Page 22 of Wicked By Design

He owed her nothing. She knew he did not. She had manipulated him into this situation and had offered terms, her terms. He had accepted them as they benefited him, but he had no obligation to keep his side of any bargain.

Cilly swallowed as his proximity made her skin tingle. Was this to be her fate, to spend her life yearning for a man who would always be out of reach, even as a friend?

Damian lifted his hand, one long finger reaching out and tracing the line of her jaw. “Sweet Cecilia, you think you have all the answers. You believe you can be my friend. Poor deluded creature that you are, you still hope that somewhere in the future there might be a happy ever after. The only way I can protect you from such pain is to be very, very clear. You are more than a match for the Countess of Dunmere and her ilk, and you are indeed a lady in every sense of the word, and a capable one. But do not confuse your strengths with things you do not understand, with things you will come to realise you are better off living in ignorance of.” As he spoke, his finger trailed a lazy path to her mouth, where it rested lightly, barely touching her bottom lip. “You do not know me, my dear.”

He dropped his hand and turned, walking away.

“And you are too much of a coward to let me,” she said, though her voice trembled, her entire body shaking.

He paused and turned his head just a little, allowing her a view of his elegant profile. “It is a kindness, Celia. Remember, I warned you.”

The terrace doors closed behind him, and Cilly let out a shaky breath, touching her lips, the place where his finger had rested so lightly. It burned.

Chapter 4

A Very Long Lead

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 7th September 1816

“Wakey, wakey, my little chick. Time to rise and shine.”

Cilly groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. Nichols tugged it away. “Now, now, none of that. I won’t have any slugabeds. You’ve things to do, people to see, and you’ll do it all looking splendid and with a smile on that pretty face of yours, or else.”

“I don’t want to smile.” The words were nigh on incomprehensible, spoken as they were into the nest of covers in which Cilly had buried herself. She wanted to stay here, in this little cocoon, and not come out until the world had righted itself. But it wouldn’t, not unless she made it. She groaned again but gave in to the inevitable.

With what seemed to her a Herculean effort, Cilly pulled herself into a sitting position.

“Well, that’s a nice face to greet the day with,” Nichols remarked with a snort. “Come, now. There is a cup of chocolate, just as you like it, and toast and marmalade.”

Cilly sighed and allowed Nichols to set the tray down on her lap. She stared at it morosely for a moment. “Nichols, tell me honestly. Am I a nice person?”

Nichols laughed. “Not first thing in the morning, no, and not when—” She paused abruptly when she saw the expression on Cilly’s face. “Oh, pet. Whatever is the matter? You know I’m only teasing you. Of course you are a nice person. What’s brought this on? Is this Rivington’s doing? For if he’s upset you, I’ll—”

Cilly shook her head hastily, and then rather regretted it. She’d like to know just what Nichols might do if Damian upset her. “No. I’m just feeling a little… adrift. I thought I knew myself. I thought that behind the façade of Lady Cecilia I knew who I was, and I was still a nice person, I just had a few more opinions and was a little less patient. But now I fear I’m rather a dreadful creature.”

She picked up her hot chocolate and took a sip, watching Nichols for her reaction.

Nichols’s expression was one of rueful amusement. “My lady, forgive me for mentioning it, but… have you met your sister?”

Cilly frowned. “Hetty? Well, obviously, what on—oh.”

Hetty was the troublesome sister, the headstrong, bold, opinionated, irrepressible one.

“You like her, don’t you?” Nichols pressed, raising an eyebrow as she shook creases from the gown Cilly would wear today.

Cilly laughed softly. “Yes. When I don’t want to throttle her with my bare hands.”

Nichols nodded. “Well, there you are, then. You’re just more alike than you let on before, that’s all.”

Cilly nodded. She was still vibrating from the touch of Damian’s finger, from the knowledge that he’d been making a point. You may have my name; you may not have me. In his eyes, she was likely no better than Miss Bradford. She had acted almost as badly, after all. It was hardly a wonder he did not trust her enough to let her know him better.

“He wants a marriage of convenience, you know. No… No children.” She tried to say the words matter-of-factly, but her voice wobbled slightly, betraying her.

Nichols regarded her, one eyebrow quirked. “Oh, aye?”

Her tone suggested she did not believe it.

“No, truly, Nichols. He’s quite adamant about it. I have agreed, naturally, for I forced him into this, but… but I had hoped we might be friends, at least. I fear he will try to keep a distance between us, though. I am afraid my husband will always be a stranger to me.”