Page 21 of Wicked By Design

“Are you… all right?” he asked cautiously, as if uncertain that was the right thing to say.

Cilly took a deep breath and let it out again. “Yes. No. I don’t know.” She threw up her hands and turned away, hurrying into the music room.

Damian followed, hesitated, and then closed the door behind them. Well, the horse had bolted after all.

“Thank you.”

She went to the French doors that opened out onto the terrace and walked outside, sucking in a deep breath, so wrapped up in her own confusion that for a moment she did not register his words.

Glancing sideways as he appeared on the terrace beside her, she shrugged. “You’re welcome. I told you that’s what friends do. But it was only the truth. As I saw it, anyway.”

He was silent as he came to lean against the balustrade. Oh, but he was beautiful, she thought with a wistful sigh. A weak glimmer of sunlight broke the clouds, glinting on his fair hair. She smiled to herself, imagining how Miss Foxworthy might title the scene. Portrait of a Young God. Or perhaps a fallen angel might be closer to the truth. Either way, it almost hurt to look at him, to know this man would be her husband, but he would never allow her to know him, to love him.

She held her breath, enduring the swift stab that assaulted her heart. It was nothing she could not bear. So, she would have a future with a husband who would not love her or allow her to love in return, no children upon whom to dote, or a way to find some outlet for all the emotions that seemed to churn inside her with nowhere to go. Would they shrivel up and die in time? Would she turn into the Countess of Dunmere, or someone very like her, if she had no one to love?

“It was very much as you said.”

Cilly looked up, his voice dragging her from the mire of her own regrets.

“Miss Bradford,” he clarified.

“Oh. I see.” She drew closer, leaning on the balustrade beside him, waiting for him to continue.

His mouth twisted. “I am not always tactful, Celia, as perhaps you are aware.”

She made a sound of amusement and watched as the mocking slash of his lips became a rueful smile. Her heart kicked. Stupid organ.

“She was fresh onto the marriage mart, very beautiful. It was said she might catch a duke on her looks alone. But she wanted to conquer every man of the ton, to have them all panting after her. She was so very certain of her appeal, of her power, but contrary to gossip, I do not ruin innocents, and I have no taste for silly young girls barely out of the schoolroom. I’m afraid she took it rather amiss when I did not respond as she expected.”

Cilly turned towards him, frowning. “What happened?”

He shifted his stance, turning to face the garden, though the glorious view over the sea seemed not to impress him. Cilly wondered if he even saw it. She had guessed from the start that he was not a happy man, else why would he live his life with such reckless abandon? Now, his face had that far-off look again, and his expression made her wonder just how unhappy he was.

“Miss Bradford wished for me to er… initiate her and give her the benefit of my experience, if you take my meaning. I refused her kind invitation. She thought I was playing hard to get and refused to take no for an answer. With hindsight, I ought to have been rather more diplomatic, but as I mentioned before, I dislike having my hand forced. She was livid, her pride wounded, and so she retaliated by attempting to trap me into marrying her. I walked away rather than end my days tied to a woman whose only goal in life would be to make me wretched. I do not regret it.”

Cilly did not realise her mouth was open until Damian turned to look at her, defiance in every line of his taut frame, his eyes frosty.

“You think I ought to have married the creature?”

“No!” she exclaimed, rather too loudly. She reached out, putting her hand on his arm. “No, indeed I do not. You did quite right. I am… I am only shocked that such a young girl would act so… so….”

He snorted, looking rather entertained by her shock. “Oh, Celia, there is so much that would shock you, but I will try to keep the worst of life from you. I may not be good for much as a husband, but I hope I can give you safety, at least.”

Cilly considered this. It was kind of him, she knew, but….

“What if I do not wish to be protected?”

He tilted his head to one side, studying her. “There speaks the voice of innocence,” he said softly.

Cilly bristled and folded her arms. “Don’t patronise me. I’ve spent years enduring men, listening to them constantly explaining how I am too sweet, too nice, too stupid to understand the dangers of the world. Well, I am six and twenty, not some idiot child. I know how to run a vast estate, I know how to negotiate the ton, I know a good many things that might come as a surprise to you too, so don’t presume to know what I need protecting from.”

Her heart did an odd little flip behind her ribs as she caught the look in his eyes and she rather wished she had not spoken with such force. There was a dangerous light flickering there, one that made her instincts jitter with agitation. Yet she did not believe him to be the sort of man to take offence if she rebuked him nor that he would ever bully her with anger, but perhaps he might wish her to think he would. Damian seemed to want her to think badly of him to keep her always at a distance, and she did not want that. Neither would she let him think her hen hearted.

Cilly put up her chin.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was a low purr, sliding over her like the decadent glide of fur against her naked body. “I apologise, Celia. I had not realised I was speaking to a woman with such a wealth of… experience.”

He took a step closer and heat bloomed over every inch of her skin. She knew he was playing games with her, using her attraction to him to illustrate his point—you can look, but not touch. The devil of it was, she only now realised how powerful this move could be. She wanted him, and he knew that, and he would use her desire to torment her, to keep her from knowing him.