James and Cecilia stayed two more weeks with the Alstons, until His Grace could almost take a normal breath again. He was still weak and tired easily when they departed, but the rest of his symptoms seemed to have subsided. So, too, had Cecilia’s apprehension—or, at least, that’s the way it appeared to James.
They’d decided to share the large bed in their chamber and keep nighttime activities confined to sleeping only. Both of them had kept their promises faithfully, but James had been a little overwhelmed by the intimacy of lying in bed beside his wife. It wasn’t just that they wore thin nightclothes and fewer layers than during the day, though that was part of it. For James, though, the simple act of being unconscious and the vulnerability that came with that was new. Who else could he be so completely unguarded with?
Who else could she trust with the same feeling?
Despite their firmness about falling asleep on opposite sides of the bed with plenty of empty space between them, James would often awaken with the sun to find Cecilia’s back pressed against his. She never put her arms around him as she slept, but if he rolled over and cradled her in his, she would relax into his chest with a little sigh. He’d never felt such contentment wash through him as he had on those mornings.
And he couldn’t wait to tell her she snored.
But he kept that bit of information to himself, trying valiantly to rein in his own apprehension. He hadn’t been to a society event in seventeen years, and that had been a public assembly with other invitees from the untitled gentry like himself. The event they would be attending, Cecilia explained on the way to London, was the Marchioness of Whitby’s Black and White Ball, the first major event of the Season each year. The ballroom would be decorated in black, white, and silver, as would the guests if they adhered to Lady Whitby’s rule. And everyone important in society or government would be there, wondering who this upstart was and why he was bothering Lady Cecilia.
As luck would have it, though, Cecilia’s niece and nephew-by-marriage were among the first people they found upon entering the Whitbys’ ballroom on the appointed evening.
Honoria smiled when James bowed over her hand. “Uncle, how wonderful to see you here.”
“We have one more item of business to attend to before I sweep your aunt away for an extended stay on the farm,” he smiled back, slightly disappointed that there would be no hug from his new niece due to this public setting.
“How exciting!”
Cecilia laughed beside him, threading her arm through his. “Everything is an adventure to you, isn’t it?”
Benedict took his wife’s hand and grinned first at her, then at her aunt. “It is when you have the right company.”
James glanced at his own wife and smiled. He’d originally planned to take her to the Fitzsimmons farm after their betrothal when they were young, but that never happened. The circumstances were different now, but he discovered he was still looking forward to showing her his property, his livelihood.
And he very much wanted her to meet his family.
The couples parted after requesting dances from each of the ladies, and James escorted Cecilia around the perimeter of the ballroom.
“Lady Whitby outdid herself this year,” Cecilia said, her eyes roaming around the room.
“Has she? I hadn’t noticed.” His voice was low and he waited until she met his gaze, then pointedly looked her up and down. She’d explained the details of her silver gown when they’d dressed earlier that evening, right down to the material making up what she’d called an overdress. But he saw none of it, only his lovely bride.
She swatted his arm, the tiniest hit of pink coloring her cheeks. “Am I so distracting?” she asked with half a laugh.
“You’re beautiful,” he answered without hesitation. She’d always been pretty, but tonight her eyes sparkled more brightly than ever despite her visible efforts to hold back a grin.
She leaned her head against his shoulder for an all-too-brief moment before murmuring, “Thank you.” When she straightened again, she looked rather serious. “Will you kiss me for luck?”
“Here?” He’d kiss her anywhere she liked, but it was highly unfashionable to show affection to one’s spouse in public. Kissing in the middle of a ballroom was unheard of.
“I don’t want to lose my nerve.”
Ah, she was worried about Grimsby. Cecilia had told James a bit of what she had planned for the blackmailing earl, and that she’d purposely left some of the encounter to chance. That, she’d confessed, made her slightly anxious.
“You’ll be just fine,” James said with a smile, laying his hand over hers as it rested on his arm. “No one wrongs Cecilia Maitland Fitzsimmons and escapes unscathed.”
Her chin lifted and her grin returned. “You’re absolutely right.” Then she leaned in and brushed her soft lips across his cheek. “But a little luck never hurts.”
She released his arm headed into the crowd—it was also highly unfashionable to be always together with one’s spouse at a ton entertainment—leaving James on his own. He felt a wave of heat flood his body and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands now that he had no wife to hold. But he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, nodding briefly at an older couple as they strolled past. If Cecilia could take on her blackmailer, James could get along in public without her for a while.
~*~
Cecilia couldn’t remember the last time she was so tense at a ball—she was normally rather comfortable, even in the crush that was the Whitbys’ Black and White Ball each year.
But she hadn’t had a blackmailer to call out before.
Not that she was going to challenge him to a duel, of course. But she did plan to challenge his morality and honor before the entire assemblage. If she failed, if Grimsby was too clever to take the bait, then she could be the one humiliated.
And her husband and brother along with her.
But, oh, if she succeeded...
She smoothed her gloved hands down her cloth-of-silver skirt and set her shoulders, moving slowly but purposefully through the ballroom looking for Grimsby. She paused in her pursuit on occasion to talk to and be sociable with the other guests, trying to maintain a demeanor of gaiety as she would at any other entertainment. She circled the dancers and chaperones and gossiping dowagers, moved past the table laden with punch and lemonade, but the earl was nowhere to be found.
She tried the card room next, hiding a grin behind her fan when she spied James seated at a table with Lord Whitby. Her grin faded in the next instant, however. The Earl of Grimsby was slouching in a chair at the next table, his cards clutched in one hand against his black tailcoat.
“Ah, Grimsby!” Cecilia called, snapping her fan shut and waving it in his direction. “I’ve found you at last.”
He started, straightening in his chair as his eyes widened for the briefest of moments. “Lady Cecilia, how nice to see you this evening. How might I be of service?”
She flitted across the room and halted at Grimsby’s side, clasping her fan in both hands. “You’ve already done so much, finding that letter for me.”
His brows rose a mere fraction of an inch. “Letter?”
“The letter I’d written to my dear husband so many years ago.” She emphasized husband just a little, in case Grimsby hadn’t heard about her recent marriage. Cecilia’s man of business had forwarded a bank draft to the earl for the discharge of the loan against the Fitzsimmons farm. But she’d stood on principal and chosen not to give in to the blackmail and pay for the return of her letter.
Grimsby’s brows rose to a loftier height, and Cecilia guessed that he hadn’t known of her marriage to James. What fun that she be the one to inform him his scheme had no power over her any longer!
“Your husband?” Grimsby shook his head, then stood and gestured to the chair he had just vacated. “Why don’t you sit, and we can discuss this matter without disturbing the other card players.”
Cecilia ignored his suggestion and made sure her voice carried across the room. “I don’t know how it could have gone missing—Mr. Fitzsimmons and I keep our private letters to each other in locked caskets—but I was enormously glad to receive your note detailing your possession of it.”
Heads were turning throughout the card room, no doubt in response to her raised voice. But mouths opened and eyebrows were raised at her last statement. She could practically hear the other guests wondering how and why Grimsby had obtained a personal letter belonging to a lady not his wife.
Grimsby shifted in his chair and started to speak but Cecilia cut him off, channeling her growing glee into her ruse. “I would also like to offer you a reward for your discretion, my lord. There are too many people in this world that would have used that letter to try to embarrass me or my family by threatening to make it public, but your only concern was making sure it was returned safely to me.”
His expression froze in stony silence, and Cecilia couldn’t tell if he was angry, or mortified, or some combination of emotions he’d rather not name. Whatever his feelings, she was absolutely delighted. She’d both exposed and negated his nefarious intentions without accusing him of anything at all.
“O-of course I cannot accept a reward,” he managed, clenching his teeth with an audible click. “I am honor bound as a gentleman to return your property to you, and that I shall do.”
Cecilia suppressed—with much difficulty—the urge to laugh. There went any money he’d hoped to extort from her, too. He could certainly try another private threat, but it would be a threat with no teeth. By appearing at the ball together, the whole of Polite Society now knew that Cecilia and James had wed, so there would be little if any scandal from a love letter between them. And by Grimsby’s own admission to the entire card room, he had Cecilia’s letter in his possession. If he refused to return it, she could simply ask him for it the next time she saw him...preferably in public.
“You are an honorable man, indeed, and I am grateful to you for keeping my letter safe.”
His body seemed to deflate as he bowed to her. “I shall see to it first thing tomorrow.”
She acknowledged his bow with a nod and turned, nodding to Lord Whitby and James. She’d intended to simply leave the room then, but James jumped to his feet and was at her side in three strides.
“We’re both most appreciative, Lord Grimsby,” James said with such sincerity Cecilia almost believed him.
Grimsby flashed a half-hearted smile, and when he declined to comment further, James offered Cecilia his arm. “Shall we, my dear? I believe the next dance belongs to me.”
She slid her arm through his, drawing herself much closer to his side than was proper. “Yes, of course. My heart is so much lighter now with this business finally resolved.”
She smiled broadly at her husband and allowed him to escort her out of the card room. When they’d cleared the door, James tugged her down the hall and into an open but empty room.
“Nicely played,” he grinned, sliding his arms around her in a celebratory embrace.
She reciprocated, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her cheek against his. “I wasn’t sure it would work, but it did.”
“You could talk anyone into anything, wife of mine,” he murmured in her ear.
Cecilia closed her eyes , tightening her hold on him. “Flatterer,” she whispered back with a smile. She held on for a moment longer, then loosened her grip on his shoulders. “Did you truly want to dance with me, or was that just an excuse to get away from Grimsby?”
“What I’d really like to do is return home and sit before a warm fire with you for a little while,” he said, with a small smile. “We’ll have to be up early tomorrow if we’re going to make a good start toward the farm. I know you don’t sleep well in a moving carriage.”
“That sounds wonderful,” she admitted. With her confrontation of her blackmailer concluded, she couldn’t think of a reason to stay. “Though we can’t leave until my letter arrives—Grimsby promised to send it first thing.”
“Certainly not. We’ve gone to all this trouble to thwart the man, we may as well stay in Town long enough to see this matter concluded.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
He brushed his fingertips across her cheek and once again offered his arm. “To home, then, where we shall countdown the minutes until your letter arrives.”