Her Wicked Proposal novel Chapter 39

Anne had developed a painful habit of handwringing by the time she and Cedric arrived at the Sheridan estate on the outskirts of Brighton. Rushton Steading, the vast ancestral home of the Sheridan family, was intimidating. The estate was mainly wooded areas where dark copses of trees hunkered down at the road's edge like silent sentinels. Anne drew in a shocked breath as their traveling coach rounded the nearest outcropping of forest and her new world opened up before her. The house itself was a grand mansion made of white stone, a bright beacon amidst the heavy emerald backdrop.

"Do you like it?" Cedric's voice was soft against her neck as he breathed in her scent.

Anne couldn't help but admire the multi-windowed edifice. "I've never seen anything so beautiful. I can see why you've favored hunting and riding, Cedric-this land is built for such activities."

"My father and I spent many hours in those woods with rifles and hounds." Cedric's voice was rough as emotion rippled through his words.

Anne frowned at her own callousness. To bring up his past had to be painful, both to be reminded of his lost loved ones and lost sight.

"What's the matter, Anne? You've grown tense," Cedric observed.

Only then did Anne realize he'd moved up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. He was constantly offering her comfort, and all she had ever offered him was cool indifference. Anne took a deep breath before she spoke.

"I am sorry for pushing you away," she confessed.

Cedric's hands, which had been stroking her waist, stilled at her words.

"You need never apologize to me about protecting yourself." Cedric dipped his head to nuzzle her neck.

"Are you angry that we did not share a bed last night?" Anne asked, gazing at his full lips.

"Don't be silly, my heart. Besides, I did share your bed, even if we only slept and nothing more."

"You were there! I thought perhaps I'd dreamt that you'd stayed."

"You shall expect me tonight then." Cedric's hands slid along her ribs, tightening possessively. Anne shook with anticipation, her breath quickening. Tonight she would give herself to him, let him unleash her inner desires. She'd waited so long for this, for someone to trust. She only prayed that he wouldn't be furious when he discovered she wasn't untouched. More than ever she regretted that one night with Crispin. Not that she'd been given a choice.

The coach pulled up to the steps of the mansion, and a footman rushed out to meet them.

"Welcome, my lord, my lady." The young footman offered a hand to Anne and she stepped down.

Anne was careful to give Cedric time and room to get out on his own, but she and the footman stood ready to catch him.

"Is that you, Hartley?" Cedric asked as he emerged from the coach.

"It is, my lord," Hartley replied with a slight Irish lilt, grinning as his master clapped him on the shoulder.

"How is the household?" Cedric slid Anne's arm through his and started up the steps, his cane tapping the stones.

"Mr. Bodwin is happy to have you home, of course. Mrs. Pickwick, however, has been tearing through the house in a panic, concerned that Lady Sheridan won't be pleased with the state of the house."

"Me?" Anne gasped.

"Don't worry, my heart. The head housekeeper tends to have these episodes of panic, regardless of circumstance. You'll find my butler, Mr. Bodwin, much more to your liking. He's a calm soul compared to our esteemed Mrs. Pickwick."

Anne felt suddenly shy as Cedric ushered her into her new home. The hall was full of servants, all lined up and ready to meet her. Anne could barely keep all of their names straight, but Mr. Bodwin and Mrs. Pickwick stood out as the more elderly and experienced of them.

"My lord, would you prefer to dine in your chambers or in the dining hall?" Mrs. Pickwick asked.

"My chambers, please. See that you provide for two. My wife will be joining me."

"Of course, my lord." Mrs. Pickwick seemed greatly relieved at the announcement of their intent to dine upstairs. "Here are some letters arrived from London with the afternoon's post." She held out a packet of letters and set them in Cedric's outstretched hand.

The name hit Cedric like a blow. He was about to tell Thomas to burn the letter, but Thomas began speaking.

"My Dearest Anne. It was such a pleasure seeing you again at the theater. Write to me soon, we've much to plan now that you've settled yourself in such a comfortable position. I believe congratulations may be in order for both of us. Crispin."

Cedric's heart froze. The letter hadn't been meant for him at all. He found it difficult to breathe, because the tone suggested something... Surely it couldn't have meant...

Dearest Anne?

We've much to plan?

What the devil did Andrews mean by that?

"Thomas," Cedric cut in. "That will be all. Please hand me the letters."

Thomas walked over and placed the letters in his outstretched hand, then retreated to the doorway.

"I'll fetch dinner for you, my lord." The footman's steps receded, leaving Cedric time to think, to worry.

A few minutes later Thomas returned with dinner.

Already Cedric could smell beef stew, pheasant and bread pudding in the air.

"Thank you, Thomas," he said before the footman could say a word. "You may leave once you've set up the table." Cedric's mind was still churning over the letter and what it meant. Anne had sworn to him that she despised Crispin, so why was she receiving such a letter? What could she and Andrews have to plan? Should he ask Anne directly? Or would she hide the truth and deny it...if only he knew what it was.

Light, feminine steps warned him of Anne's approach. He shoved the stack of letters Thomas had given him into the cushions of his chair by the fireplace.