Janice Preston - Lady Cecily And The Mysterious Mr Gray

Lady Perfect fell silent as a familiar ghostly shape swooped towards them. She did not scream as he feared she might. Rather, she watched, entranced, as the barn owl flew low across the pond, her flight silent, and landed on Zach’s outstretched arm.

‘What...?’ Cecily’s voice was a whisper, full of wonderment.

‘Lady Cecily Beauchamp, meet Athena.’

Chapter Three

Cecily had never been this close to an owl before. Athena stunned her, with her heart-shaped face and huge dark eyes and the contrast between the buff-coloured feathers on her wings and back with the snowy white of her face and breast. Mr Gray took Cecily’s ungloved hand and raised it to the bird’s breast. Her fingers sank into the soft feathers, more deeply than she anticipated.

‘She is beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Why is she so tame?’

Mr Gray touched the owl’s head with his forehead, then lifted his arm high. The bird launched into flight and glided away as silently as it had arrived.

‘I reared her from a fledgling.’ His hands cupped in an unconscious gesture, as though he remembered the finding of her and as though he still protected her.

‘How old is she?’

‘She is nine now.’

‘Do you keep other animals, Mr Gray?’

He rubbed his hand across his jaw. ‘I do not keep them. They are free to leave if they so wish.’

‘Will you tell me about them?’

‘Another time. Maybe.’

He began to walk back across the grass towards the garden and regret swirled through her. She followed him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

‘I am sorry. I did not mean to pry. I should not have questioned you.’

‘There you go again, with your “I should not have...” ’ he growled.

He slammed to a halt and pivoted to face her with such suddenness that she almost cannoned into him. Her feet, still clad in her satin dancing slippers, skidded from under her and she reached out, clutching his lapels to steady herself. His arms came around her, hauling her close, and she found her cheek pressed to his chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping in her ear...far steadier than her own erratic heartbeat which flittered, soared and swooped.

‘Steady.’

His voice rumbled through her. His arms still held her captive, but they loosened a little, allowing her to tip her head back to look at him. His eyes flashed and a muscle leapt in his jaw as one hand slid lower and settled at the small of her back, fitting her snugly into the warm contours of his body. His breath caressed her skin as his free hand came up to cradle her cheek, his thumb drifting across her lower lip. Her breath quickened as his head lowered and, without volition, she rose on her toes to close the gap between them.

His warm lips were soft and smooth, exhilarating and yet soothing. She had only been kissed once in her life and the experience had been...forgettable. This...

Oh, this...

She pressed closer, slipping her arms around his waist, revelling in the sensual glide of his mouth on hers, lost in the moment. She tensed as his tongue probed her lips, but he murmured deep in his throat, a calming sound, and she parted her lips and let him in. Their tongues slid together as he entered repeatedly, exploring her mouth, delicately and without haste. An unfamiliar sensation gathered deep in her stomach, a growing ache of yearning...of desire. She settled deeper into his embrace, his male scent surrounding her as her pulse ran riot and her toes curled with pure pleasure.

It was he who ended the kiss, lifting his lips from hers and drifting them across her cheek. He nibbled her earlobe, then traced the outer rim with his tongue as she tilted her head to ease his access. Her wits were reassembling but, although she was shocked by her wanton behaviour, she felt no shame. His hands framed her waist and lifted her, setting her away from him. She resisted the urge to seek again the heat of his body, the security of his arms.

‘That should not have happened.’ The wicked glitter in his eyes belied his words.

‘Should not?’ she teased, even though he was right. Of course it should never have happened. But she challenged him nevertheless. ‘Why not?’

He barked a laugh. ‘That, my Lady Perfect, is a foolish question.’ He raised his arm, gesturing at the night sky. ‘Let us blame the magic of the moonlight and come the dawn we shall forget it ever happened.’

‘Did you not enjoy kissing me?’

He reached for her hand, holding it in both of his, playing gently with her fingers. Then he raised it to his mouth and pressed hot lips briefly into her palm before folding her fingers over as though to hold his kiss in place.

‘I did.’ His voice was low. Sincere. ‘But you know as well as I that a boundary was crossed. Until that moment, we were indeed fellow guests merely talking. Now...our consciences know the truth, but it can never be revealed to anybody else. Ever. It would be the ruin of you, were it known you kissed a Romany.’

She knew he was right and she still could hardly believe she—who prided herself on always being ladylike and correct—had behaved so out of character.

‘Mayhap you are right and it was the effects of the moonlight,’ she said. ‘You were not thinking clearly. You were angry with me for prying into your life.’

Thea had already warned her that Mr Gray was a very private man. She should have taken heed.

He laughed. ‘That, sweet dove, was not an angry kiss. It was not a punishment; it was self-indulgence. I have wanted to kiss you ever since I first set eyes on you in the church.’

Her insides lurched and heat washed over her face at the thought that such a virile man—such an intelligent and thoughtful man—could look at her in such a way.

‘And I was not angry with you for prying,’ he went on. ‘You wanted to know something about me and you are entitled to ask. But, likewise, I am entitled not to answer.’ He smiled, taking the sting from his words. ‘I should not have walked away from you as I did.’

‘Walked? That was very nearly a run.’ She was desperate to lighten the mood. ‘But I shall accept you do not wish to tell me about your life.’

‘It is not—’

He stiffened, tilting his head to one side. Cecily listened, but could hear nothing.

‘They are calling for you,’ he said. ‘You had better make haste.’ He pointed at the archway that led back into the garden.

Guilt intertwined with the dread that her brothers would find her out. They would be furious, but with Mr Gray, not with her. They would blame him entirely. She would not allow that to happen. He had helped her and she would protect him in return. Somehow, she now felt better able to cope with the changes in her life.

She faced him, and held out her hand. ‘Thank you for listening, Mr Gray.’

He stilled. He stared down at Cecily’s outthrust hand for so long, she feared she had transgressed another of his unwritten laws. As she began to withdraw it, though, he grasped it and closed his fingers around it, saying, ‘Zach. Call me Zach.’

His touch sent tingles racing up her arm and another flush to heat her cheeks. The memory of his lips on hers seared her brain.

‘Zach?’

‘Zachary. That is my name.’

‘But...Absalom. They said you are Absalom Gray.’

She stared up at him. At the intensity of his expression.

‘Absalom is my middle name. I should like to hear my given name on your lips, but I shall not insist. You must do as you wish.’

As I wish... It reinforced the message he had tried to convey about her future. She could choose.

She smiled. ‘Zachary, then. Thank you for listening, Zach.’

He bowed over her hand, turned it and feathered warm, soft lips across the sensitive skin at her wrist and then, in that same calm, unhurried manner, he reached into his pocket, withdrawing her lace glove. He slid it on to her hand and smoothed it along her forearm. Tingles changed into sparks that radiated throughout her body and a feeling of nervy anticipation coiled in the pit of her stomach.