his arm across his forehead and grimaced. He hadn’t understood why Cecelia didn’t want to return to her home immediately, but he’d be less than honest if he didn’t admit that a part of him—a large part—was pleased that she would be staying longer, even if only for one more night. And that triggered the guilt. What sort of an awful lout was glad that she wasn’t going home? He was no gentleman.
But none of it made any sense, either. He knew barely anything about Cecelia or her situation. Mary had provided their address after profusely apologizing for the inconvenience her sister’s accident had caused their family. Lucy had assured her it was no trouble whatsoever and they were quite enjoying their unexpected houseguest. But as soon as the young women had been shown to their rooms, Lucy had done some investigating and confirmed that the Harcourt family was perfectly respectable. A lesser son of the ton on the father’s side, but they had fallen into ruin after a tragic carriage accident two years ago and the house was to be sold at auction soon. There were no indications of trouble, however, and nothing that could be considered dangerous. Was Cecelia truly in any danger?
Another thought nagged at Adam. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he’d met with the publisher today. Cecelia’s novel and Mr. Cornwall’s words about needing funds to invest in work like Cecelia’s. Hadn’t Adam always wanted to forge his own path in life? Hadn’t he always wanted to make his own way? Step out of the shadow of his older brothers and be his own man? But investing in printing would mean accepting the money Derek had settled on him. And that would make him a failure before he’d even begun. No. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it.
Another light scratching sound on the door caught his attention, just before the handle turned and the door opened. It was Cecelia. She was dressed in her night rail, holding one small candle aloft. “Adam?”
Cecelia was trembling everywhere. She hoped Adam didn’t see the candle shaking. But she’d made her decision and she would see it through. Before committing herself to Percy, she wanted to make love to someone she actually cared for, someone she was actually attracted to. And this man, Adam, had been kind to her, had made her laugh, had comforted her. He wasn’t the Duke of Loveridge. He was infinitely better. He’d saved her life. He was a true hero. She tiptoed over to the bed. Adam hadn’t answered when she’d called out his name. Was he asleep?