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evening.”
    She kept her breath held, afraid she’d let it out in a big sigh of relief, knowing that most men would insist they retire together. Feeling grateful for his consideration, she said, “I wish you a good evening, Lord Blackthorne.”
    They stared at each other, the silence fraught with the new awareness she now associated with him. He bowed his head and left her alone in the dining room. The silent footmen entered as if on cue, and, feeling numb with relief, she watched them work. She’d thought she had everything in hand—she was helping her brother until he was old enough to take over, she was in control of her own money, and had miraculously found a husband who wouldn’t intrude in any way at all, except as a convenient reason she wouldn’t have to tolerate other suitors. She wasn’t going to be like her mother, so desperate to cling to her husband, to make sure he remained faithful, that she dragged her children on military campaigns in a country that ended up being the death of her and her son.
    But now Cecilia’s world was starting to unravel. Oliver’s behavior was growing worse instead of better, and her absent husband had decided to involve himself in her life.
    And she was fascinated by him—overwhelmingly, completely, helplessly fascinated.
    Closing her eyes, she told herself she would get through this. She just had to be patient. Oliver would realize his responsibilities, then she’d be able to trust him with everything their ancestors had built. And Lord Blackthorne had come right out and said he was returning to India as soon as possible, hopefully leaving their marriage as it was.
    She would consult her lawyers, but until she received a reply, she had to do her best to steer clear of Lord Blackthorne.
    A fter an hour alone in the library, Cecilia reluctantly retired to her bedroom, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Her lady’s maid, Nell, took the hint and asked nothing about the husband ensconced nearby in her apartments. Cecilia knew the girl’s silence would only last so long, but for now she appreciated it. When she was alone, she pressed her ear to the door of the dressing room that separated their bedrooms, but she heard nothing.
    At last she crept to her bed, where she read almost until midnight, not feeling the least bit tired. After finishing her novel, she lay down, but her eyes refused to close. Sighing, she put on her dressing gown, picked up a candleholder, and went out into the shadowy corridor. There was supposed to be a lamp lit at each end, but apparently the footmen had forgotten. Shaking her head, she held the candle higher. The library was on the ground floor, and as she approached the main staircase dominating the entrance hall, she slowed her step, for the darkness overtook the cavernous room where the corridor opened out into it, and her tiny candle gave off little light. But she knew every inch of her home well.
    Just as she reached the balustrade, her foot hit something hard, pitching her forward into the darkness. The candle went out, her hands flailed for the balustrade, and a feeling of terror overwhelmed her. The bottom seemed to drop out of her stomach as she began to fall.

Chapter 3
    C ecilia’s feet hit the first couple steps, but she was pitching forward, unable to right herself, terrified and helpless. Just as she would have tumbled headfirst into the blackness, her hand connected with the balustrade and gripped it hard to catch herself. She felt pain at her shoulder as her body came to a jerking stop, but she didn’t let go. Collapsing against the rail, she remained still, eyes closed, breath heaving in her chest as she hung there.
    Slowly, she tried to stand up on the stair, and felt a mild twinge in her ankle that was nothing compared to what might have happened if she’d fallen all the way to the bottom.
    She might even have broken her neck.
    The candle had gone out; she could see nothing