The Lady Most Willing

directly from their chambers. A wooden staircase led to the balcony so Cecily climbed it, not wanting to be seen by anyone passing the door opening onto the corridor.

The dust lay even thicker above than below, coating a pair of wingback chairs set well back from the wooden rail and a bench that might have served the lord’s children, which now lay toppled on its side. Cecily sought refuge in one of the oversized chairs, curling her feet beneath her and huddling deep into the corner.

What was she to do now? How was she to return to her former life and go about the business of choosing a husband, when the only husband she wanted would not court her? She had done everything she could to charm, beguile, and befriend Robin. Nothing remained in her arsenal of feminine weapons.

Since birth, she’d been taught that whatever a lady wanted, she must wait until it was given, be it a pony, a dress, a party, or a husband . . .

Not that a lady need be entirely passive. But Cecily hadn’t been. She had followed Robin, kissed him, worn boy’s clothing, tried to rouse his jealousy in her pursuit of him. What more could she do?

And why would he not propose? Because she was too rich, too English? Because he was too poor, his title too French? Because she was a virgin, or because he was so patently not a virgin . . . None of that mattered. The only reason she would accept was that he did not love her. But he did! She knew it. Her heart could not be so blind, her soul so deaf. When he had looked at her this evening across the room, the pitiful shawl in his hands, she had been as certain of his feelings as she was of her own . . .

“No! I’ll not be quiet!”

Cecily lifted her head from her arms. The voice from directly below her had been Taran’s.

“Then at least do me the courtesy of coming in here and not shouting so that all the world might hear you!”

Cecily froze. Robin.

“Why should you care?” Taran demanded, his voice growing louder as he entered the chapel. “The world already knows you’re a heartless bastard. Nothing I can say will surprise a one of them.”

Robin’s reply was terse and unintelligible.

“I know you and Byron think I’m nothing but a half savage,” Taran went on, “but at least I don’t reduce lassies to tears.”

“Do you think I enjoyed that?” Robin ground out.

“How could a man tell with you? Always ready with a quip and a laugh, and all the while the lassie looking as pale as the survivor of a massacre.”

“You overstate the case.” His tone was thick with emotion.

“The hell I do!” Taran shouted. “That she has feelings for you is as clear as fresh blood on new snow . . .” He trailed off and when he spoke again, his tone had changed from bombast to true shock. “Dear God, laddie, ye dinna actually seduce the poor wee creature? I know I encouraged you to do so, but only if you had honorable intentions. If you dinna plan to marry the girl, then you are a bloodier blackguard than I—”

“Stop! I did not seduce her!” Robin thundered. “For the love of all that’s holy, what do you take me for?’

“Who you are,” Taran snapped in reply. “What you are.”

For a moment Robin was absolutely silent. Carefully, Cecily shifted in the chair, craning toward the rail to hear better.

“My past has nothing to do with Cecily and myself,” Robin said. “I would never do anything to harm her. Never.”

Cecily’s heart began to beat faster. She slipped from the chair to her hands and knees and crept to the rail to look down. Below, she could see Taran standing halfway down the short aisle leading to the altar. Before him, black curls gleaming in the afternoon light streaming through the chapel’s rose window, Robin paced like a caged beast.

“Cecily, is it?’ Taran asked musingly. “Well, it looks like for all your proposed good intentions, you’ve mucked up a grand bit, laddie, for the lady is heartsore and that’s a surety.”

“No,” Robin said emphatically. “She’s not.”

What did he mean? How could he make such an assumption?

“You’re wrong,” Taran said flatly. “I saw her watching you this afternoon. She could fain take her eyes from you.”

“No.” Robin stopped pacing, raking his hair back with his hand. The very set of his shoulders suggested resignation and weariness. “This afternoon I asked her to pretend that she loved a man like me and tell me how her father would react if that man asked for her hand.”

“And?” Taran prompted.

“She said the point was moot, because she would never ask her father to approve someone like me.”

What? No. No. She hadn’t! Cecily’s brows furrowed, thinking back fiercely, trying to recall her